More Glimpses

Glimpses

(written by Harley Castleberry)

School - First Grade - the beginning

by H. G. Castleberry

I find it fascinating how each of us is equipped differently.  I was showing this story to a friend and he expressed his amazement that I could remember this and in detail.  I had never thought about it.  It just comes natural to me.  When I become envious of another’s talents, or skills, I seldom think of the unique capabilities that God gave me.  While none of us can do it all, each can make a contribution to the world around us.

It was the first Monday after Labor Day, September 1941.  I was six years old and mother and I walked the two and one-half blocks to West Ward School in Slaton, Texas.  The elementary classes were held in what was essentially a one story, square brick building that had some years earlier been the high school.  Originally it had been a two story building until a tornado struck it one Sunday night (during church services) and dropped a portion of the brick debris on the rear of the Baptist parsonage, located about two hundred and fifty feet away.  As indicated, the second floor was never replaced but the stairway still existed, behind a large door.  Those stair steps provided “shelves” for the storage of teaching supplies.  The stairs led to the ceiling and stopped, with no place to go.
                   
Starting to school, that very first day, is a really big day; both for the children, and the mothers.  Many teary eyed mothers watch their babies disappear through the doorway into that first classroom.  I thought my mother had tears in her eyes because I was growing up too fast, but looking back, I think she wanted to cry because my younger brother and sister (twins) were still too young to go to school and give her a few hours of quiet alone.  The child’s side of this experience is quite different, and often carries with it an array of thoughts and emotions.  I clearly remember that first day of school.  I was one of six strange kids sitting at one table, and the girl seated to my left was about one and a half times my size.  She had already started that, “girls grow faster than boys at that age” phenomena.  After some period of time had elapsed, she was overcome with a severe case of what later turned out to be homesickness, and started to cry.  Never having been married, I was ill equipped to even begin to comprehend what might be going on in the mind of a female.  Consequently, I shifted into a near panic mode myself.  Actually I was quite confused about just what I should help her cry about.  Meanwhile, my feet and legs were telling me to vacate the room in great haste.  Fortunately for all concerned Miss Haggard knew how to handle the situation, and after dealing with some body wrenching sobs, she got Peggy settled down.  I don’t recall if the teacher read the expression on my face, and gave me reassurance, or if just witnessing the therapy administered to Peggy also soothed my nerves.  At any rate, that was my earliest knowledge of the possibility of “the end of the world.”  From that vantage point, as a six year old, it appeared that the next twelve years were going to be a real nightmare!

In no time it seems, I was able to read.  Dick.  Jane.  Spot.  Run. See.  Sitting in one of the little chairs in the reading circle, I was introduced to the real world that Dick and Jane occupied.  They had a dog named Spot.  I was well on my way (within the next two or three years) to being able to read the Sunday comics.  A strip called, “Out Our Way” featured the Willett family and Willis, the son, looked like someone I would want for a friend.  In retrospect, after learning to read, it seemed that the Willett’s had much more going for them than did Dick and Jane.  Dick, Jane and their dog did a lot of running and jumping while the reader was encouraged to “see” them run and jump through a rather mundane existence.

For a child, the first grade contained some minor mileage markers.  One was testing the taste of paste.  This was a white adhesive about the consistency of thick salve.  It had a strange, rather sweet taste but almost immediately, I found that it was not too satisfying.  It probably was an acquired taste, as some students had to be told to quit eating it.  And then there were the round nose, or blunt scissors.  These cheaply made cutting instruments for elementary school students were an improvement over the flint stone cutting tools used by the Indians – by a little.  As a class, we cut a lot of paper.  We made paper chains out of colored construction paper.  Colorful strips were cut and all put together with white paste.  We made paper lanterns and artwork to take home.  We also became semi-skilled in making Valentines for our mothers.  Sometimes we used Lepages mucilage, a thin, amber, syrup-like adhesive that could be rated just slightly better than “sorry,” for whatever project it might be used on.  The excess dried to a hard transparent substance with thin crystal-like properties which would break into minute pieces and create near-powder debris.  I personally never gave mucilage the “taste test.”  At any rate, we were developing the ability to use our hands to perform assigned tasks.

