𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗟𝗟-𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗦 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗟 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦

 You had good teachers. Your memory is good. Write more about your school days and your teachers. Thank you.

Henry Ford Grade School

Be careful what you wish for. 

We lived in a subdivision of crackerbox houses built after WWII and the school bus stop was just a few blocks away.

It seemed stupid to me to stand at a bus stop under the Seattle drizzle when you could run a mere two miles through that drizzle to school.

Anyway, I knew a shortcut through a gravel pit.

First grade teacher, Mrs. Crutchfield, was strict, actually stern, and not pleased at all with me as she misinterpreted my actions as "disrespectful to to the American flag."

I only learned her perception of me on the first day of second grade when I eavesdropped on her hallway conversation and argument with my second grade teacher, Mrs. Roebucks.

Roebucks was an early advocate and sent me for testing which involved an interview by a man who peppered me with questions through an opening in a wall.

One of the questions was "Who discovered America?"  

My answer was "Noah," which I recall drew a quizzical expression from the examiner.

Anyway, I missed out on second grade and was placed in third with Mrs. Landers.

My immediate challenge in third grade was coexisting with Barbara on a two person desk, especially when she'd made a deep cut marking off 3/4 of the desk as "hers" and, if my elbow so much as crossed that line, she would pinch my skin hard enough to draw blood.

My other challenge was "fly-up," a game we boys played at recess, serving a ball up to ourselves in the air and hitting a "fly" for anyone in the group to catch and then become the "batter."

When I whiffed my first attempt at batting, a much bigger boy took the bat from me, saying I was not "good enough" for the game.

That gave me the idea to go to school early and check out a bat and ball to perfect my "flies" and I became quite adept.

Still, the bigger boys locked me out of the game, calling me a "second grader."

So, I made a complaint to Mrs. Landers who asked for an explanation from my haters, who now changed their story.

"He hits the ball too perfectly so it's easily caught" was their new story and Mrs. Landers seemed to understand, siding with the bat deniers.

Fortunately, my dad lost his job and we had to move to a rent house in downtown Renton,  which involved changing schools.  Just a couple blocks from our old two story rent house was Henry Ford Grade School.

The school was one of many in America named after the famous car maker in a feeble attempt to get financial support that never came.

But, Henry Ford was a wonderful facility with an indoor gym and performance stage.

In fifth grade I was named to the school patrol, a team of soldiers commissioned to provide safe student crossing of the busy street adjacent to the school.

For one year of service all of us received a free day's pass to Playland in Seattle, where we could enjoy any ride as many times as we wished all day long.

For the rest of my life, I had zero interest in amusement parks, having ridden on every rollo plane, roller coaster, ferris wheel or water ride I'd ever wanted in that one day.

During the sixth grade I was put in charge of the school patrol with the solemn duty of placing the metal replica of a girl fastened to a pipe into a hole in the middle of the street's crosswalk.

Each morning, with my lieutenants flagging the cars to a stop on both sides of the walk, I would march to the street's center line and place the  metal girl in position.

We took our duties seriously, but when one of my underlings started throwing his flag in front of cars just to hear their brakes squeal, I terminated the soldier on the spot.

The principal understood and said he'd provide a replacement.