What has happened to free public education in this country?
Just look at what it is costing parents for supplies, books and other essentials.
And too, every year it seems there are more demands on the property owner’s pocket book, not to speak of the education taxes and special levies. What a difference in my school years during the Great Depression.
Our public education was paid for and all our supplies provided. Affording clothing and shoes were the real problems back then. Most of the children wore scuffed, but shined, Buster Brown oxfords and hand-me-downs.
I faintly remember the lingering scent of bees wax and linseed oil used on wooden floors, the acrid smell of chalk and the black board with the day’s lesson written there. There were hall monitors who shushed our loud talking and the warning, “no running in the halls!” We had cloak rooms for hanging coats and goulashes on the floor under them during pesky weather. Sack lunches were placed in a row on a shelf with names on them and lunch was an hour long. It was enough time to run home to eat if you lived nearby.
Starting in first grade we had Monday morning check ups in our Seattle schools. Hands were held out to see if clean, smiles to see if teeth brushed, and the ever-ready comb and handkerchief. We walked to school and young crossing guards on the corners waved their flags. There was a refreshing recess in mid morning and afternoon when we could stretch our legs; take a rest room break and quench thirst. If we hurried, there were even a few minutes of time left for a game of jacks or marbles.
If it was winter the school had a large windowed basement to play in, and on sunny days the playground rang with the laughter of children playing outdoors. In autumn the maples lining the street were gold and crisp, leaves crackling underfoot on nature walks. The school nurse was ever-present, wearing her starched white cap and uniform to patch a scrape or two.
Back in my era children knew their boundaries. You were taught to respect your parents, the elders, your teachers and all authority figures. Policemen were your friends and not to be feared. A sassy mouth was a disgrace and never tolerated. Try it once and you were lectured until your ears burned. Getting into trouble in school meant double trouble at home. Teachers and parents worked together to solve problems. We knew our limits and that our parents were in control. A reminding smack on the backside was for our own good.
I was never sure about mom’s old adage, “This is going to hurt me more than you.” I never figured out how. You sure didn’t want to to go to school and tell your family history. Family matters were just that.
Life was simpler and more honest even though times were rough. A special treat was an earned privilege of listening to radio programs past bedtime. The one constant in my life was going to school each day and church on Sunday. I loved learning and learned quickly. Eating oatmeal every morning — that’s if we could afford it — was normal, and I still love my oatmeal today.
Even now, in my senior years, I close my eyes and in the mirrors of my mind hear the voices of the kids on my block. It’s a warm early evening and we are calling out to each other playing kick-the-can in the middle of our quiet street. I hear my brother Frankie yelling, “Kick the can Jacque. Kick it hard.” He’s gone now, they’re all gone, but all remain in the cherished memories of my school days from such a long time ago.
What are the memories children of today are going to have, with back-breaking packs and constant wondering how their education is going to be paid for?
