I shouldn't have been there at all. I was too young, an interloper. No Kindergarten class existed to welcome me. My parents knew that I was bored at home and they sought to remedy my plight.
Daddy was a member of the local school board. As the academic year approached, discussion centered around the lack of the required number of students needed to complete a first grade class. Daddy offered me to fill one of the vacant slots. Another girl, five months younger than myself, brought the class into compliance.
My parents were told that I could be withdrawn if school proved to be too daunting. It never was except perhaps years later when I began to freeze when faced with advanced math.
Pine Ridge School consisted of a two-story wood frame building. Two classrooms were situated on each of the floors. Two grades were taught in each classroom. The arrangement seemed perfectly normal to all the students and their teachers.
Sixty years ago this September, I rode the school bus from my front yard a mile or so to the school building. That first year there was no cafeteria on site. A brown paper bag contained my lunch. I have a vague memory of drinking a warm bottle of Pepsi at my desk, supplemented by a waxed paper wrapped sandwich.
As a poor relation to the much better funded schools of the nearby town, our classroom furniture tended to be antique. Desks were attached one to the other, made of some dark hardwood and featured a circular hole where one could place his ink bottle. Not useful for my generation but for others long before me. The top of the desk was hinged with ample space inside for books, papers, and pencils in the cavity beneath.
Mrs. Hays taught me in first and second grade. She was followed by Miss Furr for third and fourth grade. During the week, they lived with their fellow teachers in a small building on the school grounds. The 'teacherage' also housed the principal and her husband.
Even though the school lacked many basic amenities, students flourished in the instructional environment. A large lot adjacent to the school provided ample room for sports. Along with core subjects, an emphasis on art allowed us to expand our creativity. I can still visualize the much-too-skinny papier mache lion which I constructed. Music was introduced as we participated in a Rhythm Band. Outfits for the girls consisted of a short bright red taffetta skirt, topped by a sleeveless black taffetta top, trimmed with silver cord. Even in grade school, my non-musical self was evident. Thus, I was assigned to the triangle. I'm sure it was thought I'd do the least damage to the group with that instrument. The band performed at school assemblies and on occasion traveled to other country schools for concerts.
Mother became President of the PTA. Many nights were spent at the schoolhouse where potluck dinners raised money to buy equipment or send the students on field trips. With school bus windows lowered to catch damp breezes, we traveled overgrown vegetation shrouded narrow roads to Vicksburg and Jackson. National parks and museums provided culture to kids whose previous exposure, in most cases, was alarmingly low.
Students could join the 4-H Club, participate in Boy or Girl Scouts, take piano or voice lessons. Once a week, a bookmobile arrived on campus. As children grew a bit older, they might secure permission to walk to the nearby country store. In this unadorned concrete building, which my husband later compared to scenes in the movie "Deliverance," snacks could be purchased to supplement sack lunches. I developed a fondness for Zero candy bars and absurdly sugar-laden peanut patties.
Discipline was dispensed without regard to consequences or the rights of students. One day when I was in fifth grade and still adjusting to the concept of a male teacher, an unruly sixth grade boy refused to obey Mr. Bishop's direction. Soon the two grades sat still while the young man was chased around the room by the teacher, wielding a huge heavy yardstick. Determined to escape, the boy climbed out the back window and made his way across the roof of the building. Mr. Bishop followed in nimble pursuit. I remember nothing more about this incident but I'm confident that the student suffered from his actions both at school and later at home.
My classmates considered themselves enrolled in a proper school. Certainly its rural location limited our academic learning somewhat. When I finished the sixth grade, life changed dramatically. Two school districts melded together and I was destined to spend seventh grade, and all the succeeding grades, in town. I vividly recall being intimidated and filled with questions. What if I couldn't compete? How would I make new friends? Could I make the transition from two grades in one room to changing classes and teachers every period of the day?
Almost seamlessly, Braden became my new school sanctuary. I discovered that I was well-prepared and that friends were easily attained. Some of the people I met that year remain a part of my life today. Moving from one classroom to another gave me a sense of maturity rather than fright. Pine Ridge remains my firm foundation and still resonates in my memory.
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