I wasn’t six until September 27, 1932, but was permitted to start
school that fall. When I learned
several years later that first graders were supposed to be six by September 1,
I asked my parents why I started a year early.
I was told that school at Acton, a farming community where schoolboys
helped harvest crops, didn’t start until October, after most harvesting was
over – so I was enrolled in 1932, inasmuch as I turned six before the fall term
began. (In addition to being a bit
underage, I weighed only 36 pounds.)
My first grade teacher was Mrs. Earl Elliott, who had the “little
room” at Acton school; her husband had the “middle” room, and Mr. Marlin
Browning taught “big room” students.
Each room had three grades, with about six or eight students per
grade. My memories from first grade
tend to be of a social nature, rather than scholastic:
·
The Rash twins, Christine and Cleona, were a grade ahead of
me and sat side by side in a double desk across the aisle from me. That double desk was the only one I saw in
all my school years.
·
The room had a sand table at the back. I vaguely remember playing at it.
·
I was embarrassed at having to wear knickers (and long wool
stockings during cold weather), while practically every other schoolboy wore
denim overalls. Naturally, I complained
about the difference between my attire and that of my peers, and wasn't
impressed by Mother's contention that Derrell Wohlford looked good in knickers
at church on Sundays.
·
A softball hit Mr. Elliott in the face during a recess
period, shattering his glasses and cutting the flesh around his left eye. Blood flowed profusely, but I remember no
stories of lasting damage having occurred.
·
Kids vied for the job of dusting erasers near the end of
each school day. The chosen student(s)
took the erasers outside and beat them against the building's concrete
underpinning, then returned them to the blackboard trays.
In
addition to working at blackboards, students solved arithmetic problems,
completed sentences, answered questions, or used outlines from sheets
reproduced by Hectograph. The Hectograph process was a precursor to “Ditto” printing of
later years; it utilized a gelatinous material in a rectangular 8 x 10 metal
pan about ½“ deep. The gel was wiped
with a dampened sponge, a master copy (made with a special pen or carbon) was
applied to the gel, left a short while to “set,” then removed. Copying was done by placing a blank sheet of
paper on the gel, rubbing to insure complete contact, then removing – a copy of
the master resulted. Masters would make
25 or 30 fairly legible copies, each growing dimmer than its predecessor. Fresh copies smelled strongly of denatured
alcohol, so kids would sniff the paper if teachers distributed the sheets soon
after duplication.
Emma Mae Rash, a first cousin of (1) the afore-mentioned
Rash twins on her dad’s side and (2) my mother on her mother’s side (but only
three years older than I), was a couple of grades ahead of me in school and
was, I’m told, a “little mother” to me when I was in first grade, shielding me
from evils that might befall.
I’ll
say more about Emma and her family later.
I haven’t seen her since my Grandmother Miller’s funeral in April, 1949,
but I’ve talked and corresponded with her while doing this writing, and she has
helped me recall details about our Acton school days. She has lived in San Antonio for over fifty years since marrying
Harold Childress, her late husband.
First graders could be promoted in either
of two ways; some were promoted to second grade at year-end, but others were
promoted only to “high first.”
I assume “promotion to high first” was a euphemism for failure, but I
didn’t understand that at the time; I thought I should be promoted only to high
first, so resisted when Mrs. Elliott informed me I would be passed to the
second grade, but my mother and dad convinced me that she was acting in my best
interest.
I “came
down” with measles just as the school-year ended, and took them home to Twila; I
remember little discomfort therefrom.
◊◊◊
Mr. and Mrs. Elliott didn’t return for the 1933/34 school-year. The faculty was reduced to two – teaching
eight grades instead of nine. I suppose
a decline in student population combined with depression-era financial stresses
forced cuts; state aid, based on average daily attendance, would have declined
with reduced school size. Miss Rubelee
Lucas taught grades one through four in the “little room;” Mr. Browning
taught grades five through eight in the “big room.”
My dad was
one of three trustees responsible for hiring school faculty, so prospective
teachers sometimes came to our farm for job interviews. Twila thinks Miss Lucas was interviewed at
the end of a row my dad had just plowed.
My memories from second grade are more numerous than from first, but still relatively few:
·
Miss Lucas was young and attractive. She wore “perky” tams to school each day –
thus looked nothing like the community’s typical bonneted farmwife.
·
I had to present a book report. I selected “A Dog of Flanders,” a
story set in a World War I military cemetery in Belgium.
