I still don’t get it.
Image, Saturday Evening Post 1962
When I was in eighth grade at South School in the spring of 1962 we went on a field trip to Evansville. On the way back someone threw a sandwich out the window and it hit a car going the other direction. The driver reported to the school that the sandwich had broken the windshield of the car. When we got back to the school we had to line up around the perimeter of the gym. We were told we would have to stand there until someone confessed to throwing the sandwich out the window. I think this was before littering was against the law so I think we were there because of that driver. After a few minutes someone stepped forward and confessed. I don’t know if he was guilty, but he was brave.
I was telling my wife this story today and she asked me what happened to the boy. I told her I didn’t know because I never saw him again. The truth is I don’t remember who it was and I have felt bad about my response to the incident ever since. Like Spartacus’ men (“I’m Spartacus.” “No, I’m Spartacus!) I wish I had stepped forward and said, “No, I threw the sandwich.” Maybe the rest of the eighth graders would have joined us rather than throwing him to the wolves for what most of us would have done if we had a soggy sandwich.
If it was you that threw the sandwich, I’m sorry. You are a brave man.
Nick Dalrymple, Husband, Father, Grandfather.