Senior pranks. The thought of them brings back fond, fuzzy memories of a time when we felt untouchable and unlimited. In the moment, seniors see their pranks as legacies that will leave generations to come wondering how the hell they did it. The senior prank is a tradition that has been passed down through generations, popularized in movies, books, and TV shows like Full House and That 70’s Show. Stories told and retold by parents reveal a seemingly magical and far-too-distant time when a huge plastic cow could end up on the entranceway to a school, and the faculty could recognize it for the harmless act of rebellion it was, making the kids clean it up without filing a single lawsuit.

On Sunday night, March 30, 2008, 15 Jefferson County High School seniors arrived at the school, aiming to pull off a senior prank “to top all previous ones.” Entering via an unlocked hatch on the roof of the school, they set to work emptying 31 classrooms of their desks, dragging them into the hallways. Telephones in the rooms were unhooked and hidden in the ceiling. In the moving process, a bookshelf was damaged. At 6am, the next morning, a large number of staff (quite larger than that usually required to open the school) came, returning all the desks to their proper place. Everything was back to functioning order. However, it didn’t take long—less than 24 hours after the prank took place—before accusations of breaking and entering, grand larceny, and vandalism thickly laced the local news. Some students were interrogated at the school the next day and all involved were suspended for 10 days, awaiting the possibility of far harsher punishment.

These students are obviously nothing but common criminals and should be punished to the full extent of the law, correct? Hold on. That can’t be right. Criminality is in part dependent on intent to commit a crime. If the students wanted to commit a crime, the unlocked computer lab with highly transportable laptops would have been targeted, and the criminal masterminds would not have left a note of apology and 20-odd dollars stuck to the underside of a desk to pay for damage.

These are not hellions, pushing the boundaries of authority time and again, seeing what they can get away with. These are one-time offenders, trying to leave their mark for those to come . . . maybe not the best way to do it, but the fact is they were merely following in the footsteps of the rich legacy of senior pranks, both at Jefferson and beyond. The times have obviously changed, and along with it the standard of what is acceptable. It’s a nervous world out there, and with ever-increasing anxiety comes the tendency for assigning blame and, possibly, overreaction in the heat of the moment.

In a similar case to this last year in Montrose, New York, students also faced felony charges. Nineteen students broke into Hendrick Hudson High School on a Sunday night, using a key that had gone missing a year prior. They planted around 150 alarm clocks all over the school, and set them all to go off at 9:15 the next morning. They even wrapped them in duct tape so it would be harder for the teachers to turn them off. As a result, police and bomb-sniffing dogs flooded the school, fearing the clocks were explosives. These students faced felony charges for placing false bombs. They still got to graduate, but were not allowed to walk in the ceremony. As punishment they had to complete community service. “Is it a case of kids—and their overly protective parents—who need to face the consequences of their own bad behavior, or is it a reaction way out of proportion to the threat?” wrote Peter Applebome in the New York Times.

On Sunday April 6, while a greeting from Gov. Joe Manchin was read, and other noteworthy local and state officials celebrated completion of the Jefferson High’s addition, another group assembled in peaceful protest outside the school. Waving signs with slogans like “Free the Jefferson 15,” students and parents did their best to illuminate their side of the story to passersby. “All we are asking for is a punishment to fit the nature of the crime. The suspensions are acceptable, and restitution will be paid by the students,” said Tim Jennings, parent of one of the students involved. “But facing felony charges for a senior prank is like facing a firing squad for a speeding ticket.”

Was this prank immature? Yes. Was it damnable? Hardly. Pranks are being stamped out for numerous safety and security reasons across the country. I understand the need for some example to be made, but this prank was relatively harmless. They didn’t threaten the lives of any of their fellow students. At worst, they inconvenienced the employees of Jefferson High. When I spoke to the students, they said they were more than willing to work off their debt.

So far, no charges have been filed. The ten day suspension was completed April 15, and meanwhile, students and parents alike wait in limbo for the decision on their fate from the school board.

“About the only thing I would like to get out there, is the assurance to the people of this county that the kids and their families are paying dearly both emotionally and financially,” Steve Mason, parent of two of the students involved, said. “I liken it to mourning after witnessing your child’s lifetime accomplishments with pride, then suddenly, in one stupid act, all is threatened. This is a horrific situation. This is no cake walk.”

Regardless of how this episode plays out, I recommend that in the future school boards choose a tad more wisely whom they demonize, or they will make martyrs out of the truly mischievous—in the process, losing respect and votes from the students and parents that they serve.

Melissa Rogers is a senior at Shepherd University and a photographer for The Observer.