·
I memorized the multiplication tables, through the 12s,
while watching Miss Lucas teach fourth graders.
·
Most memorable was the sight of Miss Lucas shaking little
boys by the hair of their heads as punishment for bad behavior. I decided I didn’t want to be an object of
her anger.
·
Twice during the year I feared I would never again be the
object of anyone’s anger. First, I
accidentally swallowed a paper clip, and received predictions of dire consequences. Later on, I moistened the point of an
indelible pencil (to intensify its color) by placing it in my mouth, then was
told by other boys that the pencil’s “lead” was poison, so I would die. They told me I should have put saliva in my
hand, then moistened the pencil point therefrom. I suffered no ill effects from either experience, so my fears of
imminent death were unfounded; the two events, however, caused me thereafter to
consider more carefully what I placed in my mouth.
·
I contracted
chicken pox at
the end of the school year, and took it home to Twila and my mother. I had a relatively light case, although I
was left with a few facial scars; Mother’s case was tougher.
At some point during my early school years, probably during
second grade, I became aware of the calendar and that the year 2000 was over
the distant horizon. I asked my mother
whether any of us could be expected to be around when 2000 arrived, and she
replied by saying something like, “Well, you might still be alive then,”
implying that she and other adults I knew wouldn’t. I, as these writings prove, was around on January 1, 2000 – but
so was she, for she lived until October 7, 2000, less than three months short
of the 96th anniversary of her birth.
◊◊◊
Miss Lucas didn’t return for
the 1934-35 school-year. Acton may have
been too backwoodsy for her (I’ve joked that Acton was so far back in the
sticks that Sunday didn’t get there until Tuesday), or she may have found a
husband or better job. Perhaps she got in
trouble for shaking boys by the hair of their heads; grownups didn’t tell kids
anything about school “politics,” so we never knew the reasons for changes.
Mr. Browning married during
the summer of 1934, and brought his new wife, Hazel, back to Acton with him. She was hired to teach students in the
“little room,” so was my third and fourth grade teacher.
Mr.
and Mrs. Browning attended Sul Ross State Teachers College at Alpine during
summer terms, completing work toward their college degrees.
Twila started school in
1934. Emma Mae Rash, the cousin mentioned above, took Twila
under her wing, just as she had me two years earlier, and was her
mentor/protector in volleyball and other activities.
Mrs. Browning was the only
teacher Twila had during her three years at Acton school. She progressed through fourth grade in those
three years, having been double-promoted past the third grade. It
was easy for “bright” students to learn above grade-level; they could finish
“seat work” quickly, then listen to lessons being taught higher grades.
Some
might think students had to have been educationally deprived in a school with
four classes per room, no library, and teachers who were still in the process
of obtaining their college educations, but I don’t accept that thinking;
neither Twila nor I had difficulties when we moved on to other schools. Twila and Beatrice Moore, who started school
together, ultimately received their doctorates; I obtained an MBA degree and
became a CPA. Others from Acton school
undoubtedly achieved comparable educational and professional successes.
The Brownings were good teachers, interested in student
development. Both encouraged student
participation in Texas Interscholastic League competition in arithmetic, art and music memory, declamation, and
spelling. I participated in arithmetic
and spelling competition during the three years I had the Brownings as
teachers. My parents spent many hours
drilling me with words from spelling lists; in at least one year, I missed no
words in the spelling competition at “county meet” and received a
certificate of recognition signed by the Texas governor.
Twila and
I had individual blackboards (made by my dad) at home.
We “bugged” our parents to give us arithmetic problems to solve or words
to spell. We enjoyed the drills; not
only were they good entertainment in those days before television, but prepared
us for better performance at school.
My first
experiences with pressures to excel resulted from spelling class at
school. Mrs. Browning gave short
spelling tests every day, and gave prizes (e.g., balls or small toys) to all
students who missed no words during each six-week reporting period; my parents
knew about the system, so I always dreaded going home after missing a word,
knowing I’d have to tell them I would receive no award that six weeks. I’d wait awhile after reaching home on such
“dark” days, but usually managed to sheepishly confess, “I missed a word
today,” before suppertime.
I was a decent student, and believe I was generally thought to be a
good little boy, both in school and at home, but I occasionally got into
trouble. As I left for school one day,
my mother gave me a dime with which to buy bananas at the grocery store on my
way home. The store had no bananas, so
I purchased ten sticks of bubble gum instead. I got lots of gum
for the money, but bubble gum wasn’t high on our family’s need list in those
days when dimes were scarce.
