Mrs. Whitlock, Going Green

Loose leaf paper (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mrs. Whitlock was “going green” way before it was politically and socially correct. Anyone who lived through the Great Depression, as she had, knew that you never wasted anything.

Our Math homework for Monday night was to be done on the front of the loose leaf paper. Tuesday’s homework was done on the reverse side of that paper. Wednesday, a new sheet of paper was to be used; Thursday, the flip side of Wednesday’s. Friday there was no Math homework. Hallelujah.

If you were absent on one of those days, you would hand in your homework when you returned to class. It would be given back to you the next day, with corrections. Then, it was to be put into the recycle pile. But it wasn’t called that, it was just the scrap paper pile. 

This pile of papers was located on the top surface of the heater. Every once in a while during the winter, the heat would blow full blast and the scrap paper would fly around the room. This was great fun because the school day was so structured that having something out of place and chaotic was a relief. It caused Mrs. Whitlock’s jaw to drop open in unbelief, as we all laughed out loud. [ LOL had not yet been coined.]

Once in a while, we would be required to go back to the scrap paper pile and use someone else’s paper that had only been used on one side. I found this kinda creepy. But since there was a format to how we handed in our homework, (written side up, pass it forward, the kid in front of you put his on top, etc.) you could be sure that your work would be seen and “checked off.”

Tomorrow: Checks on the Chalkboard

Before she taught me, Mrs. Whitlock taught my father

One room schoolhouse(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mrs. Whitlock was one of those teachers who taught in the little one-room schoolhouse. She taught both my father and my uncle, during the 1940’s.

Fast forward to the 1970’s. We lived in the same neighborhood where my father had attended school. He lived on a farm, and walked to school. The little schoolhouse, though abandoned, was still standing. It was within walking distance from our home. I walked by it, but I saw all the “No Trespassing” signs and was afraid to actually go inside the building. By fifth grade, I had developed a conscience, and was never able to break any rules without feeling extremely guilty–even if no one was around to see it. [Of course, now as an adult, I realize this is also a gift! Having instruction of Right and Wrong is truly priceless.]

Those old schoolhouses had all the grades in one room. To think of it now seems difficult; but I’m sure there was a method at the time which enabled everyone to get a quality education. There would be first graders mixed in with sixth graders. Every child would be at a different level of learning. Yet everyone learned. Education was valued. Parents knew that education was the way to get ahead in life. Discipline was not a problem. In those days, teachers were allowed to hit children. And my mother always told me, if you got hit, you did not go home and tell your parents, because you would get hit by your parents. [I’m not saying this was good; I’m just saying that’s the way it was.]

Mrs. Whitlock was elderly by the time I had her for fifth grade. But she was not feeble; you didn’t mess with her.

Related articles

• At the end of the day, during fifth grade (theyearwithmrswhitlock.wordpress.com)
• Poems and Sayings of my 5th grade teacher (theyearwithmrswhitlock.wordpress.com)

At the end of the day, during fifth grade

A chalkboard. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Towards the end of the day, we would all go back to homeroom, about 15 minutes before the buses were called. We knew very well that the “other” fifth grade, Mrs. Carr’s class, would be playing board games, chatting, laughing. The boys would be on the floor playing with their Hot Wheels, or wrestling each other.

 

But for those of us in Mrs. Whitlock’s class, we had to pull out our Reading Books, and spend the 15 minutes reading. Mrs. Whitlock would have a different child read each paragraph. She would look ahead and see what was going on in the paragraph, and ask a question. Whoever knew the answer would then read the paragraph.

 

For example, if we were reading a story about a boy going to the store, she would ask, “How did Henry get to the store?” We would look ahead, and someone would (raise their hand of course, and wait to be called on), and reply, “Henry rode his bike to the store.”  Then that person would read the entire paragraph.

 

I was absolved of this reading most of the time; I’ll get to that in a minute.

 

At the time, all I could think was, why  can’t we play like the other kids? Why are we in jail?  Of course now, 40 something years later, I realize that she was teaching us to read ahead, think for ourselves, and glean meaning from what was written. Fifteen minutes a day, time 200 days, and that is substantial training for reading contracts.

 

I was “Tom Sawyer’d” into cleaning the blackboards most days. Mrs. Whitlock would remind every one, “SueAnn is the top reader in the school, and so she will clean the blackboards.” I was a little proud of this accomplishment, but it made the cool kids hate me. Looking back on it, it wasn’t such a grand prize. I was breathing in chalk dust, and then on Fridays I would have to use the damp cloth and wipe the blackboards down. That was kinda gross too. I just felt happy that I was actually good at something.

 

[These days, I’m good at dressing layers, so as to be ready for Hot Flashes.]

 

Related articles

• Poems and Sayings of my 5th grade teacher (theyearwithmrswhitlock.wordpress.com)

 

The Back Closet

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the back closet of Mrs. Whitlock’s classroom there was an extra dress, a pair of sneakers, and a  hair brush.

When it was time for Gym Class, Mrs. Whitlock would put her sneakers on. She didn’t participate in the Gym Class, but she would walk us down the hall to the Gym. When the weather was nice, she would take us outside and make us run around the track. She herself didn’t run; what the heck did she need sneakers for? It really looked silly paired with her old-fashioned, to-the-calf dress.

Mrs. Whitlock was also seen walking to and from school, just as he had in the 1940’s. She didn’t have a new-fangled automobile. She walked in rain, sleet, or snow. Once in a while another teacher would offer her a ride and she would accept it. So I understand the sneakers from a “transportation” view. But just to feel one-of-the-crowd during gym class, I don’t get that.

The brush was for discipline. Although corporal punishment in the schools had been outlawed by the time 1970 rolled around, Mrs. Whitlock still found it useful to threaten to hit us with the brush from time to time. I never saw her use it on anyone. But she did one time grab a kid by the hair, take him into the boys’ room, and cut his hair off.

I never did figure out why that extra dress was there. Maybe if she got snowed in, she would have something different to wear the next day?

Charles

We had one strange kid in class, his name was Charles, not Charlie, or Chuck or Chad. No nickname. No intimacy.

He smelled a little funny, like he didn’t bathe very often. He didn’t really have any friends, but didn’t seem to know any better either.

He read very slowly. Although we were in fifth grade, he was on a First Grade reading level.

Mrs. Whitlock had a special place in her heart for Charles. He sat in the front row, center, so that he was directly in front of the blackboard. She gave him the simple sentences to read. She spoke slowly and kindly to him.

Every time that Charles was absent from school, she would explain to the class that Charles was “different” and that we should be nice to him and patient with him.

I don’t remember anyone going out of their way to be mean to him. We really ignored him more than anything. Mostly because he smelled bad.

I remember hearing rumors that his sister was also his mother. This confused my Fifth Grade brain. I didn’t really understand how a father could be so terrible.

Looking back now, it makes more sense. Now I understand that Charles came from a strange, abusive home, and that he most likely had a learning disability. I feel bad that I was not able to do anything to help him.

I think back on Mrs. Whitlock with great respect for how she treated Charles, and how she attempted to teach us how to treat him better.