Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

One day Waverly had us read out loud a poem called “The Death of a Toad.” This poet named Wilbur (not the same guy who could talk to Mr. Ed) ran over a frog with his lawn mower, but, as he watched it, he couldn’t tell whether it was alive or dead. Leah must have really been affected. In her next class, Biology Lab, she refused to dissect a frog because, like Wilbur, she couldn’t be sure whether it was living or deceased. Of course Whitley, who was always afraid something would happen to Delbert, sided with Leah. Principal Pike, on the other hand, sided with Mr. Feathers, the lab teacher, and both my friends got Saturday detention.

When Waverly heard about this development in class the next day, he was upset. He went on for almost the entire period about “correspondences,” which at first I thought was a big word for letters, but our new leader explained it was really “the one life shared by human nature and Mother Nature.” Even when we didn’t know what Waverly was talking about, we had to admit that coming from his mouth it sure sounded good. What could we do about Principal Pike’s punishment of our friends? Waverly told us to meet him a half-hour before school started at the main entrance.

Well, as the sun was rising — “rosy-fingered,” Waverly called it — he had us sit down in a line in front of the doorway. We interlocked our arms as if we were doing a sit-down version of a square-dance reel. Since it was kind of boring just squatting there, Waverly began to play a tune on his guitar and taught us the words. When Principal Pike and the rest of our teachers arrived, they couldn’t get through a human chain singing “We Shall Overcome.” I have to admit it was fun watching Howie’s father try to lift us as we went limp. We all got off with a stern warning and an hour’s lecture, but Howie’s rear end was too sore to stage another sit-in for at least a week.

What doesn’t break you, Waverly taught us, makes you stronger. We began to hang out together more. At lunch we refused the hospital food of the caféteria and sat outside under the big walnut tree with our teacher. Now most of us had grown up eating meat and potatoes, catfish and slaw, but not him. We were willing to try his nuts and raisins, but stopped short of that foul-smelling bean dip.

On Saturday, Waverly decided we needed a show of “solidarity” with “our brothers and sisters in detention,” so he parked his Volkswagen van outside their classroom, took out some supplies he had bought at Whitley’s father’s hardware store, and invited us to help him with a new paint job. Well, Principal Pike couldn’t stand us having fun together — or maybe it was the loud music. Waverly’s radio picked up the Lexington stations, and while we painted, green mostly, we listened to music whose real meaning he explained. In The Association’s song “Along Comes Mary,” he pointed out that Mary was a sort of code word for marijuana. When the Byrds got through singing, he asked us what we thought a tambourine man was. Most of us were certain it was a musician, but he said that the song’s original writer, Bob Dylan, used it as a “metaphor” for a coke dealer.

Of course that’s the moment Sheriff Bowles shows up in his spanking-new police car like they drive on Adam-12. He hears what Waverly says, spits out a wad of tobacco, and says he doesn’t think the song is some commercial for Coca-Cola. Waverly says no — that “coke” is slang for something people snort. Then, I swear to God, the sheriff looks at him strangely, scoffs, and challenges him: “Well, smartie, how do they keep the Coke bottle from getting stuck in their noses?”

Now we’ve all lived in Clement County our entire lives, but we know a little about drugs. After all, during the 1940s they used to raise hemp down on the Kentucky River for the war effort, and there are a lot of those plants down there that can still produce some high-quality highs. We can’t contain ourselves and break out laughing.

Undeterred, the sheriff begins circling Waverly’s van, on which we’ve painted a lot of green hoppers. “Boy,” he says to Waverly, “what do you call this thing?”

“That,” says J.D. proudly while I’m humming the Batman theme song, “is the Toadmobile.”

“It’ll be towed, all right,” says the sheriff, grabbing the squad car’s microphone, “soon as I can get Barger’s Wrecker Service over here.” Then Sheriff Bowles does the harshest thing to us he could.

He calls for a meeting of WACK.