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    I got voted "Did Most To the School" by my high school senior class, with a corresponding picture in the yearbook. Toms River High School, class of '69.
    This title was awarded to me in part because of a prank I had pulled, in which I had poured a quart of bubble bath into the courtyard fountain. I can't remember what gave me the idea to do this, but I bought the large bottle of bubble bath the previous night, poured it all into a wide-mouth jar (to ensure a quick deployment when the time came), and I carried the jar to school under my coat the next morning. Ducking out of lunch period early, I dashed to my locker, then I contrived to walk briskly through the school's outdoor courtyard when no one else was there, dumping the scented goop into the gurgling basin of the fountain.
    In a short time, the fountain was foaming up beautifully, and when classes changed after the next period, there was a minor riot outside as students frolicked and threw the billowing foam at each other. Due to these unplanned revels in the fine spring sunshine, many students ended up being late for next period's classes. Not me, though. Mum's the word. Although I did manage to be "passing through" after the following period, and I noticed sadly that the foam seemed to be slumping a bit. Even so, the event created something of a buzz that day.
    I had a confidant or two, (or three; I would not make a very good intelligence agent) and I suppose that one of them must have been blabbing, because towards the end of the day, some fink who should not have known anything, ratted me out to Mr. Smith (Earth science and Biology teacher). Mr. Smith himself, with the help of his Earth Science class, was the one who had lovingly designed, built and maintained the fountain project. So Mr. Smith came storming into my last-period class in front of my astonished teacher and classmates, and hauled me down to the office, to be judged and sentenced by our stern principal Mr. Donald.
    My [fitting] punishment ended up being that I had to stay after school, and bail out the fountain with a paper cup.
    This I did, under the baleful glare of Mr. Smith, carrying each cupful of suds a long walk out to the woods behind the school. Eventually, he relented and brought me buckets, mops, squeegees and sponges, to do a proper workmanlike job of the cleanup.

    So when graduation time came on, I got the nod for the previously mentioned distinction, according to vote. (My lovely confederate in the photo, Patti, never gave me any specific reason for why she got voted to share our title, just that she was "sometimes rowdy". Apparently she would make a better intelligence agent than me.) The yearbook staff let us know that they wanted to take a photo, and I got the idea for the set-up that you see in the above shot. I made the "detonator" out of a shoebox, painted black. Not quite visible in the photo, the detonator cable is going under the door, which bears the title, "John Donald, Principal". The old bulldog had a good sense of humor.
    One more thing: notice in the second sentence of this story, the phrase "in part" because of a prank..  Yes, but that would be a whole other story.

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