4th Grade and a male teacher.

 I’m having a hard time putting Mr. Whittaker’s story out for everyone to read…I’ve written the story as I saw him, through the eyes of a 9/10 year old…I had lived in Lake Fork, less than a year, spent 6 months at Wood Grove and never had a “male teacher.”..Most lower grades were taught by female teachers, because that was one of the “jobs” that was acceptable for women to have in those days…The only other choices were, nurses or librarians or the more acceptable choice was to find a husband, and raise a family…A college education was not deemed important and was not encouraged for women.

Teachers in those days had to be strict and used rulers, chalk board erasers, paddles or whatever was handy to keep order in the classroom…I had no reason to be afraid of Mr. Whittaker because our dad, didn’t discipline us by “unbuckling his belt,” as happened in many households…But as we, “students,” gathered in the school yard that first day of school September 1951, we were all wondering how this year would go.

Looking back, I imagine Mr. Whittaker was wondering the same thing…He had moved his young family, (I think he and Mrs. Whittaker had 4 children under the age of 6)…The oldest “Ernest,” would be in 1st grade…They had moved from the Boise Valley, mild climate to one of the snow belts of the United States..The “teacherage” a two room cottage, was their new home…Now he not only was responsible for his family but also an entire school, where he was also the janitor, wood splitter, snow shoveler, etc.

As you will see in the story, he was a unique character and I hope to bring that image to life, on paper…I can’t say he was my favorite teacher, but he certainly is the one I remember the most about…Story will start tomorrow…Hugs To All OWAV:)

What No. bathroom

About two years before moving to Idaho, my parents added a bathroom to our house.  No longer did we make the trek outside in all kinds of weather, to use the bathroom.  Nor would we ever have to take a bath in the small round tub in the middle of the kitchen floor.  

The shiny white porcelain tub sat in one corner of the new bathroom with a toilet next to it.  I remember sitting in a tub full of hot water, legs stretched out full length, soaking.  Then with a twist of the tap more hot water flowed into the bathtub and I could soak even longer. But now, we moved to a new house far away in Idaho, and again there stood an outhouse next to the woodshed. The trips to the smelly outhouse started once more.  It was winter and I hated sitting down on the cold wooden seat, the shock almost made you forget why you had left the warmth of the house, in the first place.  The early morning trip proved even colder than the night before!  In comparing this outhouse to the one in Utah, I liked this one better.  It had two seats, a shorter one for kids, where my feet touched the floor.  Here, in this harsh land I would soon learn to appreciate the little things in life.

There was a fun side to the outhouse for our older cousins.  They often came in the summers to help with the haying.  One year, our cousin brought his new “city” wife,  and he always accompanied her on the nightly trip to the toilet.  The other cousins soon picked up on this, and started plotting to scare her.   First, they hid behind trees and howled like a coyote, which made her really nervous, but they wanted more of a reaction.   The next night they carefully placed an old bobcat hide around the toilet seat, then hid in the hayfield and waited. When her bare bottom touched the bobcat fur, she didn’t disappoint them. I imagine the screams are still echoing from one end of Long Valley to the other. 

 

The weekly Saturday night bath was again taken in a small round galvanized tub in the middle of the kitchen floor, in front of the wood burning range, the warmest place in the house.  We were lucky to have running water piped into the house from a well, but we didn’t have a hot water heater.  Bath night worked a certain way at our house.  Mom would have to heat water on the wood stove in several kettles and then pour them into the tub and put more water on to heat.  She then added cold water to get the right temperature.  Then Mom took the first turn because she was the cleanest of the dirty.  After she finished, hot water was added and I was next.  Then we followed up the line in order of age, hot water added with every person.  Daddy was always the last in line, and I don’t know if he ever got to take a bath in clean water. 

