It’s funny how a picture of food can bring back memories of a half century ago. But that’s exactly what happened when I saw one of those “remember this?” memes on social media. The legendary rectangular-shaped school cafeteria pizza. My guess is that about every Boomer and Gen-Xer in America remembers it.
I have no clue if Millennials or Gen-Zers got or get this culinary treat, but back in my day Pizza Day (as we called it) was worth not skipping school for. I doubt a student was ever sick on Pizza Day. Was that pizza really that good? Who knows? But for a generation who lived before or at the beginning of the advent of pizzerias and Italian restaurants (at least in Hog Town), school pizza was the bomb.
My first memory of school pizza is from my days at Phelps Road Elementary School in Madison Heights. In those days there was no “middle school.” When our schools were first integrated we Hog Towners went to Colony Road School for first through third grades, Phelps Road for fourth through seventh, Amherst Junior High for eighth, and then on to Amherst County High School where the Lancers reigned. We had School Pizza at every location!
During my elementary school career, I was best friends with Paul Fisher. We were inseparable. Both of us were quirky and shy, and neither of us fit into the mold of the popular. For some reason we hit it off and was a sort of dynamic duo. We may have been the only ones who rode bikes and sported suits to the seventh grade dance. Riding from his house in Lake View Subdivision to the old brick edifice on Phelps Road, we looked like a couple of Mormons. But I digress.
Being best friends with Paul had an added fringe benefit. His mom, known to us kids as Mrs. Fisher, was head of the school cafeteria. I can say it now these many decades later without getting anyone in trouble that my inside advantage as Paul’s pal got me an occasional free milk or ice cream sandwich. But dare she slip me an extra slice of the world’s best pizza? Well, not at school.
Paul and I used to sometimes sleep over at each other’s house, but I stayed in his home more than he in mine. His family was smaller and his mom was very hospitable. And guess what she made us for supper when we asked? You got it: school pizza! Now I’m thinking this was leftover stock simply reheated in the oven, but who cares? To eleven year old me, Mrs. Fisher was the best cook in the world. And honestly, those nights and sometimes weekends spent at Paul’s house made me feel like the king of the world.
As we advanced grades and the schools got larger, Paul and I didn’t see each other as much as we used to. But in our college days we went to the same church and picked up our childhood friendship without skipping a beat. Paul even helped me out of a fix when I had asked two girls (one who became my wife) for a date to the same event! But that’s another story.
Paul’s with Jesus now, but I’ll never forget him. And one thing is for sure; every time I see or eat a rectangular-sliced pizza I’ll think of my pal, Paul.
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