 occurs at Madison High School, and it often does, you can get the lowdown from our Miss Brooks who teaches English there. She always knows which way the wind is blowing. The biggest wind usually blows from the office of our beloved principal, Mr. Conklin. Whenever he directs his huffing and puffing at me, and he often does, all I can do is batten my hatches and yell, blow me down. And he often does. Last Thursday, for example, when we observed visitors' day at Madison, Mr. Conklin arbitrarily ordered me to spend the noon hour directing visitors through the school, instead of merely wasting my time eating lunch. Next morning I answered the phone at seven o'clock, and once again the voice of the turtle was heard throughout the room. On the double, I have a little chore for you, Miss Brooks. But, Mr. Conklin, can't it wait until I've had breakfast? Don't be selfish. That's later. Walter Denton picked me up, and we headed for school. Hallelujah, what a glorious day! Oh, what a beautiful moor! Going the other way, Walter. Slow down. Slow down? Well, you're not in a hurry to see Mr. Conklin. That's the understatement of the year. Slower, Walter. There are more pedestrians coming up, or going down, as the case may be. I can't stand its pedestrians. Why don't they get a car and defend themselves? It must be another European. They're all over town, Miss Brooks. I don't get it. Well, evidently, you haven't been reading the papers. A large group sailed over as a unit to see America. Yesterday our mayor gave them the keys to the city. The way they drive, he must have given them the keys to a saloon. I don't understand why there were so many foreigners rubber-necking in our classrooms on visitors' day, Miss Brooks. There must have been hundreds of them. At least. My classroom looked like Ellis Island with blackboards. A group that included several Irishmen, Miss Brooks, and although most of them were perfect gentlemen, there was one fellow who told Mr. Boynton he didn't know the first thing about teaching biology. Well, he became so insulting and right in front of the students that Mr. Boynton finally had to just kick him out. Well, I'm not surprised. I had the same trouble with a temperamental French woman. Without provocation, she vehemently ridiculed my teaching methods and then went on to call Mr. Conklin a big fat pig. A big fat pig? Say when she called him a fat pig. Well, luckily he wasn't there. She merely referred to him in those terms. But I think it's rude and disrespectful of you to find the matter amusing, Walter. After all, Mr. Conklin is our principal. I'm sorry, Miss Brooks. What did you say when she called Mr. Conklin a fat pig? Nothing. I was laughing so hard who could talk? Well, I'm on sort of a request diet, sir. A request diet? Yes, sir. Whenever I get a chance to eat, you request me to do something else. You're calling me here so early this morning prevented my having breakfast. But now, now, now you ought to thank me for helping you to keep slim, my dear. If the day should ever arrive when Mr. Boynton sums up the courage to put his arm around you, you wouldn't want to be fat now, would you? Well, no. But I'd still want something less that he could get a grip on. Well, of course that isn't the point. I've been working very hard, Mr. Conklin. Haven't we all? Visitors' Day just about knocked me out. God, I never saw such weird characters. Particularly a Swedish chap who had the audacity to tell me how to run my office. Well, I didn't wish to appear rude, so I gently escorted him to the door and gave him a healthy boot in the pants, calculated to fell an arch. Kicked him out? Literally. My punting days at old Rutgers stood me in good stead, Ms. Brooks. They didn't call me Tricky-toes-Ozgood for nothing. It's for me to belittle the talents of your toes, Mr. Conklin. But unless you summoned me here for something more urgent than to play this little piggy went to market, I'd like to eat. Oh, you are impatient, aren't you? Well, I'll tell you why I summoned you, and then you may bite me if you wish. Last night, Mr. Henry Newton flew in from Washington. Mr. Newton happens to be a distinguished member of the National Board of Education, Ms. Brooks. And in as much as you are faculty advisor to our paper of the school, I want you to get out a special addition in his honor. He's that important? Yes, he is. So to borrow a rather humorous expression from my old army buddies, Mr. Newton is as top brass as a doorknob in the Pentagon. I see. And you'd like to polish the doorknob. Exactly. You will run over to journalism at once and write a brilliant editorial under the name of our good Conklin. In it, you will heap lavish praise on Mr. Newton for his sterling achievements and outstanding success. Oh, good morning. Well, Mr. Stone, you know the illustrious head of our Board of Education, Ms. Brooks. Oh, certainly. