A boy didn’t have to be exceptional in any way.
Academic skills didn’t matter a lick. He didn’t have to impress a coach. He could be much bigger or much smaller, noticeably shyer or more popular than the average eighth-grader. He could come to school with disastrous haircuts. He could eat onion sandwiches. If he wore glasses that was okay too.
The 13 and 14-year-old boys would be deputized to stand their posts and protect younger children on the way to school. An 85-pound boy directing two tons of steel driven by an adult — It was heady stuff.
“Patrol boys” were issued belts and official police-like badges. They wielded hand-held stop signs with a measure of authority. Their length of service was usually a few weeks at which time they handed their gear off to the new guard. Guys would hurry home and get their mothers to adjust the fit. When no one was looking, they would find themselves in front of a mirror.
Many of the boys, especially the unusually average boys, would remember that moment as a time they had been singled out to do something important. 
