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Nostalgia April 2014

The Country Schoolhouse

By Don Johnson

When the Rural Electrification Program rolled through the area, they drilled 8-ft. deep holes to hold the poles for the electrical wires. An idea of fun for these guys was to chase down one of the smaller students and put him in one of the holes upside down. It was only when he didn’t show up for class after recess that we missed him, traced him down and rescued him.

I had an interesting conversation recently with a police chief. He wasn’t police chief of some municipality –  he was police chief of a school, a consolidated rural school in West Texas which I attended from grade 5 until graduation.

I would not have recognized the school from its looks. It was many, many times larger than when I attended. State-of-the-art library and auditorium facilities were far different from the combination gymnasium and auditorium which served us beginning in 1939 when the school was first consolidated from a host of small schools scattered across the area.

Since I attended a year before consolidation, I got one of the last firsthand looks at the old facilities.

One of the changes was reflected in the police chief’s remark that when you take God out of the schools, you’d better put the police in. He heads a staff of five officers whose entire beat consists of the school and its grounds.

Is he right? Well, unlike some schools in the area, he says there is no drug problem in the school. Student’s clothing can’t display their underwear. Disrespect of teachers and other students is not allowed. Teachers are back in control of the classroom. Rules requiring good grooming and proper dress are strictly enforced. Respect for others is part of the curriculum.

What does the community think about all this? The school’s enrollment doubles and triples regularly. Property values in the school district climb to dizzying heights even in a slow economy as more and more people vie to get their children into that school.

As I began –  it’s a far cry from the school I attended back in ‘39. One of the last country schools before consolidation was a brick rectangle with two rooms and an anteroom. One room held fourth and fifth grades the other held the third grade which was the largest class of the three.

The teacher was Mrs. Dawkins. She was also the superintendent, the principal, the custodian and security. She would teach one class while the other two had study hall. Mrs. Dawkins was the first to arrive in the morning when she would start up the big coal-burning heater which scorched those close to the middle of room and barely took the chill off the outer fringes.

The coal served another purpose. The top of the shed which contained the coal supply was also the detention hall for miscreants who were required to perch atop the roof until Mrs. Dawkins told them they could come down. Rubber sneakers, which would develop a powerful stench through continuous wearing, took their place on that roof to dry after being washed by their owners under the direction and scrutiny of Mrs. Dawkins.

I can’t say our school was drug-free at the time. I recall that Mrs. Dawkins busted (literally) four boys for smoking out behind the outdoor privy during recess. She did all this while also preparing multiple teams for competition in Interscholastic League. I recall that our teams acquitted themselves well in spelling, declamation, mathematics, polemics and one-act play.   

She had her hands full with a student body which included a number of “toughs” not accustomed to following directions willingly.

When the Rural Electrification Program rolled through the area, they drilled 8-ft. deep holes to hold the poles for the electrical wires. An idea of fun for these guys was to chase down one of the smaller students and put him in one of the holes upside down. It was only when he didn’t show up for class after recess that we missed him, tracked him down and rescued him.

We didn’t have many things in that early school, but we did have God. And we learned discipline. We started every day with a prayer, and Mrs. Dawkins took it from there with the discipline. And, that’s the way things were.

 

Don Johnson is a nonagenarian who lives in Palestine, TX. He writes articles that illuminate the human condition and frequently show the contrast between our lifestyle of today with that of yesterday. He welcomes your input at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .

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