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Stone, I've got to run over to journalism and write a story on Henry Newton. And by all means, stick around. I might be able to contribute some interesting facts to that story. Oh, splendid. You may state, for example, that Mr. Newton is a champion of international unification of teaching methods. Teachers in other lands simply do not understand our methods, nor do we understand theirs. Perfectly true. What do we have in common that men of all nations can understand? Outside of Marilyn Monroe, I can't think of a thing. That's rather amusing, Ms. Brooks. Is it Ozgood? Yes, sir. She said outside of Marilyn Monroe. Yeah, we're saying so. Oh, so strongly does Mr. Newton advocate the exchanging of ideas among our teachers and those of other countries that he flew in from Washington for the sole purpose of addressing a delegation of school officials and teachers who are now visiting America intent on studying our teaching methods firsthand. These dignitaries from abroad included the Honorable Frank McTeague and Madame Michelle LeBoucher. Well, Mr. Stone, if Mr. McTeague and Madame LeBoucher should care to visit our school, we'll certainly make them feel at home. When they were here yesterday, you and Mr. Boynton kicked them out. How dare you insult our good neighbors, Ms. Brooks? Oh, shut up, Ozgood. The chap you insulted was Eric Stromstad, president of public schools for all Scandinavia. Mamma Mia! Hey, they don't call him tricky toes. Ozgood for now. It has prevailed upon me to write a letter of introduction to Mr. Newton. They intend to meet him at lunch and officially protest the treatment they received at your hand. Well, sir, if you could perhaps tell Mr. Newton... I can tell him nothing. As a member of the National Board, his powers far exceed mine. You have stepped on the toes of his pet project and in so doing, you may well have committed occupational suicide. Yeah. You mean he might have our jobs? Under similarly grave circumstances, he has forced the dismissals of many teachers. Oh, teachers. Oh, well, I'll be sorry to see you and Mr. Boynton go, Ms. Brooks. Please, Mr. Conflin. As for Mr. Boynton, his actions were entirely justified. Mr. McTeague insulted him in the presence of his student. As never the less. And as for Madame LeBouche, well, I had to get rid of her. She was disrupting my classroom. But that is no excuse. And she called you a big fat pig. The guillotine would be too good for her, can't it? Tuberous nature compels me to spring to the defense of American womanhood. If Mr. Newton should discharge this poor woman, this poor teacher you see cringing before you. He's been known to fire not only teachers, but principles as well. Principles too? Mrs. Stone, if I should lose my job. Never mind her, she's just a woman. I'm a married man with child. Nothing. It means that you were guilty of shocking misconduct. Miss Brooks, Osgood, when those foreign dignitaries informed Mr. Newton of the shabby treatment you extended them, you may rest assured that heads will roll. Mr. Boynton's in the next alley. With the threat of unemployment hanging over our heads, like the sword of Damocles, Mr. Boynton and I treached into the school cafeteria at noon and joined Walter Denton at his table. Since none of us was in the conversational mood, we sat there in funereal silence, grimly scooping up our food. Tombstone and sit down. Dad telling me about it. Son, he said, I lost my job. Like father, like son. Dignitaries are having lunch with Mr. Newton and sealing our professional doom. Pretty soon it'll all be over. Honey, go with the information that Mr. Newton had just received a telegram from Madame Le Boucher, the Honorable Frank Matigue and Eric Stromstad. In it, they vilified us but good, vividly recounting the harrowing events of yesterday. And Mr. Newton knows the whole story. He does, and may heaven have mercy on us. Newton, that having lunch with him could serve no valid purpose, but the brutal facts contained in the telegram could speak for themselves. What can we do? Where can we go? Honey. Gosh. Get. They say Siberia is lovely at this time of the year. Perhaps if we could meet those people again and try to reason with them. Too late. Shortly after Mr. Stone had hung up, Madame Le Boucher called me. She said, and I quote, I and the Messieurs Matigue and Stromstad have decided to return to our homelands where people are cultured and we are leaving at once and bon voyage, you big fat pig. To wait for the official acts to fall. Well, this is it. Funny. I wish I were a gorilla. Eh? Sounds kind of silly, I guess. Not to me it doesn't. I wish every girl were a gorilla. Then we, the weaker sex, would have a fighting chance in this world in which the survival of the fittest is the rule. As gorillas, we'd have power. There we'd be foraging for ourselves, growing our own fur coats, needing nothing but a banana, a coconut, and a place to hang our tails. It might save your necks. Supposing one of those three dignitaries was to visit Mr. Newton at his hotel and act just as brazen and repulsive as he or she did yesterday. Then the guy might understand why you were forced to boot him out. Are you bucking for a padded cell, too, then? In the first place, Madame Le Boucher told me all three of them were leaving town at once. You know that, Mr. Conklin, but Mr. Newton doesn't. And besides, it's a sin she's never met them or else they wouldn't have asked Mr. Stone to write a letter of introduction. Yeah, I'm merely suggesting a little masquerade, sir. Heck, with all the costumes we got in Dramatics Club, one of you could look Irish or French or anything. Oh, that's preposterous, Walter. Not preposterous, just drastic. And if you don't think a situation like this... Oh, shut up. This calls for drastic action. Close your fuzz-crested upper lip, boy. I have to make it clear that our only hope lies in