Bacon School

I read a posting on Facebook about the  R.M. Bacon School Anniversary reunion - if it wasn't over 900 miles away I would have gone...it would be fun to see my elementary school once again...maybe not fun to see classmates who have grown old like me.  -  and then I thought about my first day of school there…

...The R.M. Bacon School was 4 blocks north of our little house on Third & Stratton Avenue.  My 5th birthday in November was to late in the school year  so I had to wait to start kindergarten until I was almost 6.  I was always big and now I towered over the other kids.  Unbelievably, I can remember the new shirt I wore that first day of school.  It was light brown and had a drawing of an Indian Chief in a feathered headdress stenciled on the pocket.  Why?  The whys of true art can’t be explained and be questioned. I was assigned to the afternoon half day session. It was considered at my  time that a full day was too long for our little minds or maybe maybe it was the teachers who couldn’t take a longer day?   Today the kids stay all day and some into the early evening under the watchful (sometimes) eyes of teacher aides schooled in watching students play video games. 

Early that morning Mom kissed me goodbye then she went to work.  (She had a tear in her eye.  As for me, I couldn't wait to go to school.)  Nanny packed me a snack and walked me to school with other mothers, caretakers and their polished kids.   We joined a long caravan slowly going  up 3rd street.  The school yard was alive with kids; girls playing hopscotch and boys shooting marbles.  I had my new Buster Brown's on and they squeaked as I crossed the big playground.  A bell high on the walk clanged and the older kids who had devoured their cafeteria lunches automatically lined up to march into the afternoon session. The new kindergartners waited at their own special entrance that led up a curving staircase to the “nursery/classroom” with it's big bay window.  Nanny took me to the foot of the stairs, handed me my brand new Roy Rogers lunch box containing 4 cookies and a bunch of  grapes.  Our teacher, Mrs. Garton was at the top of the stairs waiting to greet us. Happy kids filed by her smiling and excited.  I followed and as I greeted  my teacher I experienced high anxiety for the first time in my life - I realized that I  was not going to have Nanny with me for the whole afternoon.   I grabbed the railing and  hung on for dear life as Mrs. Garton softlysaid, “Come, let’s not keep the others waiting.”  I didn’t budge.  She gently took my arm thinking I might be afraid to climb the stairs.  I tightened my grip.  She gave a harder tug and I could see my grandmother coming forward.  Mrs. Garton’s voice changed.  “It's time to go to school,” she said, raising her voice.”  That did it.  A low whine of "NO" started deep in my gut and grew louder as she pulled on me.   Now the older kids started to hear that there was something going on – a kid was stuck to the railing.  This seemed to delight them.  They started to hoot and holler. And I whined louder.   My classmates were seeing their own deepest fears come true - a couple started to bowl with me.  They were having second thoughts now about what lurked at the end of those winding steps.  Mrs. Garton knew she had to act fast before it became group hysteria and she would loose the whole class to  the first day willies 

My grip was vise like.  Adrenalin spiked and fanned my resolve not to budge.  Mrs. Garton was pulling as hard as she could.  My grandmother joined her, uttering an embarrassed apology..."If only his mother could be here.”  I couldn’t believe she had gone over to the teacher's side in our battle of wills. 

Mrs. Garten, now shouting  - “the law says you have to go to school, you...you must...you have to come into the classroom right now....STOP THIS NOW!".  In times of great stress one's survival instincts take over  -  I let go and Mrs. Garton nearly fell on top of me.  Mrs. Garton steaded herself and told my grandmother that she thought it was best to go now and leave me with the professionals.  "All will be alright," she assured her.  My grandmother made a fast exit.  I am sure as she walked the few blocks home she wondered how mom was going to react to  this event and hoped that she wouldn’t be blamed "not getting me off to a good start,”  

When Nanny got to our house I was waiting for her at the back door. I had simply walked out after Mrs. Garton led me to my seat.  I feigned defeat only to escape and make my way by the “wilderness” route (the unpaved 4th street through the woods) tand beat her home.  “Calvin”!  Nanny immediately walked me back to school  (after a fairly hard swot on my behind which convinced me that my revolt was over).  It was my fate. I had to go to school.  

I went up the stairs unassisted, looking back only once - and never missed another day of school (on purpose) - only giving in when I had the vast array of kid diseases.  My love of learning was kindled that day - and it has never dimmed since.

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