CHAPTER 26
In January 1950 I returned to East Ward Elementary. I was not given a returning hero’s welcome with waving flags and thrown confetti. There were no sticks or stones thrown either. The only things thrown were insults. Everyone ignored me for the most part and didn’t allow me to join in any reindeer games. I didn’t have a big glowing red nose, but somehow I was different. Perhaps the smell of swamp clung to me.
There was a sing-song rhyme children sang when someone called them a name. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Words may not break bones, but they can hurt and the wounds caused may run deep and last longer than any scars upon the flesh.
I should have been comfortable coming back. Several of the kids had once been playmates on my block and I knew most the others from First Grade. A number of the girls still talked and invited me to play, which didn’t help my cause with the boys. Boys and girls at that age were somewhat like cats and dogs, not expected to mix. That I quickly became something of a “Teacher’s Pet” did me no favors either.
(My Third Grade class picture 1950)
It may be telling that in the class picture I am standing directly in front of my third-grade teacher, Miss Ezrah. You may note as well, I am standing next to the blond girl I was moonstruck for during all of grade school, Mary Jane Chudleigh. On my left is Tim Mahan, who had been a close friend in my preschool days, but that friendship did not continue. The second boy on the left in the front row is Bobby Cuellers, the one friendship I had at West Whiteland. But it did not pick up where it left off when we came to East Ward. Iva Darlington is the sixth person from the left in the front row, standing next to Bill Brookover, a future friend. Denny Myers stands in the back row second from the right next to Jack Swarner (died 2020), six months earlier Denny and I had our arms around each other in friendly comradeship, now both he and Jack would become tormenters, each something of a bully.
The dark haired boy to Denny’s left is Frank Marcucci (died 2020). Frank would become a class leader at Downingtown High School, but that was after I was gone and I never developed any close ties with him. There were never any troubles between us either, although I had a run in with his older brother shortly after moving back to town.
I was playing in the field next to 424 Washington, as I often did. Marcucci, I think his first name was Jerry, came walking across the lot, which at that time was vacant except for piles of cinders on the northern portion. In the photo on the right can be seen some of the cinder piles in the otherwise vacant lot. People who lived on Jefferson or other streets behind us often cut across this lot rather then walk down the sidewalk along Whiteland to Washington. I paid him no mind. I don’t think he said anything to me. He just jumped me, knocked me to the ground and began pummeling me with his fists. I have no idea why. I had seen him cross that lot many times, but I didn’t know him from Adam.
He was older and larger and had the advantage. My dog Topper was in the old chicken pen behind the backyard. He was pacing and barking when this happen. Somehow he got out of the pen and ran across the yard. The bigger boy got off me in a hurry and ran. He never bothered me again. I still don’t know why he attacked me.
There were several boys in that class picture who would become friends, some for life, but I didn’t know them yet. The two who would be my “bestest” friends were furthest from me in the photo, one standing half hidden behind the other. The one is Stuart Rayfield GodfreyMeisel, the boy on the far right who looks as if he is holding his breath to the bursting point. He has very dark hair and a striped T-shirt. The other is the mop of hair right behind him, Ronald Walter Tipton, seemingly scratching his nose. There was something “different” about them, as there was something different about me that caused a barrier between we three and our classmates.
Our Third Grade teacher was Miss. Margaret Elizabeth Ezrah. She was in her mid-forties at that time. She died in April of 2012, 105 years old. Ronald and I visited her at the Simpson Meadows Home in
Downingtown a few years before she passed and she was well mentally and physically. She still walked downtown every day and she claimed to remember us. Miss Ezrah had an important impact on my life. I have her to blame for becoming a writer as well as my friendship with Ronald.
She gave an assignment to the class. We were to write an original short story. I was already a voracious reader, all those comics and Little Big Books and when you live in isolation you have a lot of reading time. I had invented stories and characters galore living at the swamp, make-believe adventures to fill in the void of not having companions. I had never tried writing anything down though. I wish I had a copy of what I wrote for that assignment. I only recall it’s protagonist was a cowboy, so I guess the story was a Western. Mister X was the villain.
We had to read our fictions in front of the class. Miss Ezrah praised my story and she put it up on the bulletin board for display during a Spring Fair the school always had, an event open to parents. These were not acts that would influence my classmates and win me friends, although I did meet my closest friend as a result of the assignment, more about that later.
My marks were no great shakes in grade school and were to deteriorate in Junior High. This reflected both my social struggles as well as my growing disinterest in school.
In Third Grade (left: Teacher Miss Elizabeth Ezrah) I finished with mostly Bs. Penmanship was my worse subject with Cs across the board. Next was arithmetic, where I finished with a C, but did manage a B for one marking period. Surprisingly I got a B in spelling. I also got Bs in English, Health, Science, Music and Art. The only subject I got an overall grade of A in was Social Studies, which must have incorporated Geography and History.
All my “progress in citizenship and personality development”,
what we generally called “deportment” was satisfactory, except one work habit. I got straight Unsatisfactory in “Works neatly and accurately”. Accuracy wasn’t the part that was poor; it was the neatness.