 

Baths in the summer were taken more often and easier for everyone.  The hayfield crew came in hot, dirty and itchy, grabbed towels, suits (maybe) and a bar of soap as they headed for the icy waters of Boulder Creek, about ½ mile away. Boulder Creek’s headwaters located on Jug Handle Mountain and our house nested at its base.  A perfect swimming hole at the bridge, made a good place to get clean and cool. There was a lot of horseplay to bring a day of hard work to a close.  Proof that farm work is not all work and no play.  The younger kids were not forgotten in this ritual, since early in the morning, an old bathtub filled with water and left in the sun to warm during the day.  Before we were called to supper, all of us played, splashed and washed the dirt away, and then took a quick rinse in the cold water of the lawn sprinkler.

Water had to be heated for everyday needs, dishwashing etc. and washday.  Power outages and frozen pipes were always a problem.  If that happened, then we had to haul snow in, to melt for water.  It was never a problem to find snow in Lake Fork, but it still required many trips.  It takes a lot of snow to make that much water. 

I remember that Daddy installed a water heater that first winter so we would have instant hot water.  But an indoor bathroom didn’t make an appearance for several more years.  By then we again really appreciated being able to turn on the tap for more hot water, stretch out in the tub, and sit on a warm toilet seat instead of making the cold trip to the outhouse.  Maybe this was when Daddy finally got to take a bath in his very own bath water. 

Truly Amazing.

 I often complain about the USPS, not much about the delivery service, mostly about the high cost of sending a package…Today I have to commend them on their delivery service.

Remember the story I wrote recently about a classmate I hadn’t seen or heard from for many years, well in Tuesdays mail I received a letter from her, not sure where she found the address that she used but it wasn’t mine…

She had been looking through back, “2011” issues of Country Magazine and found an article about Wood Grove school, that I had written and decided to try and get in touch with me.

Idella Ashton Allen

1930 D & S Syringa Rd.

Joseph, Oregon 98746

The “road” is way off and the zip code should be 97846. I was totally blown away, that it arrived in our mail box. Kudos to the mail service. Now I have her address and will have to reply by snail mail, because she said nothing about email or texting or phone numbers, that will be a challenge for me… Hugs To All…OWAV:)

Highschool at Donnelly McCall

 High school came as a shock. It was all about clothes, name brand clothes such as Jantzen, White Stag, Pendleton, hairstyles, makeup, boys, dates, dances and clicks. The following paragraphs explain more about the dynamic’s of Valley County consisting of McCall, Donnelly, Cascade and Lake Fork. McCall had more rich people than the surrounding towns. The local lumber baron Warren Brown led the wealthy pack with Harwoods next in line. They built new ranch style homes on the lakefront of Payette Lake, which McCall is famous for. Three or more bedrooms with attached 3 car garages built in a curving “L” style so all windows looked out with a view of the lake…Compared to other houses in McCall that were basic 2 or 3 bedroom homes of less than 1000 square feet, the new lakeside homes were huge and spelled money in a big way.

I started high school with a new pair of shoes, a couple of dresses, skirts and blouses. The tag in them read, well really there wasn’t a tag, they were made by my Mom. She did her best but she wasn’t very fashion conscious. I’m not sure that I really cared but I do remember wanting a pleated wool Pendleton skirt. I was in the same boat with the majority of other kids because the poor outnumbered the rich many times over.

Sports for girls were non-existent except for a mediocre softball team. We played volleyball and half court basketball in PE classes. These games were nothing like today’s sports for girls. It was believed at the time that girls were more fragile and didn’t have the stamina for sports. We usually ended up being half/time entertainment at basketball games in the form of dance teams or comedy routines dressed in purple bloomers like clowns. 

As eighth graders we were asked to join the high school band and this opened doors for me to be part of an organization, get acquainted with older students and again ease my way into high school. 

A new band teacher, Mr. Boyd, had been hired and he worked hard to expand the music program.  He approached the administration about including the Jr. high students in the high school band and choir.  He was a fantastic teacher, he expected the most out of all of his students, and he didn’t put up with being late for class or forgetting your instrument.  He taught us the proper way to sit, instruments either at rest or in play position.  Watching him at all time was a must; if anyone was caught goofing off they were out of the band, second chances not allowed.  He commanded respect and we loved and admired him for it.  