Each stick of
the bubble gum I bought was about nine-sixteenths of an inch in diameter, and
close to three inches long; I can’t remember the brand name, but don’t think it
was Fleer’s or Dubble Bubble.
I tried to stay out of trouble at school, and succeeded pretty
well. When I was in the second or third
grade, Earl Parker told me he was going to tell the teacher on me if I didn’t bring
him peanuts or pecans each day (his dad was a trader, not a farmer, so he may
not have had access to those commodities at home, as I did). I acceded to his “blackmail” for a while,
but he never revealed what he planned to tell, and I knew no wrongdoing of
which I was guilty, so I quit the game and nothing bad happened.
Another
young boy, whose name was Cletus, bought big trouble for
himself when he found a small stray cat, brought it to school with him, and
dropped it into the pit at the boys’ outhouse.
I don’t remember how the cat was extricated, or what penalty Cletus paid
for his misdeed, but Mr. Browning didn’t think the caper a bit funny. I suspect Prof and Cletus held a “meeting of
the board,” featuring a paddle made from a piece of one by four lumber. “Board meetings” were sometimes held in the
presence of the rest of the students, but I can’t recall what happened in
Cletus’ case.
While
spankings with the one by four paddle might result from misbehavior of kids in
the “big room” (either in the classroom or on the playground), “standing in the
corner” was the usual punishment
for misbehavior in the “little room” (except for the above-mentioned
“hair-of-the-head” shakings administered by Miss Lucas).
Among my memories about people
at Acton school is one that came to be known in our family as “The mystery of
the little blonde-headed girl.” The
almost white-headed little blonde was named Mildred Owen, if I remember
correctly; we boys called her “Millard.”
Some years ago, while
discussing folks and long ago events at Acton, I asked my relatives about
Mildred’s family and where she lived.
None could remember her, or even an Owen family, which surprised me,
because Twila has remembered most of the kids in school, and Mother, Ruth, and
Virgil had known nearly everyone in Acton and its environs during the ‘30s.
After several fruitless
discussions over a year or two I was beginning to doubt myself, until during a
description of Mildred’s rather distinctive characteristics and behavior I told
Twila a La Feria girl we knew later (whose name I couldn’t remember) looked and
acted just like Mildred.
Twila
exclaimed, “Regina Peroni!”
Based on my description of Acton’s “Millard,” she named a La Feria
schoolmate. I no longer doubted my
memory, but harder to understand is Twila’s inability to remember the Acton
girl, for she usually notices and recalls far more about people than I do.
Since having those family
discussions I’ve looked at Acton student group pictures from the ‘30s, and have
seen the little girl I remember as Mildred Owen.
Emma Mae,
my cousin mentioned earlier, thinks Mildred’s surname was Joiner, but doesn’t
remember her family or where she lived.
Emma and I both think Mildred may have lived in the Shady Grove area, west and slightly south of Acton; if so, the family could
have attended church and shopped in Granbury (the county seat, a larger town
not much farther away from Shady Grove than Acton), thus weren’t generally
known around Acton.
I remember two Acton kids because of their names; Warren G. and Calvin
Massey were named after Warren G. Harding and Calvin Coolidge, the 29th
and 30th presidents of the United States.
◊◊◊
One Sunday during my early school years I noticed a young lady at
church whom I’d not seen previously, and asked my mother about her. Mother identified her as Eudora Duckworth, the daughter of Mr. Hugh
Duckworth, a prominent man in our church and community. I asked why Eudora hadn’t been in church
before, and learned she was a student at John Tarleton College in Stephenville. College was a new word for me, and I was stunned to learn there
was more to the educational process than I’d seen at Acton and Granbury.
◊◊◊
Prospective educational
hurdles looked insurmountable after I was promoted to the fifth grade and moved
into the “big room,” where I observed Mr. Browning teaching algebra to
eighth graders, just three rows over from me; on the blackboard appeared such
mysterious inscriptions as:
(x-y)(x+y)=x2-y2 or
(x-y)(x-y)=x2-2xy+y2 or (x+y)(x+y)=x2+2xy+y2
Mr. Browning’s reading of those
algebraic statements as “x minus y times x plus y equals x squared minus y
squared,” then “x minus y times x minus y equals x squared minus 2xy plus y
squared,” and “x plus y times x plus y
equals x squared plus 2xy plus y squared” meant nothing to me; I was certain
I’d never pass eighth grade, much less finish high school and college.