Early in that school year, at the beginning of one recess period, I was heading toward the swings and had made it to the back corner of the school building.  Quick as a wink, I was run over!  Road Kill.  Startled and hurt, I got to my feet sobbing.  I had just been trampled by a junior high student making a bee line for the best swing.  He was wearing overalls and focused on reaching his goal.  “Tweeeeeeet!”  A police whistle pierced the noisy atmosphere of the playground.

            “Grady!”

            “Grady Elder!  You get right back here and apologize to this boy!”

This voice came from an attractive woman dressed in a rather dark tan dress and wearing a Sam Browne belt with shoulder strap.  She wore the whistle on a cord around her neck.  She was the teacher assigned to watch the playground that day.

Already I was beginning to feel better.

The large boy came back and apologized.  He then received some instructions regarding watching out for smaller kids on the playground.  He agreed and was released.

The lady turned out to be Grady’s teacher – Mrs. Yates Key.  These were the days when teachers had control of students and she was fair in exercising her authority.  (Mrs. Key was teaching in high school when reached the high school level.)

There in the first grade, was a classmate named Jackie who was already ahead of most of us in the artistic use of his feet.  Jackie (last name lost in the murky past) had found that his feet were excellent attention getters as noise makers.  Of course, the leather heels of the cowboy boots that he wore attributed much to the rich tones that he could produce on the wooden floors in the school building.  Miss Haggard apparently was not a patron of the arts – particularly those pertaining to elementary tap, flamenco or clog dancing.  As a matter of fact, on more than one occasion Miss Haggard had told Jackie just how much she disliked foot generated noise on the wood floors.  But, it seemed that Jackie had show biz in his blood, or feet, and one afternoon when returning to the classroom after recess, he burst into a new routine that appeared, to the untrained eye, to be nothing more than deliberate “stomping,” in order to obtain the approval and the praise of his peers.  He really outdid himself and the amusement and laughs rolled in – pretty much from all concerned.  Technically, there was ONE dissenter.  After everyone was properly seated, Miss Haggard took Jackie by the arm and led him into the hall, closing the door behind her.  A stunned roomful of pupils sat in total silence.  In muffled tones, we could all hear that Miss Haggard was doing most of the talking.  We couldn’t distinguish exactly what she was saying and come to think of it, I think she was doing ALL the talking.  Following this brief one-sided discussion came a sound that was familiar to me.  Somehow it reminded me of home and one-sided conversations there.  The sound had somewhat of a “popping” nature, like… say a piece of wood being used to dust off the seat of a pair of pants.  Yeah.  That’s a good analogy.  That’s exactly what it sounded like.  Then followed sounds of a bruised ego, and possibly something else, followed by a few more encouraging words from Miss Haggard.  Presently the door opened and the “star” and the teacher re-entered the room.  Miss Haggard looked pretty good, but she always did.  She was probably the prettiest teacher in the building.  Jackie looked a little red around the eyes, and his cheeks glistened in places.  Some thought that the teacher had beaten his boot heels until they were soft, because they no longer made a sound on the floor.  But I held a totally different view, because to this day I still think that I correctly identified those familiar sounds that emanating from the hall.     

Near the end of that first school year, while my lights happened to be in an “on” mode, I heard, to my surprise, that in order to be promoted to the second grade, we had to be able to recite the ABC’s.  Well, that’s the first that I had heard of that!  Either most of my lights had been out or I was spending too much time concentrating on getting better results with the mucilage.  In a panic mode, I stared at the ABC placards that were posted above the chalkboard.  With intense interest, I listened carefully as student after student went to the teacher’s desk and recited the alphabet.  I’m not sure how long it took me to learn them but I think on the second day after realizing my plight, I too went to Miss Haggard’s desk and accomplished that task.  Learning the alphabet was one thing, but I think it was secondary to my learning to “work under pressure.”  That’s a neat trait to develop before you get a job!

Harley