The Volcano

 

The Volcano

Along about the 8^th grade, we were assigned a science homework project. I teamed up with Frank Janella, a fellow classmate and we decided to build a volcano which we touted as nature’s sub-surface safety valve. We painted it black with red “lava flows” and built in a “chimney” at the center which would allow us to emulate an eruption. In reality, this project had no redeeming educational quality and did not accurately depict anything that might result from the forces of nature. All that aside, we were determined to have fun with this. The result would allow us to light it off in science class, all sanctioned by the teacher, Mr. Clark (more on him in another essay).

The construction of this project would involve a trip to the hardware store for some window screening and a bag of plaster-of-Paris. Oh, and a stop at the hobby store for some Jet-x fuel, the main ingredient in making the smoke and fire! On a Saturday morning, my mother drove me to Frank’s house where we commenced construction in his basement. We found an old piece of cardboard for the base and set up our “chimney” in the middle, from which we draped the window screening to form the slope of the mountain. The real fun had begun.

As we mixed up the plaster-of-Paris, I hadn’t noticed the destruction of my clothes and shoes as the plaster spoils fell at my feet. We continued to work on the volcano until we got it just the way we wanted it when Mrs. Janella came down to check on us. She was horrified. She warned me in her own words, “your mother is going to kill you!” I just shrugged and told her that mom won't mind. It was a gross miscalculation of what became my mother’s actual reaction. She was furious. My brand-new shoes and school clothes were caked with plaster and clearly, I was in the doghouse. The ride home was a cold one and I promised her I would never do that again.

A year later, in the 9th grade, we were handed a similar assignment by a different teacher. Since I already had volcano building experience, I thought I’d build another, the philosophy being “different teacher, different project”. This time I’d wear old clothes.

We lived in an apartment at 52 Bayview Ave. and my science class partner, Johnny Schmidt also lived in the same building. This seemed like a “can’t miss” deal. We could set up construction outside on the concrete patio and this would be a “walk in the park”. True to my word, I wore old clothes which I’m sure made Mom happy, but Dad…..not so much.

Johnny and I had failed to put down a protective tarp over the concrete deck and we got plaster-of-Paris all over the patio. I thought it was no big deal as I would just wash it off with water. That was another gross miscalculation. The clean up work effort far exceeded that of the project. I can’t remember how either project was received by the elders in the science community but a “Gentleman’s C” would have been liberal. And in retrospect, we must have made a mess out of Frank Janella’s basement floor, something that I don’t remember being addressed at the time. Fair to say that my career as a volcano builder was in serious question.

I’ve come to believe that there are lessons to be learned in nearly every endeavor of life. They say if you continually repeat the same mistake, and expect a different result, you define insanity. Giving myself the benefit of the doubt, I’ll attribute the error of my ways to adolescent foolishness. In my adult life, I’ve managed to remain volcano-free, although admittedly, I’ve destroyed a fair quantity of my own clothes through thoughtlessness. This is a fact that my exasperated wife will easily attest to. I do believe that I demonstrate the axiom “those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it”. But then I repeat myself.