Ft. Lauderdale Boarding School

I don’t think there were that many options when it came to schools that specialized in my learning issues (dyslexia). My parents concluded that the Mills School in Ft. Lauderdale Florida was the best option for an 8th grader that was way behind his contemporaries. It was a small school (somewhere around 100 students 8 through 12th grade) with small classes for more individual interaction with teachers.

I don’t think any of my classes had more than 10 kids. This school specialized in kids that had “issues” and learning disabilities. So, every kid there had some sort of learning issue. After being there a short time I learned that my issues were a cakewalk compared to some of the other kids there. It seemed like the majority of kids there were on mind-altering drugs like Lithium. I had the “Fish out of Water” feel there but this would be my life for the next two years. 

Jail Time

I’ve never spent any time in jail but I’m thinking that this place was like being in a minimum-security jail environment. Bedtime was at a certain time every night. You got up at a particular time in the morning. Everyone ate at the same time in the cafeteria. Your dorm rooms had to be kept up. In fact, there was an inspection every morning and the one of facility staff would inspect to make sure they were clean. One of the staff workers was really into the Rolling Stones. We made sure that when he walked into our dorm room we had Sympathy for the Devil teed up on the Pioneer turntable. As soon as he was about to walk in we cranked the Marantz speakers up to full blast. We always passed the inspection. 🤣

The Picnic Bench Crowd

I was a fish out of water in more ways than one at the Mills school. I was athletic and played sports so I pretty much identified as a “Jock. But Jocks were “Good boys.” I didn’t want to be a good boy I wanted to be a bad boy. 🤣 There was an oversized picnic table that was in what I’d call a courtyard area that was between the cafeteria and the dorms adjacent to the classrooms. The picnic table was where all the students would congregate on class breaks and lunch. You could probably fit 20 kids on the front and the back.

If you had permission from your parents you could smoke cigarettes there. When I went there in 8th grade I wasn’t a smoker. When I left I was. All the kids that didn’t have smoking privileges would hang out on the back side of the picnic bench. The front of the bench would be packed with older kids that had smoking privileges and they provided a wall so that if a facility member was walking by the bench they couldn’t see what was going on in the back.  

I don’t think they cared much anyway. I wanted to fit in so when one of the guys that was a smoker that didn’t have smoking privileges either saw me hangin out back there. I’m sure he could tell I was a weak link. He asked if I wanted to take a “Hit.” I was like, “Sure” acting like this wasn’t my first time smoking. The first puff I took I felt like I was going to cough my brains completely out of my head. You could hear me coughing all the way down to Miami. Once I stopped I asked if I could take another puff. I took about two more puffs. I didn’t cough like I did with the first puff. But I felt like I was on a merry-go-round at the amusement park going 100 mph around in circles. I started perspiring profusely and felt like I was going to throw up. I felt horrible.  

Prayer Time

I stumbled back to my dorm room and sat on the edge of my bed. I was sweating and spinning. I was nauseated and couldn’t believe what was going on. I was desperate because throwing up was like death to me. I think I might have prayed once in my life up until smoking that first cigarette. I prayed to God though; I was that desperate. “Please God, stop the spinning. It’s funny…I didn’t even believe in God but here I was praying. Quite the dichotomy. In about 15 minutes I was feeling fine. 

Conclusion

Boarding school was tough at first I’m sure. I say I’m sure because I don’t really remember much of the first few months there. I’m guessing I cried myself to sleep the first several nights. But I eventually found my stride and was able to fit in. I wasn’t in with the “right crowd” but they really didn’t have a right crowd there. Remember, this was predominately the sex, drugs, and rock and roll era. Being bad was Good!