As things
turned out, fifth grade was my last at Acton school; we moved to a larger town
before the next school-year. Each
classroom at my new school contained only one grade, so I was able to plow
through the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades before having to consider
algebraic mysteries.
◊◊◊
Occasional field trips to Fort
Worth (e.g., Swift’s or Armour’s packinghouse and the city zoo at Forest Park)
enhanced the Acton school experience.
Twila says she drank a malted milkshake (not a common treat in those
depression days) on one of our field trips, but couldn’t keep it down. That may have occurred on a trip to a
packinghouse; just seeing the operation could give one a queasy stomach, regardless of what had been eaten.
◊◊◊
Friday school assemblies were held in “the big room,” for students of both rooms. I’m sure Mr. Browning used those gatherings to
convey important educational messages to the kids, but I remember none of
those. I remember only the fun things:
·
“Crossed Questions and Crooked Answers” could be hilarious. The kids divided into two groups, then each
member of one group wrote a random question of his devising, while each member
of the other group wrote a random answer of his choosing. When all were ready, the first person on the
side with questions read his question, then the first person on the answer side
read his answer – next came number two on each side, and so on, until all the
questions and answers had been read.
Some answers merely sounded irrelevant; others were hilarious.
·
“Blackbird Melodies” were raucous (Twila
describes them as “not exactly euphonious”) – but fun. Each participant thought of a song, then,
upon signal, all would start singing their disparate songs at the same time.
·
We sang songs – folk/patriotic/religious. Doris James, one of the older girls
in school, accompanied us at the piano.
Our favorites included “All Through the Night”/“Billy Boy”/ “Carry Me
Back to Old Virginny”/“De Camptown Races”/“Dixie”/“Flow Gently, Sweet Afton”/ “Good
Night, Ladies”/“Long, Long Ago”/“Love’s Old Sweet Song”/“My Old Kentucky Home”/
“Oh, My Darling Clementine”/“Oh, Susanna!”/ “Old Black Joe”/“Old Folks at
Home”/“Old MacDonald Had a Farm”/“Sweet and Low”/“The Spanish Cavalier”/“Three
Blind Mice.”
·
The kids enjoyed Mr. and Mrs. Browning’s antiphonal
rendition of the “Rueben and Rachel” song:
Mrs. B: Rueben, Rueben, I’ve been thinking, what a
grand world this would be
If
the men were all transported far beyond the Northern Sea.
Mr. B: O! my goodness, gracious Rachel, what a
queer world this would be
If
the men were all transported far beyond the Northern Sea.
Mrs. B: Rueben, Rueben, I’ve been thinking what a
gay life girls would lead
If
they had no men about them, none to tease them, none to heed.
Mr. B: Rachel, Rachel, I’ve been thinking, men
would have a merry time,
If
at once they were transported far beyond the salty brine.
Mrs. B: Rueben, Rueben, stop your teasing, if you’ve any love for
me,
I
was only just afooling, as I thought of course you’d see.
Mr. B: Rachel, if you’ll not transport us, I will
take you for my wife,
And
I’ll split with you my money every payday of my life.
◊◊◊
Recess times provided for more fun.
Smaller kids played games such as “Annie Over,” “Stink Base,” “King of
the Hill,” “Flying Dutchman,” “Drop the Handkerchief,” and “Mother, May
I?” Kids in the “big room” liked
basketball and softball; we used outseam
softballs, which, when spinning,
could really sting one’s hands, for we played without gloves (I hadn’t seen
softball gloves at that stage of my life).
“Pop-the-whip” was fun – unless big
kids abused smaller ones by placing them at the end of the line, then popping
it extra vigorously; Twila remembers one of the kids having suffered a broken
arm.
Individualized competition occurred at mumble-ty-peg, marbles, hull gull, washers, and top spinning.
·
My college dictionary says mumble-ty-peg is an alteration
of the original name of the game, “mumble-the-peg;” rules of the game required
the loser to draw a peg from the ground with his teeth (an unabridged
dictionary I consulted indicates that “mumble” originally meant “bite,” ergo,
in this instance, “bite the peg”).
Mumble-ty-peg required the use of knives, which most Acton boys carried
(something that wouldn’t be permitted in today’s “advanced” society).
·
Some boys played marbles for “keeps;” each player could keep
the marbles he knocked out of the ring.
I didn’t play “keeps,” for I wasn’t adept at the game and playing
“keeps” was against school rules.
