Prankdom

 

It is generally accepted that the classic Woodberry prank must have a high creativity to damage ratio. In a sociological phenomenon seemingly unique to Woodberry, all pranks are met with widespread communal approval or disapproval depending on where the prank plots on the creativity-damage diagram. This permits faculty to uncharacteristically enjoy highly creative pranks and students to frown upon peers who undertake harmful ones. Generations of Woodberry students/provocateurs have consistently continued to explore new and emerging trends in prankdom following this unwritten theory since the founding of the school. This spring (May 2015) will mark the 10th anniversary of the now highly influential 2005 "library teacher portrait swap out" prank, which allows us the opportunity to present a critical review. 

 

One early morning in late May, 2005, using the dime-in-the-doorjamb method (pennies were too big), several gumptious seniors stole into the library through the basement “secret garden” door. They then made their way upstairs to a janitor's closet outside the reading room, where they'd earlier discovered a portrait of the recently departed Director of Admissions, Brendan O'Shea, now the headmaster at Charleston Day School. With the help of a few more students waiting at the front door, they then removed from the library all forty portraits of faculty members reading their favorite books — e.g., "Chris Sprouse reads The Collected Poems of Wendell Berry”; “Ted Blain reads The Bear from Go Down Moses” — and hid them in the “Not an Exit” closet at the west end of Anderson Hall’s basement. The now empty wall along the computers next to the library office was adorned with O'Shea's portrait and a ransom note demanding he be left untouched for 24 hours before the portraits would be returned. With the cooperation of then Head Librarian Barbara May, who may or may not have been innocently blackmailed, O'Shea and his ransom hung, alone, throughout the next academic day.

 

As Dean of Students Mike Collins stormed through the usual hiding spots around campus looking for the missing portraits, our enterprising seniors were huddled in the Anderson basement closet, taping new books and titles over the faculty portraits with the intention of returning them the next morning. When the seniors returned that afternoon after class to make sure the portraits were ready to go for another early morning library break-in, they discovered that their military-trained adversary, Mr. Collins, had discovered the trove and locked the closet.

 

It was not just the portraits Mr. Collins had found in the basement that morning. He also had discovered a soon to be published anonymous manifesto/literary journal that was to include a lampooned, John Reimers-style grading of a letter sent by the parents of a recently expelled student pleading the case for his return. It was understandable that the Administration was a bit rattled by the discovery of this document, and Mr. Collins immediately contacted Mr. Blain of the English Department to see if he had any inkling as to who might be behind the covert publication. Mr. Blain, a clever man, did in fact have an inkling, and in this case, it was a correct assumption. The three students who were called before his desk that afternoon dejectedly confirmed his suspicions that they were behind not only the publication of the edited letter, but also the disappearance of the 40 faculty portraits.

 

This was quite a predicament for the pranksters. From their perspective, only half of the prank had been carried out, and they were in severe agreement that the second half of the prank was the coup de grace and must be enacted. The three students hunkered down in the back corner of Mr. Blain’s classroom and discussed their options. Mr. Blain, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed, stared from behind his desk. A bell rang in the hallway. A quietude that lay over Mr. Blain’s half of the classroom was met with the furor of whispering and conspiring in the other half. An initial plan was met with a counterplan, followed by an argument, then a counter argument. A tradeoff discussed, and parried. Each option was bounced around the triangle, taking ideas from one and edited by another. The plan was amalgamating. The minutes ticked by. Mr. Blain shifted in his chair.

Will the reader leave Mr. Blain’s classroom for a moment and return to the general theory of WFS prankdom in the opening paragraph and, more importantly, its implications. As stated above, faculty too can enjoy a prank as long as it maintains the high creativity to damage ratio. This simple but elegant deduction is at the crux of this story. For Mr. Blain, a reasonable man, was convinced by these students of the creative calculus to come and condoned the second half of the prank. The students had gambled that by disclosing the rest of the prank to a faculty member, its creativity to damage ratio would be so high as to turn Mr. Blain into a believer. It worked. Mr. Collins however, remained a formidable hurdle. 

 

We often credit our respective stints at WFS as the time and place when we learned life lessons critical to our development as men – principles such as integrity, honesty, and friendship. The life lesson learned at WFS that our conspiring seniors used that afternoon, however, was one of slightly less honorable proportions. Simple Politics 101 and the art of negotiation allowed this prank to press on.

 

Mr. Collins’s office, for those readers who missed the “SEE ME” years, was intimidating to say the least. First you had to wait in the antechamber, where Mrs. Collins would sweeten you up with campus gossip for five to ten minutes – just enough to make you almost forget the terror of what was to come, and more than enough for you to let your guard down. You’d hear your name suddenly from the adjoining office. You’d stand up, look to Mrs. Collins for one last plea of sympathy, and slowly walk into Mr. Collins office where he’d be seated in front of ten decorative swords hanging on the wall behind him. “One for each finger,” you thought to yourself as you sat down.

 

It was a similar experience that our seniors faced as they sat in that office and voluntarily (as advised by Mr. Blain) outed themselves as the perpetrators of that morning’s prank and the authors of the parodied letter. Mr. Collins voiced his displeasure with the whole situation, but surprisingly gave them credit for a prank with good taste. The students attempted a compassionate plea for the prank to continue using the method that worked for Mr. Blain. Mr. Collins considered and then denied the request. The students had one last chip, a glimmer of hope. They went all in. If they promised not to publish the doctored letter, and to hand over all copies that had been made, would Mr. Collins unlock the Anderson basement closet and let the prank proceed? He agreed.

 

Not since Jim Holliday and David Ho unfurled a flaming yoyo from a C-Dorm window in 1975 has a prank so reverberated in the school's collective consciousness. The next morning everyone was arguing over which edited book was the best – “Wallace Hornaday reads Motorcycle Monthly” or “Joe Fischer reads The Badass Bible” were a few contenders. Even Mr. O’Shea, whose portrait and ransom note constituted part one of the operation, had issued an endorsement from Charleston, SC. Mrs. May was gleefully taking pictures of each portrait. As was the intention, no portraits or persons were harmed in the production of the prank[1]. It was high and tight along the y-axis of our familiar plot. Credit to Mr. Blain, Mrs. May, and Mr. Collins for recognizing the harmless nature of the scheme and allowing it to continue. We urge all current and future WFS students to adhere to this principle.

 

Oh and the doctored letter? Yeah, we’ve got a digital copy of it if you want a laugh…

 

-Anonymous Authors from the Class of 2005

 

 

 

[1] Actually, the students did accidentally break Mr. Coleman’s portrait, but swapped his picture into Mr. O’Shea’s unbroken frame after he was returned to the closet.