Mr. Newton's allowing a cooling-off period before taking any action. Time is the great healer. Excuse me, folks. Daddy. What is it, Harry? Well, I've been taking messages in your office and Mr. Stone just telephoned. He said he'd been contacted by Mr. Newton, who's called an emergency meeting at the board for tomorrow morning. An emergency meeting? Yes, Miss Brooks. He said, at that meeting, Mr. Newton will recommend the summary dismissal of you and Mr. Boynton and Daddy. Tomorrow morning. Funny. Gosh. Gabb. Again. Funny. Never thought it could happen to me. Me, a poor teacher, deprived of a livelihood by another woman. A wealthy woman at that. How I envied her the fur coat she was wearing. She didn't grow it herself. Must have paid thousands of dollars for it. At a time like this, that's a strange thing to envy her for, Miss Brooks. Anyway, you have a fur coat of your own. Not anymore. Last night, it woke up and walked back to the kennel. And will constitute a quorum at our board meeting in the morning, Mr. Newton. I am not pleased. Conklin, Boynton and Miss Brooks have struck a vicious blow at my efforts on behalf of international goodwill and unity among educators, Mr. Stone. I want the maximum membership of that meeting. Call everyone. Very well, Mr. Newton. Excuse me, I'll use the phone in your bedroom. Bonjour, monsieur. Permit me to make the introduction. I am Madame Le Boucher. Ah, well, what a delightful surprise to meet you, Madame Le Boucher. You must come in. And tell me all about your horrible experience with Miss Brooks, my dear. I am Mr. Newton. You are Mr. Newton? But I expect to meet a pleasant-looking man. You are a big fat pig. You are a bachelor, monsieur. And now I can understand why. Suck my blues. Such a stupid face. Who could marry? I have been married to a lovely woman for 10 years and never have I... Of course. She probably wouldn't let you kiss her. First, realize this woman married you for your money. What? Now see here, if these brazen remarks are a sample of what you gave Miss Brooks... Oh, please. Do not mention that blockhead of a woman. You must discharge Miss Brooks at once because I am insult. Yesterday I am in her classroom. And when I kick her... Just a moment. Why did you kick her? Do I got to have a reason? I would like to know why did you kick Miss Brooks? Because she is a big fat pig. That may be true. But surely she must have said something of an insinuating or insulting nature to provoke your action. Oh, she did. She told me to stop throwing her students out the window. Throwing children out the window? Only the small ones. The big ones I couldn't lift. Stromstad, he had the same embarrassing experience with Mr. Conklin. After he kicked Mr. Conklin... Just a moment. Why did he kick Mr. Conklin? Because he is a big fat pig. And I mean it. We do not like big fat pigs. Now you take my friend Frank McTig. He kicked Mr. Boynton. Why? Because he is a skinny pig. Not like skinny pigs. So you see, Mr. Newton, if you could get it through your thick skull to understand... I'm beginning to understand a lot of things, madam. Come in. Yes? You've been humanist. Mr. Stromstad, a moment ago I was shocked to learn that you kicked Mr. Conklin yesterday. Conklin, that knuckle-headed brainless oaf. Yes, he kicked him good. Tricky toes, Eric, from Madame Le Boucher. Oh, yes, yes. He used to make him hair from V-pipes. Now look, I don't approve of Mr. Stromstad. Then the wrestle. Japanese style. Represent at your case to me. You know what you stated in your telegram. No, we do not, monsieur. You see, when we wrote this telegram, we are loaded. And Pierre. People are insane. Back of me, hand to the front of your face. Oh, McTig. You remember me, Madame Le Boucher? And of course, this gentleman here with the alpine jacket and the bare knees is Bane Eric Stromstad. Eric Stromstad? You? Oh, that's the silliest cast whom I ever saw. Shut up, you yak-ass. Decided not to press charges against Miss Brooks, Mr. Conklin and Mr. Pointon. This is a terrible blow. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Those calls, Mr. Newton, and I... Sacre bleu. Jumpe in yeumini. In support. Sacre bleu again. Excuse me. I've got to get back to France. I left a roast in the oven. What's the meaning of this masquerade? A masquerade. Probably this time of year. Pointon was about to fire us on the spot. A miracle happened. He received an acidly-phrased telegram from Madame Le Boucher, which so infuriated the distinguished gents that he gave us his blessings and sent us on our way. But when Mr. Pointon drove me home, I was still so nervous that I had some difficulty in finding the doorbell. What's the matter, Miss Brooks? You need glasses? Glasses? Oh, no. It's just nerves, Mr. Pointon. Oh, here's the bell. Mrs. Davis isn't home, but her sister Angela will let us in. Mr. Pointon? Hi, Miss Devon. Oh, what a day we've had, Angela. I can imagine. I've been terribly worried ever since you called me at noon to explain your predicament. Everything worked out okay. The thanks to a telegram Mr. Newton received from Madame Le Boucher. Yes, it was in the form of a poem. It said, I will tell General de Gaulle, you're the fattest pig of all. By the impish giggle, Angela. Oh, who? Madame Le Boucher didn't send that telegram, Connie. I did. This might help you out of your predicament. Angela, you're a doll. That calls for a big kiss.