Winter school cancellations, 1970s style

We're getting our first significant snowfall of the season here in central Maine and school has been cancelled in the district that employs my wife Liz. Nowadays, school administrators have several ways of getting the word out about cancellations, including social media, but such was not the case back in the early 1970s, when I worked at the local radio station in my small Massachusetts hometown.

I was the morning news guy in those days, and one of my tasks during winter storms was to broadcast announcements of closings and delays. If school superintendents in our area decided there would be no school or a late start-up, they would call me, identify themselves and give me a closely guarded password to prove that they were who they claimed to be. They'd then give me the particulars, which I'd add to my list for the next round of on-air announcements.

One morning, while snow was falling lightly, I got a cancellation call. The caller, who had the squeaky voice of a young boy, did not identify himself. He did not claim to be the superintendent in his school district. And he certainly didn't offer up a password. All he said, in a high-pitched voice he vainly hoped would sound convincing, was: "Hi. There's no school today in" such and such a town. (All these years later, I don't remember where he was calling from.)

I thanked him, and we both hung up. Of course, his "cancellation" never made it onto the air. Classes were held in his district. I still wonder, from time to time, if this kid became a "Nigerian prince" who prowls the Internet trying to steal the identities and the savings of the unsuspecting. Maybe he went straight after realizing that day that he just wasn't cut out for a life of crime.