The day it rained pennies from Heaven in Davis, California

Running for office in junior high school is not for the faint of heart

Back in my carefree days at Davis Junior High School, which was a major part of my life in 7th, 8th and 9th grade, my deep love of numbers convinced me I should really run for the esteemed office of Student Body Treasurer. I didn't know how much cash was involved, but the thought of counting all those nickels and dimes and quarters was compelling.

The major problem with this desire was my shyness was so intense that I was certain I would be unable to stand on the stage, especially as a new 7th-grader, in front of the entire student body and tell them why they should vote for me over the other six candidates who also wanted to be Student Body Treasurer.

I was one of those backward kids who always had to sit at the back of the classroom so I could be sure no one was looking at me. If it were possible, I would have preferred to be invisible.

When the dreaded day came, I bravely climbed up on the stage at the old gymnasium we shared with Davis High School and said something like, "Hi, I'm Bob Dunning, and you really should vote for me for treasurer because I can do double-digit multiplication in my head."

I got three votes in the election the next day. Mine, my sister Jo's (she was in ninth grade) and I think my brother Jay's (an eighth grader). I say "I think" because sibling rivalry being what it was, he may well have voted for someone else.

I came in sixth, but will not reveal the name of No. 7 to avoid any possibility of a defamation lawsuit.

Undeterred, the next fall at the start of 8th grade I again announced my intention to run for Student Body Treasurer of Davis Junior High School.

My campaign manager, who could have won this thing easily if he had wanted to run, came up with a large poster that boldly proclaimed "Dunning is Stunning, that's why he's Running" and taped it to the outside wall next to the principal's office without my knowledge.

A bit embarrassing to say the least, but I was indeed running even if I was in no way stunning.

I prepared a satirical speech that I stole from Abe Lincoln that began "Four score and seven years ago, our poor teachers brought forth on this concrete slab a new junior high school, conceived at the Vienna Bakery and dedicated to the proposition that all Davis students are above average."

It went on ad nauseam until one of the teachers leaning against the gym wall began some polite applause to let me know it was time to get off the stage.

I doubled my vote count that time but still came in well short of victory.

The first day of 9th grade came around quickly and I had a long conversation with my dad about how my Little League and Babe Ruth League batting averages were better than what I was batting as a young politician. He basically encouraged me not to run, especially since my older siblings had already moved on and would no longer be around to pad my vote total. I think he thought I might get shut out and would have to be home-schooled.

For some reason that I don't understand to this very day, I went against my dad's advice and declared once again my candidacy for Treasurer of Davis Junior High School.

My campaign manager had since moved to Woodland, so there would be no more embarrassing signs installed next to the principal's office.

I ran through the alphabet for words other than "Stunning" that would rhyme with "Dunning," but Cunning, Funning, Gunning and Punning simply didn't work no matter how you arranged them.

But then I hit it on something that ended up being far more magical than I could possibly have imagined. I guess if you look long enough in a dark, damp forest, sooner or later you'll find a truffle.

I took a twenty dollar bill and five dollars worth of quarters downtown to the Bank of America and asked the kind teller for 50 rolls of pennies. At 50 pennies per roll, I had 2,500 bright and shiny uncirculated coins all together in a strong white burlap bag with draw strings.

No more nervous speeches. No more trying to parody Abraham Lincoln. I had a plan that I thought would work.

When my turn came on the stage, I approached the microphone with an odd feeling of confidence that this time I would finally succeed, mixed with so much nervousness that I wanted to throw up, go home and never come back to school again.

"Hello," I said to silence and several front-row yawns.

"My name is Bob Dunning and if you elect me treasurer of your school, I WON’T THROW YOUR MONEY AWAY."

As I extended the word "THROW" to at least 10 seconds, I reached deep into that burlap bag and grabbed as many coins as my 14-year-old right hand could carry and flung them wildly into the school-wide audience seated in row after row of folding chairs all the way to the back of the gym.

By the third "THROW," everyone was standing and screaming and scrambling for coins on the floor as if they were chasing a Mickey Mantle home run ball in Yankee Stadium.

Chairs were knocked over, scuffles broke out and the roar of the crowd could be heard all the way to Dixon as 7th, 8th and 9th-grade students yelled "More, More, More."

When my bag was finally empty and the damages were assessed, we had four broken legs, three concussions, one cracked front tooth, one bruised funny bone and pretty much every teacher in attendance had a heart attack.

I realized as I descended into the crowd to a hero's welcome that this was one of those magical moments in one's life that will never be forgotten. Right up there with the first time you tasted ice cream.

I won in a landslide.

For the next nine months I served proudly and nobly as the Student Body Treasurer during the well-supervised meetings we held monthly over macaroni-and-cheese and chocolate milk in the school cafeteria.

When it came my turn to report how much money the student body had in our humble bank account, I always revealed the amount in pennies.

And to think, every one of those 2,500 pennies from long ago is still somewhere on this earth today.

I suspect I may have one or two myself, tucked away with other fond memories in an old dresser drawer somewhere.

Abandoned, but not forgotten.

Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com.