Growing up in Louisa – Grade School
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
As I grow older, and a bit fatter, I find that as the years go by the memories fade. Many things that were once common knowledge or routine have faded into little more than dim shadows. It’s a sad fact that life’s patterns and circumstances change and the old becomes dust of a sort. I was thinking the other day about the old grade school that sat at the foot of town hill, which was for a time a big part of my life. It was more than a daily experience because it represented the sum of nearly everything I would see and learn during those six formative years. All the kids I knew were there with me and would continue to be throughout the next six years, as well. It was there that life taught me some of my earliest lessons, such as how to get along with others, how society responds to actions, and how friends matter.
During my sixth year I shared a position as art editor of the school newspaper. I shared the duties with Sandy Adams, who lived just up the block. That year there was a campaign to ask the voters to finance a new grade school. I drew a picture of the old building with a ladder that led upwards to a new school drawn above. The referendum passed and the school was built. So I considered that I had a small hand in replacing the old grade school with a modern building just downhill from the old. Well, maybe.
Art was something that was encouraged for students in those early years. I remember the crepe paper and scissor cut outs, the smell of Elmer’s glue, and the poster board mom and I would have to run out and buy. Because of this early involvement I still enjoy painting pictures today. It is a quiet past-time that transports me away from the hustle and frustrations of life. I remember that in grade school we hung our works of art all around the classrooms. On parent’s day, they could come and see our work. I may have missed a math question, but my artwork excelled; or at least according to the grownups. Well, a kid needs some source of self-esteem I reckon. The trick is to find out what you like and can learn to do well.
The old school was a two-story brick building that consisted of a wide central hallway on each floor. It large classrooms, and well-oiled wooden floors. Off of the main entrance there was a wide stairway with a landing half way up. Both floors of the building contained a number of classrooms. The first floor had a cafeteria, but I was rarely in there. I remember tasting margarine for the first time in the lunchroom. All I had ever eaten at home was butter. This stuff was sweet and tasted wonderful. Margarine was easy to like on those hot rolls that were freshly baked. I remember that Bill Cheek would sometimes bring cases of pears or apples to the classroom to share with the students. I grew to love the pears and would try to sneak two. Given a chance I’d load my pockets.
In grade school and high school I always went home for lunch. I guess that’s because it cost to eat at school and I never had any money. My family would meet and eat and rush back to school. As I got older I was the one that fixed lunch at home. That was usually the old ‘cook and stir’ kind of Royal pudding. When instant pudding came out I liked it at first. I used a hand egg-beater to make it up, but it needed to chill to be good. In time I realized it just wasn’t as good as the old kind. I always took a bowl of the hot pudding and poured milk over it. It was so good but not a balanced meal.
The front stairs leading up to the second floor had a landing where the rope for the bell hung. Quincy Childress, our janitor, was a short little man so the rope would pull him up off the floor as he rang the bell. He would ride it and hang on for dear life. I know he enjoyed it. It was all over his face. I joined him more than once and we both swung like twin Tarzans on a single vine. I wasn’t the only one, either, but I think the principals frowned on the practice. It was a day before people sued each other or that liability companies feared the concept of paying out rather than taking in. Today, I suspect they wouldn’t even allow Quincy to pull the rope, but maybe he’d do it anyway.
I can remember the sound of Quincy’s school bell clearly, because all too often it was this sound that woke me. I’d soon be running trying to get those three blocks to the school before Quincy ran it again. Fifteen minutes wasn’t long enough, so I was often late. I heard a bell not too long ago that had the same sound. The sound brought back memories and I tried to figure out if I was late. I don’t see how anyone living in the town would not immediately recognize the sound. Quincy was on the job and I was late, again.
I could not help but remember the principal’s office in the front, just to the right as you entered the building. I spent some unwelcome time in there, but the cause was never anything really serious. Not that the principal (Frank Webster, Jim Cheek, and Rev. Perry) didn’t think so. Mom wasn’t happy either. I have no clue about any of the things I had done, but I remember that I was sorry and I promised that I would not do it again. The wooden paddle with holes drilled is burned into my memory, but kept me safe from doing the particular trick again. Gradually, I came to understand that certain behaviors would always result in a trip down the hall. Once or twice I had to sit outside and wait my turn. I could hear the smack of the paddle, so my heart filled with dread. When a partner in crime came out, I looked to see if I saw tears. I certainly didn’t want anyone to see mine. I remember once a girl came out crying. “How dare he strike her?” You know she was innocent and sweet. My goodness, what’s the world coming to?
My first-grade class was in the back of the school, in the newer, block section. Mrs. Armstrong was my first-grade teacher and would be a friend for years to come. She played organ at my church and I would later sing in the choir. Mrs. Armstrong and Mrs. Burgess had classrooms in new section as I recall. Outside, I remember a concrete wall that held back the hill. It was near the rear door that led out toward Madison. I would hit the erasers on that wall to clean them for various teachers. I thought it was fun, but maybe it was a little like Tom Sawyer’s whitewashed fence. Attitude is what matters in the end, anyway. Well, as a boy I thought pounding anything was fun.
The back section had another set of stairs that led upstairs, as well as more classrooms and a couple of bathrooms. I remember that Mrs. Hayes had her classroom upstairs in the front section and I think that Mrs. Jackson did, too. I remember the pull-down maps as something I really enjoyed studying. I liked history and geography, but wasn’t happy when it was time for arithmetic or grammar. I’d lose concentration and then never catch back up. I got the basic idea alright, but memorization of tables and rules wasn’t my kind of thing.
Recesses were marked by various games, some organized and sometimes not. A lot of the time we would just run amok. One time I ran after some girls at least half-way to the Adams house. I ran out of breath and couldn’t recall why I was chasing them. I remember the merry-go-round and the maypole on the playground surface. I managed to get hurt on them every time I went near them. Once or twice it was motion sickness, but I banged my head up some, too. One lesson I learned was to never raise your head if you fell under the merry-go-round. I remember boys playing marbles, and tag, and dodge ball while the girls played hopscotch and jumped rope. In those tag games I didn’t want to be ‘it,’ but because I was slow, I usually was.
I remember a bathroom in the first floor of the new section. There were some old outhouses that had been temporarily moved to the other (southern) side of the school. They weren’t there for long and may have been removed the same year I saw them. They had several seats but I really don’t remember if it was more than three. I’ve spoken to others and they have no recall of that. It wasn’t the side the playground was on and we have virtually no reason to be on that side. I was just snoopy.
Inside the school, whether it was diagraming sentences, remembering multiplication tables, reading classical novels, or studying history, I received the foundational knowledge and skillset that I am still using today, in spite of computers. For that, I am grateful. I learned to love music and the arts, and learned a lot about great civilizations of the past and I knew much of the world map. It was all I needed for success in high school and later on. In hindsight, if I had applied myself more I know I could have done greater things, but as many of you know, I was more interested in fun than good grades. The basic foundation I did get was the footing I needed in life. Today, I’m sure we’d have to add technology to the curriculum since that is basic to nearly everything now. The newer generations were born with computers and handheld devices. That is a world apart from what I knew in grade school.
In my memory, I still recall the smiling faces of those old friends just as they were back then. While we have grown older, in my mind’s eye, we will forever be little kids. I loved them then and love them still today in those dim, fuzzy recesses of my mind. mcoburncppo@aol.com