A near catastrophe that might have killed the entire swim team.
We were all working out after school, sometime in '67-69, and a storm was passing through. We could here occasional thunder, but we were busy, and safe indoors at HTHSC. I was, as usual, the only backstroker among 30 teammates in the pool. We were all swimming distance repeats. Coach Watson was gone, and Punch was keeping a casual eye on us. When he became bored, he'd often get his 12' aluminum rescue pole and hold it down, then cap it with his palm. Then he'd quickly draw the pole up about 6', and lift his hand up a bit as he quickly pushed the pole back down. This pumping action produced enough water pressure to allow him to squirt water up to 15-20'. His accuracy was remarkable. I usually swam in the #1 lane, and was easy pickings, and I usually saw it coming, and I'd get a bucket-full in a second. Right in the mouth! Every lap, he'd be waiting. I didn't mind it all that much, but I'd act up like I was getting shot at. He usually got tired within 10 minutes.
Well, this afternoon, he stuck the pole into a drain hole in the deck. The grate was usually loose, and the pole would then almost reach the acoustic ceiling. Punch was back in the office, and I was backstroke towards the office. All I do is stare at the ceiling for hours on end. And all of a sudden, there was a sharp crack, and a bolt of lightning shot right through the ceiling, and shot from the far end (shallow) of the pool, and directly to the top of that pole. It went right over me. Many of my teammates caught a glimpse of it, but I got the full monte. Punch immediately came out of the office, wondering what had happened. I told him exactly what I had seen. It had knocked a ceiling panel out, and it had a scorch mark.
Punch sumarily halted the practice and sent us home.
That's it.