The Beets Go On

My homeroom teacher for my four years of high school was a lanky white-haired Montanan named Wes Pomeroy. One of Mr. Pomeroy's duties as home-room teacher was reading the daily lunch menu. Now lunch couldn't always be pizza or tacos; sometimes it was sea franks (a fish stick in a hot dog bun) or some other creative offering designed by the lunch ladies less for consumer appeal than for clearing out the pantry.

Occasionally during the reading of the menu, a student would momentarily forget who his homeroom teacher was and say something like "Sea franks? Barf", which would cause Mr. Pomeroy to stop reading the menu before we even learned which federally-approved vegetable would be in compartment three of the plastic tray. Mr. Pomeroy would rise, looking grave, almost stricken, and in a voice so serious it was grim he would say "Oh. So you don't LIKE sea franks, huh?", all the time slowly walking until he was directly in front of the now-shrinking student.

"Well let me tell you somethin', Mistah", Mr. Pomeroy would continue, building steam, "When I was a boy growin' up in Montana, durin' a little thing called The Depression, we ran out of food one day, and my daddy went ta town, and he came back with a hunerd pounds o' beets, and we had BEETS for breakfast, BEETS for lunch, and BEETS for dinner every goddamn day for three months! SURE I got sick of 'em! Ya damn RIGHT I did! But I never complained. Some folks had NOTHIN'! I would have LOVED a sea frank. But I didn't HAVE a sea frank. I had beets, BEETS, BEETS, 'cause that's all there WAS! So don't EVAH let me hear you complain about the food you get here!"

Well. Such a grave and heartfelt recounting of stark childhood dining naturally had the class quaking with stifled laughter like two dozen washing machines with unbalanced loads. Not that we were callous, it's just that we had all heard this story before. We had been hearing it for years. With each telling, the story seemed to get worse, and Mr. Pomeroy got more worked up.

And it didn't help matters that when Mr. Pomeroy got worked up, little pockets of foam gathered at the corners of his mouth, and when he was riled, as he was during the Beet Speech, foam production was way up, so much so that during the pronunciation of words starting with `B' or `P', such as "beet", little bubbles would pop off his lips like punctuation, which naturally sent all of us quaking stiflers into involuntary spasms and nose snorts of escaping high-pressure mirth. "Somethin' funny back there, Mistah Muse?" "No, Mr. [snort, quake] Pomeroy".

Finally, the bell would ring and we'd burst into the hall in successive ejaculations of laughter. After wiping the tears from our eyes, we listened as the hall filled with the sound of a half-dozen Mr. Pomeroy imitators, each doing their best to out-Pomeroy each other:

"When I was kid, growin' up in Montana, we didn't have draperies. We had ta stack beets in the windahs one by one. Sure they looked stupid. Sure they fell down. But I never complained. Some folks had no window coverin's of any kind! I would have LOVED Levelors, but I didn't HAVE Levelors."

"When I was kid, we didn't have underwear. I had ta shove beets down my pants. Sure they chafed me. Sure they turned my legs all purple. I would have LOVED hand-me-down women's drawers, but I didn't HAVE hand-me-down women's drawers. So don't evah let me hear you complain about your jockeys ridin' up, mistah."

"Oh. So you don't LIKE havin' ta use a number two pencil, huh? Well let me tell you somethin', mistah. When I was kid, we ran out of school supplies one day, so I had ta write with beets. I had ta write ON beets. I had ta write ABOUT beets. Cuz that's all there WAS. Beets, beets, beets!"

"When I was kid, I didn't have a pet. Sure, I would have loved a kitty or a doggy, but I didn't have one. I had a beet. I tied a string to it and drug it ta school through the snow. Sure the other kids laughed at me. Sure they teased me and Beety, but I never complained. Some kids had NOTHIN'!"