Christmas vacation passed quickly and back in the school room Mr. Whittaker relied on more holidays to celebrate and keep us motivated. There was always a promise that if we finished our lessons and made good grades, we could again decorate the room and get up in front of the class and recite “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere”, one of our favorites.
Mr. Whittaker loved to tell stories anytime, Holiday or not. I recall he was a tall, portly man and seemed giant-like in comparison to last years teacher, a petite lady, who always brought to my mind a wilting flower, waiting for a drink of water. Mr. Whittaker wore glasses with dark frames and thick lenses, that looked like the bottom of a fruit jar. But some days he didn’t wear glasses at all. We wondered about this and ask how that could be. He took a small box from the desk drawer and said, “Students gather around my desk and I will show you. I have glasses that are called contact lenses.” We looked on in amazement as he opened the case and explained and demonstrated how you inserted them into your eyes. He told us that he could only wear them for short periods of time, before his eyes started to hurt. He wore them in Boise when he took a driving test. He passed the test and it gave him a second job, along with teaching, to support his family.
His eyesight definitely came into question, later in the winter when driving on the snow covered roads between the schoolhouse and Lake Fork. It seems that when he made the two-mile trip, once a week to buy groceries and pick up their mail, he would run off the road and have to be pulled out by a passing farmer. Sometimes this happened both ways of the trip and usually on the opposite side of the road than the side he was driving on. Several times, at the supper table, I remember my Dad, shaking his head as he said, “Mr. Whittaker did it again.” We would listen intently as he described the scene of pulling Mr. Whittaker’s car out of the snow bank.
Another interesting incident that was the subject around the supper table was the problem Mr. Whittaker had getting his car started for this weekly trip to Lake Fork during the winter. Temperatures dropped to -40ยบ on a regular basis in December and January. Mr. Whittaker often built a small fire under the car, warming it sufficiently so it would start. Wonder of wonders it did not explode the gas tank and start the car on fire.
As we celebrated other Holidays that year, I remember in particular, President Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. We did research from our one set of encyclopedias, asked our parents for information and then each of us stood in front of the class and told what we had learned about this great president. Mr. Whittaker let each of us talk then he stood to speak. After giving his speech about president Lincoln and impressing on us how much he admired the man, Mr. Whittaker proudly pounded on his chest, and declared that he was as honest as “Old Abe.” Now we were not worldly children, but most of us had been brought up with good values, honesty being one of them. We picked up on the obvious discrepancy between being honest, and wearing contact lenses to hide the fact that your eyesight was not the best. In Mr. Whittaker’s defense, I'm sure he didn’t considered wearing contact lenses for the driving test dishonest, and I assume he wore contacts, when driving the bus, and maybe he should have worn them on his weekly trips to the grocery store.
Mr. Whittaker stayed for two years finishing the contract he had signed. I don’t know if the contract was offered to him again and he declined or maybe it wasn’t offered. He did explain to us that he wouldn’t be our teacher the next year, that he was moving his family back to the Boise Valley where the climate was milder and he hoped to teach and drive school bus again. With his departure Lake Fork lost a colorful character and conversation around the dinner table resorted to predicting the weather and wondering whom the new teacher would be.
Note…This story was written, along with many others, when I attended a local group, “The Write People.” My style of writing is called “creative nonfiction,” which gives me license to recall from memory and how I remember what happened…That can be totally different from how others’ remember it…Most of the dialog, brings interest into the story, and is what I imagine was said. The years at Wood Grove, were some of my best years and they left a lasting impression on me…I decided to write these memories, so our children would know what life was like back then. Idella Allen
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