He soon had all of us, junior high and high school working on more difficult pieces, and the most amazing part was that we were all enjoying making music.  We played in music festivals in Lewiston, Idaho every spring, marched and played in the Thanksgiving Parade in Boise.  He started a pep band, and we played at every ball game for the next five years.  We traveled with the teams to the Boise Valley, and stayed overnight with students from the other schools. When I was a senior we made a trip to Moscow, Idaho where we played for a University basketball game. He introduced us to the world of classical music, Grand Canyon Suite, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies, marches by John Phillips Sousa, and many more.  

I continued playing in the band through high school and enjoyed it much more than most of my classes.  It gave many of us kids, who didn’t compete in sports, a place to excel and feel a part of the extracurricular activities. I traveled and experience things that otherwise would have been unavailable to me.

By the time I was a senior I had found the “college boy” of my dreams, was engaged to be married and no longer had to worry about whether I was popular or not or if my clothes were Jantzen or White Stag.

The Saga continues.

 Consolidation was not a choice for us, it was mandated and I think for me it was good because it eased my way into high school. One of the larger country schools was made into a junior high. Twenty-five students from Lake Fork and Donnelly attended this school with only one teacher, seventh graders on one side of the room and eighth graders on the other side. A water cooler in one corner near the pencil sharpener and the bathrooms one for girls and another for boys were outside. Another large room was kept closed off most of the time but in winter it had a ping-pong table, where we held endless ping-pong tournaments. In warm weather we played softball every recess. The Donnelly/McCall high school was only five miles away so we were bused there for a hot lunch and also to join the high school band for daily practices. I didn’t have any problems settling in to this new school. I made friends easily and compared to the other girls I was a good softball player and always one of the first girls chosen to be on a team. I found out quickly that my grades were mediocre compared to the other students’ as visions of honor student floated right out of my head. I was content to get average grades and never really learned good study skills.

I soon had a boyfriend. I wore a “dog tag” necklace with his name and he wore one with my name. At school we made no secret of this but each night when I went home the necklace was tucked under my shirt so my parents couldn’t see it. Most of our conversations were carried on via notes passed by friends or at the water cooler, as we just happened to get thirsty at the same time. We shyly sat next to each other on the bus as we rode to lunch, giving each other sidelong glances. I went to band practice and he to study hall. This romance was short lived as I soon saw him flirting with another girl at the water cooler and returned his necklace. 

One of the best parts of this change in schools was the hot lunch program.  I had eaten a cold sack lunch for five years and hot lunch was such a treat. Hamburger gravy over mashed potatoes and chili with homemade rolls were two of my favorites. We could have all of the bread and butter sandwiches that we wanted but were not allowed to waste anything. I was in heaven except for the occasional serving of canned peas that I had to choke down before returning for seconds. 

Our introduction to high school was a field trip to Boise and included all incoming freshman. We toured the Capitol Building in Boise and the Idaho Statesman Newspaper offices. We were supposed to get acquainted with the freshman from McCall but there was very little mingling on the long bus ride, everyone stayed with their familiar group or their own little click. Girls had to wear dresses on this trip and also would be required to wear dresses everyday at school. It was here that I began to notice the differences in clothing that became more apparent as the years went by. 

A school dance or mixer as it was called was held on the afternoon of the first day of school. I remember one girl in particular, a cute blond. She was blond, petite and knew how to dance. She wore dress shoes and nylons to go with her full-skirted dress as she twirled and bobbed around the dance floor, blond curls bouncing. She danced every dance and flirted with first one boy and then another as they all clamored for her hand. I sat on the sideline in a plain dress wearing saddle oxfords and bobbie socks, watching, palms sweaty, wanting a boy to ask me to dance but also afraid that they would because I didn’t really know how to dance. 

One boy did ask me to dance and he said to me, “I saw you watching ‘her’, you know don’t you that pretty is as pretty does”? 

“I know.” I answered, “But look she is so popular and cute.” 

