Advertisement If we’re lucky, fringe benefits accumulate in the form of good memories. In this season of cornucopia, I’m particularly thankful for good memories, among them my early education.
I’m the product of a one-room South Dakota country school attended during the late ’40s and early ’50s when main courses were reading, ’riting and ’rithmetic — commonly known as the three R’s.
At Ludwig No. 62, several students were in each of the eight grades. I was fortunate to be in a class of six (the entire class graduated from the same high school in 1957).
With eight grades studying in close proximity, it was a good idea to be diligent with the books lest you become embarrassed during recitation — that oft-dreaded fourth R.
There also was a welcomed fifth R — recess (whose sidekick was lunchtime), each day anticipated even by bookworms. Weather didn’t keep us indoors. In favorable temps, we were outdoors in a flash; in harsh temps we took the time to bundle up before heading out. We entertained ourselves with softball, kick the can, ante over, fox and geese, and king of the mountain, or we made snow angels, snowmen, igloos or constructed grass huts. Exercise came naturally; obesity wasn’t in our vocabulary.
Special occasions were a softball game versus a neighboring school, an annual Christmas program, the traditional eerie Halloween dungeon, an occasional classroom brought outdoors or a field trip to a big city, perhaps to tour an ice cream factory.
Nothing was as swell as having great teachers who somehow found time to be our mentor and friend. The one room had one instructor. Usually she came to us after earning a certificate after six weeks of summer school. Lois, Grace, Mildred, Mary, Phyllis and Janet were quite versed in honing our skills. To this day I admire each one. Lois (now deceased) was my first- and eighth-grade teacher; Grace taught me in second and third grades.
Grace visited our family often when my brother was bedridden with osteomyelitis. If we are permitted to have a favorite teacher, she is mine.
Recently I phoned Grace, 81. She reminded me that I — along with a classmate (another Larry) — was rambunctious, especially as recess approached. “Other than this, you boys always did your work.
“Those two years were tremendous. I learned a lot from my students, and hope I wasn’t too hard on them. I truly enjoyed every day of my teaching.”
Is there any wonder I have reason to be thankful?
