AN ESCAPE

From the confining stagnant classroom awaited me on sunny days. That's where I went to grade papers.

From journals to term papers. Armed, rather handed, with student papers squalling out to be colored, I attacked them while breathing fresh Southern Illinois air.

I had three fire escapes in two buildings. All dependent on the sun's location that morning or afternoon. And since we were on a block schedule for six or eight of those years, I'd have an hour and a half to do my work and let the sun do his.

Until sweat started to smudge my corrections. Then I have to return to my un-air conditioned classroom. Prayers for an easterly breeze usually went unanswered. But as Coach Feuquay said about a hefty female teacher complaining about no air conditioner, "It must not be too bad. It hasn't melted off any of that fat she's carrying around."

So while unmelted fat kept its place on me, I basked inside the classroom and finished my task. Probably the papers I graded on the fire escape got a better grade. At least the one I could read through the sweat drops.