Mr. Nutter, at George Dewey High School at Subic Bay in the PI who taught Spanish, took exception when I shouted out (unsolicited) in class "¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!". I sure did dislike Mr. Nutter after that, but...I think I disliked him anyway.
The other time, which really hurt, was because I was talking in science class. Mr. Woods had been a Marine (probably in Korea) and was a really impressive guy. Probably about five and a half feet tall, four horizontal lines across his furrowed forehead, dark brown tanned skin, and forearms that were the most muscular I had ever seen. He was the baseball coach. He had a paddle with holes in it, and he held it like a baseball bat as I had my ankles grabbed, watching from between my legs as he slowly mock swung it a few premonitory times, much like a batter in the batter box waiting for a pitch. On the third swing, he whacked, and it stung enough to make me dig my fingers into my buttocks in pain and let out a yelp.
Thing was, I never held it against Mr. Woods. He was very soft spoken, never raised his voice, and on day one of his class, he laid down his classroom rules and the penalties for not obeying them. And he was consistent and fair, always following through with his stated punishments. (besides being a good teacher) I broke his rules...and I deserved it.
That was the last time I was paddled in school.
Now, I did have a shop teacher, who all of us guys just loved, who put my fingers in a vice. I didn't blame him for that, either. A classmate and I were putting fountain pen cartridges in a vise and making them explode. It was making quite a mess, as you can guess. (I know, it is completely brain-dead and stupid, but...I wasn't a bright kid. I wasn't a bad kid, just kind of stupid and brainless on occasion. This was one of them.
I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I looked around and saw Mr. Stauffer with his missing fingers (from a table saw accident) and his black plastic glasses as he stood behind me. He didn't raise his voice, but as he spoke quietly to me, he took his hand off my shoulder, gently took my hand, and placed it in the vice. He began to close the vise (one of those big, wood-lined vises used to hold a piece of wood) as he said "You know, a shop environment can be a very dangerous place. People get hurt when they horse around, and sometimes..."
Now, he didn't close it tight, but just enough to make me wonder for a second or two how tight it was really going to get.
I must say, I loved him for that. It gave me a great story to tell as an adult, and...he got his point across.
Now, my brother got caught horsing around in his class, and he sent him to the woodpile to get a piece of wood to be hit on the butt with, and my smart-ass brother came back with a six foot long two by four.
Mr. Stauffer hit him on the butt with it...:)
The last time I was paddled in school I had told this girl in my class that her living bra died of starvation. She started crying and I found myself in the principles office.
He asked me what I had said to the girl and I told him. He started cracking up laughing. When he stopped laughing he asked me where I heard that from. I told him last night on the Carol Burnett show.
He paddled me hard. I never said that to a girl again.