Evening star., 1943-09-01

Henry MeLsmere. me, brother. 7
came out Of that dream with a lump
in my chest roughly the size Of
Mount Whitney, and with plans all
laid to play hockey the first day.
Being a minister's son, I moved
from town to town and went to a
new grammar school nearly each
year. There are few worse forms of
punishment for child than to have
to face q new classroomful of chill
dren, all of whom have known each
other for years and who welcome
the opportunity to give newcomer
the juvenile form of the third
degree.
The first week in any new school
was spent in fighting. Half the
people Of my age In South Georgia
and Florida today must have taken
a punch at me at one time or the
other. Being a minister's son auto
matically branded me as a sissy
until I proved with my fists that
| wasn't.
Went Out Swinging.
The recess gong was just like the
ringing of a prize fight gong. I
would go out swinging and usually
come back battered and bruised.
| Rainy days were even worse. The
children always were kept inside by
teacher and given bean bags to play
with. The South Georgia bean bag
came close to being a lethal weapon.
| As I remember it, 1t was about foot
square and filled with Z or pounds
| of dried beans.
1t was always my misfortune to be
| in class where there was back
ward boy who should have gradu-
ated from college long ago, but who
was still in the fifth grade. These
backward boys always ran to size
and muscle, and what they could do
with bean bag! I still bear bean
bag scars and the only consolation
I have is that there undoubtedly are
some grown women running around
who were bopped with bean bags by
me when they were young and de-
| fenseless.
School wouldn't have been so bad
had ever been allowed to sit in the
back of the class, or even in the
middle Of it. But I was always as
signed the front desk, directly in
front of the teacher.
I saw lot of my teachers, not
only during school hours, but after
school. My school hours ran from
until about s. I was forever being
kept after school to beat erasers,
wash the blackboards and water the
geraniums, which were standard
equipment of every school I ever
went to.
| Glad 1t Was Just Dream.
They whipped school children In
my school days. The principal at
tended to that. Your teacher would
send you to him with instructions
to tell him of your crime He would
then send you out in the yard to
pick your own switch off a peach
tree, peach trees being celebrated
for the fine caliber switches they
produce.
Then the principal would give you
a note to take to your parents, tell
ing them you had been punished.
This meant a second whipping at
home. Why I always took those
notes home still battles me. WHY
didn't I throw them away? But I
didn't. I clutched them as If they
were an award of merit until de.
livered to my father.
Whenever played hockey would
write a note to my teacher and sign
my fathers name. I never once got
by with this forgery due, perhaps,
to the fact that the teachers could
not bring themselves around to be-
lleVlng that minister would use a
stub pencil and a scrap of tablet
paper. Forgery was whipping Of
tense, so 1t was back to the peach
trees for me whenever I arrived with
one OF these illegible requests that
l be excused for my absence.
All, golden, happy school DAYS,
Sweet memories of the Palmer
method of penmanship, laughing,
carefree playmates whacking you
over the head with a bookstrap full
OF books. The JOY of bringing home
report card full of C-minuses. The
thrill of being called on to stand up
before the class and sing a song
during singing lessons when YOU
knew that you couldn't carry a tune.
Boy am glad that was lust a
dream!
| distributed by McNaught Syndicate, 1nc)