I made a lot of improvement in Fourth Grade (right: Teacher Mrs. Sara Powell), even though I didn’t like my teacher that year. I received Cs in the first marking period in two subjects, Music and Math. After that I got Bs. I finished with Bs in Penmanship (that is a small miracle, my penmanship is horrific), Spelling (with an A in the final exam – another miracle), Math, English, History, Science, Music and Art. I finished with As in Geography and Health. I had final exam marks of A in everything except Penmanship (B) and Math (B).
I even improved in Deportment receiving Satisfactory in everything including neatness. Either Mrs. Powell was overly generous or needed a pair of good glasses.
Fourth Grade was my high water mark. I declined some in Fifth Grade even though I liked my teacher, Mrs. Shellenburger (I am not certain of the spelling.of her name. ) That is her picture on the left. She was a tall woman who I came to think looked like the movie actor Edmond O’Brien in drag. He is pictured on the right.. Penmanship and Math were my weakest subjects. I received Cs in both. I even got my first D in Penmanship for the second marking period. I finished with a B in Spelling, Geography (something of a letdown, especially with a C in the final exam after starting off the year with an A), English, History, Health and Art. I had a few A’s sprinkled in all my subjects during the year. I finished with A in Science, Music and Conduct.
In Deportment I finished with a Satisfactory in everything, although I had an unsatisfactory in “Works Neatly and Accurately” for the second marking period. The “neatly” was circled. I also got a question mark for the second marking period in “Works and plays well with others”. I wonder what that meant? I can’t believe I kept getting satisfactory in that category elsewhere.
I fell off badly in sixth grade (left: Teacher Mrs. Rhonda Yost ,who was also the school’s Principal), but by then I had lost most my interest in school. My Penmanship finished with a C, but I had a couple Ds mixed in. I ended with C averages in Spelling, Math, Geography, Health, Science and Music. I got an A in Art and in Conduct, of course. I was never a troublemaker.
My Deportment also went down considerably. I finished with a Satisfactory in most of the16 categories, but I had a lot of Unsatisfactory and Incompletes along the way. I am a bit mystified how I got incompletes. Self-confidence, Incomplete, how does that work?
The behaviors I received both unsatisfactory and incomplete for during the year were: Accepts group responsibility (Leadership), Has self-confidence, Starts and completes work on time, Tries to do his/her best and the ever popular, Works neatly and accurately.
A note written in Teacher’s Comments is most telling “Needs more appreciation”.
I wasn’t going to get that either at home or at school and things would only get worse in Junior High.
But why did my marks deteriorate? I was not stupid. I. Q. Testing was big during the 1950s. I don’t know the scores of the tests I was given by the school district, which were the Wechsler Tests. The scores were always a great secret, but I scored high enough in these tests that the powers that be for such academic matters approached my parents to have me put in a special program for intelligent children, what they called “gifted” today. My parents refused, for which I am thankful. I was already persona non grata among my peers. I didn’t need something else to drive a wedge between them and me.
I do know my Stanford Binet score, taken forty-two years ago, 136. This placed me in the second level of their scale, Very Superior 120-139. The next scale up is Genius, Over 140. This shows these tests are not perfect. I certainly should have been in the Genius level. (I hope you know I’m smiling as I say that with my tongue in cheek!)
There were reasons for my poor scholastic performance. You can go back to the notation on my Sixth Grade report card, “Needs more appreciation”. I was not getting much appreciation at home. I wasn’t even getting much attention when a mark was low, other than, “if you don’t want to repeat a grade you better bring that mark up.” There weren’t any pats on my back when I scoring a high mark.
My parents seldom came when my work was put on display in the school for an open house or I appeared in some show at school. My father never did see me in these. My mother did occasionally. The best I might get was, “Oh, that’s nice, dear.” They didn’t ride herd on me to get my homework done either. If I said I was finished, they accepted it, but didn’t check, and quite often I didn’t do it.
Not turning in homework was a second reason my marks suffered. I had a very good memory in my youth. I could remember what the teacher said and I could remember what I read. I generally did very well on tests, except in math. In math memory didn’t help; you actually had to be able to do something. Besides, my homework was often late or sloppily done.
This was because I really didn’t like school very much. It was understandable. Some of my classmates ridiculed and threatened me on a daily basis. They excluded me from their social set. Kids would not let me sit with them in the cafeteria, for instance. They chose me next to last for any team sport. I was seldom the very last, but next to last isn’t good either. Many times you felt they really wanted to say, “You take him, we don’t want him,” but because it was a school activity overseen by a teacher, they had no choice. I could see it in their faces, “Rats, we’re stuck with him.”
I also felt school wasn’t teaching what I wanted to learn. I had always been a step ahead in reading. By the middle of Grade School I was interested in science, chemistry, biology (Herpetology and
Entomology - part of my classified and mounted insect collection is pictured on the left.) and astrology. The school wasn’t teaching those things and I wasn’t interested in what they were teaching. I was pretty willful and stubborn as a child. I wanted to do what I wanted to do and didn’t care what others thought about it. In my mind school was in my way and a waste of time.
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