Mr. Klutz Is Nuts!

second any grown-up tells her to instead of waiting as long as possible, like a normal kid.
    “Couldn’t we just write one essay for the whole class?” I asked Miss Daisy. “That would be a lot easier.”
    Mr. Klutz’s voice came out of the loudspeaker again. “I know some of you will ask if you can write a class essay. The answer is no. If you want to see me shinny up the flagpole, each student must write their own essay. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it. And I’ll tell you what. When we have all the essays, I will send them to the president to read.
    Have a nice day.”
    The thought of the president of the United States reading our personal words was pretty cool, I had to admit. Everybody finished their Election Day essays so quickly, we were done a week before Election Day. Some kids (like Andrea) even wrote two essays.
    On the morning of Election Day, all the students and teachers gathered on the grass in front of the school. Mr. Klutz came out of the door. He was wearing a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume.
    He also had on sneakers and one of those harnesses that lumberjacks use to climb trees. His leg was all better and he didn’t walk with a cane anymore.
    We all let out a roar when Mr. Klutz started to shinny up the flagpole. I was a little afraid that he was going to fall and break his leg or something, but he didn’t.
    For a principal, he was a good climber!
    When he got to the top, we all recited the Pledge of Allegience with him. Then everybody let out a cheer.
    When he was sliding down the flagpole, Mr. Klutz got his foot caught in the rope that holds the flag. As he was trying to get his foot loose, his hand slipped and he fell. The next thing we knew, Mr. Klutz was hanging upside down from the flagpole. His Uncle Sam hat fell off.
    Everybody gasped.
    Mr. Klutz was just hanging there, half-way up the flagpole, like he was another flag or something. It would have been the funniest thing in the history of the world if we didn’t honestly think Mr.Klutz was going to fall and land on his head.

    “Help!” he shouted. “My foot is caught in the rope!”
    “Quick! Get some pads from the gym for him to land on!” yelled Mrs. Roopy, the school librarian.
    “Call the fire department!” yelled Mrs. Cooney, the nurse. Everybody was running around like crazy, and nobody  knew what to do. It looked like Mr. Klutz would have to just hang there from the flagpole all day.
    “He’ll figure a way out of this,” I told the kids in my class. “When the blood rushes to his head, it helps him think.” 
    But it was Miss Daisy who came up with a great idea. She went over to the bottom of the flagpole, where the rope is tied up. She took the knot out and held both ends of the rope tight. Then, slowly and carefully, she began to let out some rope and lower Mr. Klutz down the flagpole, just like he was a regular flag.
    When he reached the bottom, the teachers caught him and loosened the rope from his foot. He was okay, he said, except for the rope burns on his leg.
    “Hooray for Miss Daisy!” our class cheered. After he was back on the ground, Mr. Klutz got up, brushed himself off, and walked up the front steps, like it was totally normal for a principal to hang upside down from a flagpole.
    Mr. Klutz is nuts!

“Your Election Day essays were fantastic,” Mr. Klutz told our class the next morning.
    He had a big bandage wrapped around his head. I’m guessing he must have either crashed his skateboard again or found another flagpole to fall off.
    “Thank you!” we all said.

    “But I was a little surprised by the number of spelling errors I found in them,” he continued. “We need to improve the spelling at our school. So here is what I have decided to do. If you students can write out a list of one hundred thousand spelling words by Thanksgiving, I will dress up in a turkey costume and ride a pogo stick down Main Street.”
    “Yayyyyyyy!” everybody hollered.
    “How about one thousand spelling words?” shouted Ryan.
    “One hundred thousand spelling words,” Mr. Klutz repeated. “That’s my final offer.
    Take it or leave it. And every word must be spelled correctly. Have a nice day.” During lunch, I was sure that Andrea was going to start her list of spelling words just to show how smart she was.
    But she didn’t. She just kind of sat there, picking at her food quietly.
    “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she finally said. “I’m beginning to