·
“Hull gull” was a game whose rules I
don’t remember, but the process involved guessing the number of items held in
an opponent’s closed hand(s). If the
items used in the game were of intrinsic value (e.g., peanuts, pecans, or
marbles), the player who came out ahead gained materially – a mild form of
gambling against which I remember no rule.
Students had to stay inside for recess on rainy days, when activities
included spelling bees, arithmetic exercises at the blackboard, play at the
sand table, and games such as “Drop the
Pin” and “Poor Kitty;” teachers probably hated those days when we had to stay
inside while releasing pent-up energy.
Years
ago I read about a kid who was so dumb he flunked recess. I don’t think any of us was quite that dumb,
but some may have come close.
The lunch break was much like morning and
afternoon recesses, but longer.
Teachers and pupils brought their lunches, most in paper bags, but some
in syrup buckets. Most lunches included
biscuits left over from breakfast. The
“filler” might be sausage, butter and jelly, or thick cream and sugar. Those who didn’t have homemade lunch makings
brought sandwiches made with bakery bread; commonly used fillers included
bologna, potted meat, peanut butter and jelly, or peanut butter and
banana. Kids sometimes traded items
from their lunches; I ate what I brought.
I suspect
some of the kids’ diets – breakfast, lunch, or supper – weren’t nutritious;
several boys seemed to have facial sores most of the time, and had frequent
colds. Dietary deficiencies were common in those days of deep economic depression. I’ll have more to say later about food
shortages and attempts by the federal government to alleviate the situation.
Recess and lunch breaks ended with our lining up when Mr. Browning rang
a handbell and/or told us it was “time to take up books.”
◊◊◊
Apparent results of dietary deficiencies weren’t the only symptoms of
hard times exhibited by the kids:
·
Some wore tattered clothing. I remember three sisters in particular; every item those little
girls wore seemed to have multiple holes therein. They would have been embarrassed had they been old enough to be
sensitive about their situation.
·
Some came to school barefooted when the weather was so cool that socks and shoes were
needed. I thought they were just
“stretching the season,” so didn’t realize that absence of footwear might have
been the result of economic hardship.
Many (if not most) kids came to school barefooted during warm weather,
but Mother insisted that Twila and I wear socks and shoes. At school, however, I removed them, to be
like the other kids; at day’s end, I rinsed my feet at the well, put my socks
and shoes back on, then walked home.
The
school’s water well was about twenty-five yards from the north entrance to the
building. Manually-pumped water flowed
into a pipe about four feet long and two and one-half inches in diameter, with
drinking holes bored in the top at intervals; the end of the pipe was capped
(or plugged), to force water from the holes.
A trough beneath the pipe caught the overflow and directed it away from
the drinking area; I washed my feet at the end of that trough.
Pumping
water wasn’t difficult, but getting a drink could be tricky for anyone at the
well alone, for pumping with one’s right hand while leaning to drink from the
nearest hole in the pipe wasn’t easy for a small person. If one only wanted a couple of swallows, he
could get the water flowing, stop pumping, then rush to get those swallows
before the flow stopped. Foot washing
when alone wasn’t as difficult, for water continued to flow from the overflow
trough long enough to allow for a quick rinse.
◊◊◊
My walks along the country road to and from school were generally
unnoteworthy, with the exception of a couple of events during the two years I
walked to school alone:
·
John W. Massey, a young man who lived on a farm west of
ours, stopped and offered me a ride as I walked toward Acton one morning,
inviting me to “hang on.” I jumped on
the running board of his Model A, wrapped an arm around the doorpost, and rode
to “town” with him, then hopped off before he came to a complete stop in front
of Mr. Tucker’s grocery store. Momentum
sent me sprawling on the gravel surface; fortunately, minor abrasions on the
palms of my hands were the only results of my “spill.”
·
I badly needed a “pit stop” as I walked homeward one
afternoon, so I stopped beside a bush at the edge of the road to relieve my
need, but a car came along before I finished; in my attempt to avoid being seen
in the act I caused my knickers to become very wet. My woes were compounded when some of Aunt Myrtle’s family came
along a few minutes later and offered me a ride on home; they were headed
toward my grandmother’s house. I
declined the ride, and, of course, walked on by Mama Grammer’s house when I
reached it, instead of going in to play with Emma Mae and Billy. I’m sure everyone thought I was nuts,
refusing a ride home and missing an opportunity to play with the cousins, but
embarrassment can cause a little boy to do crazy things.
Activities and Events around Acton