If you are thinking "rogues gallery" please don't do that.
Study hall is a school institution which should not exist as the only excuse for it is to serve as a holding pen for the inma... er, students. I can testify to the veracity of this statement based on my experiences as a student who was on occasion assigned to a study hall, and upon my experience as a teacher who was occasionally assigned to monitor a study hall. The time of teachers and students alike could be put to better use.
Go with me all the way back to a study hall to which you were assigned when you were in high school. Are you there with me?
This particular subset of America's finest and brightest circa mid-20th century was assigned to a sixth period study hall. Please understand that the young people pictured here were neither the officers of the National Honor Society nor were they the hoods and molls of the school in question. The former were out running errands for the office staff or had been released early on their own recognizance or were otherwise earning brownie points or serving their community. The latter we will get to later.
To the upper left of the collage is Blendina Faye Adamson Upper right is James Jefferson Catt. Below him is Mary Ann Appleman and in the fourth corner is yours truly. Mary Ann is the only Junior in a room full of Seniors. She could hold her own. In the center is the lucky guy who was assigned to supervise the motley crew that met each afternoon in the library. From his appearance, you might guess that Bill Stradley is not much older than his charges, and you would be right.
Our table was east center of a very large room, and I am guessing that there were usually upward of sixty students assigned to this area from two-thirty to three-fifteen each day. Kitty and I sat opposite each other with a girl between us on either side, arranged much as the picture above. The table comfortably accommodated four people and their books and pens and so on. Do not assume that the books and writing implements got much use.
Give everyone a few minutes to shuffle their stuff and settle in while Mr. Stradley takes a stroll around the room, roster in hand, checking off any absentees. He settles at the east end of the room, ostensibly grading papers, and probably he was, for he is an English teacher. The visiting at our table is not excessively loud, but it persists, and Mr. Stradley finally feels compelled to walk over and remind us of our "purpose" in being here. And the fun begins. Probably against his better judgment, Mr. Stradley very quickly finds himself immersed in our conversation, he himself being a participant.
"Kitty just installed a set of mean Stromberg 97s," said Mary Ann.
"Really? What would a pair of those do for my Merc?" Mr. Stradley.
Kitty squirms a little in his chair, sits up a little straighter. "It'd fly, but you should install dual pipes and glass packs first."
The first man out the west library door put the stop down so it would stay open. The hoods are slipping out one and two at a time as we earn our chops with them for distracting the warden.
"Would Mrs. Stradley let you do that?" asked Blendina.
"She's okay with it," replied our teacher. I bet you didn't know I met her at a car show, did you?"
Crackling of the loudspeaker, then "James Catt come to the office; James Catt to the office, please."
Kitty said, "Come out to the shop Saturday. I can fix you up with those glass packs." He got his crutches from beneath the chair, turned and swung himself up and headed out. Kitty's lower appendages swing along with him for the ride, but it is his amazing upper body strength that propels the young Catt through his life. His eyes are only a bit more than five feet above the floor, but his shoulders look to be five feet wide.