Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

The Tribute

Mrs. Paula Benson, the forty-two-year-old cafeteria manager of Ridgemont High School, had come to the end of the line with her job. It was her ninth year with the school, and still the administration hadn’t favored her with a policy change. A decade ago, then Vice-Principal William Gray had decided that the cafeteria was the best training spot for retarded and handicapped students hoping to make an entrance into the mainstream. The idea caught on. For nine years Mrs. Benson had been helping the handicapped help themselves help her.

A next-door neighbor had planted a terrible thought in Mrs. Benson’s head: “Paula, you are the same age now that Elvis Presley was when he died. You take care of yourself.” Mrs. Benson looked in the mirror and saw a woman much older than her years. She decided to quit Ridgemont.

As she explained to Ray Connors on the Friday before Easter vacation, it was not that she minded working with the disabled. She was just tired of all the students, and it was about time that she “started keeping her own house clean.”

Ray Connors took a look at this woman, this quiet soul who had summoned all her courage to make this decision, and rewarded her, typically, with a promotion to area manager. It was a job that involved her traveling to all the local schools and working with all the handicapped students in all the cafeterias. With the promise of a small raise to go along with the new title, a tired and wan Paula Benson reported to her last day at Ridgemont High School.

She had heard the loud screeching noises from as far away as the parking lot. As she drew closer, she realized with no small terror that all the racket was coming from—my God—the cafeteria.

She entered through the side door. It was an incredible sight—there had to be thirty young men in Afro hairdos or wigs, all carrying amplified guitars. Wearing scarves. They looked to her with hope.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“We answered the ad,” said one boy. A red scarf was tied around his thigh. “For the tribute.”

“What ad?”

“Oh, man. You mean you don’t know about it either?”

“I’m the cafeteria manager. I’m afraid I don’t know about any of this. Who let you in here?”

Another boy produced a scrap of paper from the local Reader. “Look at this!”

It read: THIS MONDAY MORNING, 7:00 A.M., all-day auditions begin for HENDRIX, an Off-Broadway tribute to the greatest guitarist of all time. Big money commitment. Performances across the country. Must be able to look and perform like the great Jimi Hendrix. Report to cafeteria at Ridgemont High School. Be early!

“But there ain’t nothing around here got to do with Hendrix,” complained the kid.

Three more Hendrix lookalikes appeared at the doorway holding amplifiers. “This where the tribute is?”

Then it dawned on Mrs. Benson. The last time someone pulled a prank like this was about three years ago . . . to the day. April first.

“Gentlemen,” said Mrs. Benson, “I think this is someone’s idea of an April Fool’s Day joke.”

“Motherfu . . .”

“Hey,” said another kid. “Jimi would have wanted us to play all day!”

“Let’s get a P.A. in here!”

The Jimi Hendrix imitators set up camp in the cafeteria. More kept arriving all morning. They had jammed for an hour and a half before Lt. Flowers pulled the electricity switch. During lunch time he visited the various troublemakers of the school and grilled them as they bit into their sandwiches.

“Do you know who is responsible for this action in the cafeteria?”

“I don’t know, Lt. Flowers. I heard it was Steven Miko.”