I envied her through high school and her talents became even more apparent as the years went on. She could play the piano and made the honor roll. She was the first choice for the lead parts in the school plays. She changed boyfriends often and had a date for every school dance. Boyfriends, dates never happened for me but it didn’t stop me from going to dances and parties. I sat on the sidelines with my girlfriends and waited for girls choice. and I found my own nitch in the band program and as a member of “Girls Club” where I served as Vice President and President of the organization in my Junior and Senior years. 

Growing up years.

 These were idyllic years at school as well as at home. I had chores to do at home and didn't expect payment. Payment came in the form of a roof over my head, food on the table, a bed to sleep in and parents who loved me. School lasted for nine months and then the summer was mine. Of course I still had chores to do but I also spent endless hours riding horse back under Jug Handle Mountain. We had two horses for riding “Felt” and “Tricksy”. Felt was easier to catch and also smoother riding. Once I got the bridle on him, I led him to the closest corral fence and climbed from the fence onto his bare back. Now with one or more dogs trotting along side, I was ready to go after the cows for milking or maybe just ready to ride as I imagined myself an Indian free and wild. I headed out one of the many trails from our house that led to the meadows, the dry farm or the forest covered mountain behind our house. Shaped like the handle on a jug this mountain was dubbed Jug Handle and loomed over Valley County’s east side. I explored the trails, sometimes checking on our small herd of sheep or the range cattle. I didn't wear a helmet or a watch but my internal clock seemed to know when I better start for home or maybe it was my stomach signaling that it was time for a meal. There were no lessons, no organized sports, no play dates. I learned to entertain myself and the word bored was not in my vocabulary.

I loved attending Wood Grove where young and old alike learned together, played together and took care of each other. But our country was changing and ideas about education were about to change as well. The small country schools found it more difficult to recruit and keep good teachers. Four different teachers were hired in the five years I attended Wood Grove and consolidation of schools seemed to be the answer. My years ended at Wood Grove after 7th grade. 

School years.

 

For five years I attended Wood Grove, a one-room country school near Lake Fork. Grades 1 through 8 attended this school with 1 teacher hired to teach 10 to 15 students. In the back corner stood the pot bellied stove our only source of heat, windows that opened in spring and fall supplied air conditioning. Water was pumped from a well and carried inside for drinking and washing up before lunch. A lone towel hung on a nail next to a small enamel basin and a bar of soap sat in a dish. Everyone shared; water, towel and soap. The water was ice cold in winter, lukewarm in summer and was changed occasionally by pitching it out the door and refilling the basin. The water bucket had a dipper that everyone drank from. A small mirror hung above the washbasin and a lone comb lay on the shelf, we shared that also. No one ever had head lice and colds were far and few between. 

On the occasion that someone got a sick, they stayed home for a few days and home remedies were used. Mustard plasters applied to the chest for a cold, lots of Vicks vapor rub for sore throats and Vicks nose drops to clear ones head. Aspirin, sulfa drugs and hot lemonade were administered as often as the patient would allow. If your nose was stuffed up and you had a sore throat it was a cold. If you were throwing up it was the flu. If you had a fever and a sore throat it was tonsillitis. If you had tonsillitis more than 3 times in one winter a trip to the doctors office was in store next spring and the tonsils were removed. 

I breezed through the years at Wood Grove.  Classes were not very demanding. We were there to learn the 3 R's. Readin and 'Rithmetic came easy to me. 'Ritin was limited to printing, then cursive. We practiced forming the letters but very little time spent on making sentences. I thought I was smart. Little did I know? We didn’t have a library but our teacher read to us every day right after lunch and it soon became my favorite time of the school day.

Our playground was a field with a swing set, a teeter-totter and a place to play softball. In winter it became a snow field where we played fox and geese, made snow forts and waged war with the only available ammunition, snowballs. All students, young and old, boy or girl wore the same "uniform", jeans and a shirt. We didn't know about styles or color coordinating or name brands. Clothes were just something to cover ones body and keep one warm.