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During the winter of 1941-42, I was a first grader at Garfield Elementary School here in Warren. When we arrived at school in the morning, we kids milled around outside in the cold waiting for the bell. When it rang, we hustled to our classrooms after one of the big (older) stair girls made sure that all boys entering the building had removed their caps and hats. If we didn’t comply, we would be “taken in” to the principal’s office.
We placed our wraps in the cloak room. (Most of us thought we were hanging our coats in the clothes closet.) Lord help us if we thought we could get away without removing our overshoes (boots). We had to be seated before the tardy bell rang at 9 a.m.
Opening ceremonies began. We stood facing the 48 star American flag and began saying the Pledge of Allegiance with our right hands over our hearts. Upon saying “to the flag,” we stuck our right arms out straight toward the flag, palms up and completed the Pledge without the phrase “under God.”
That finished, we all sat down at our tables, folded our hands, bowed our heads, closed our eyes (maybe – who’s going to tell?) and recited the Lord’s Prayer – ending with “forever and ever.” That added ever must have been necessary. My Jewish classmates had to go along with the prayer.
We sang some songs, including one about an elephant traveling baggage free because he carried his own trunk. (We caught the joke.)
Our teacher got us settled down by reading a few mesmerizing passages of Raggedy Ann and Andy. I knew that Raggedy Ann had a candy heart sewn into her chest, but did Andy?
Over Christmas, we sang beautiful Christmas songs. Most were religious ones. I was assigned to accompany the singing by playing triangle. To this day, it’s still my best musical instrument.
Mr. Ashelman, our janitor, would fry bacon down in the furnace room on his hot plate. Whether we had a good breakfast or not, we all got a case of the grumbellies as that savory odor wafted its way to our room through the furnace duct work.
Speaking of the furnace, our warm air heating system had to be the worst one known to modern man. Our teacher was forever applying cold, wet paper towels over the thermostat to tell it that it was colder than the actual temperature in the room, which was quite cold. From time to time, much to our delight, all the efforts of Mr. Ashelman failed. The school was too cold, and we were sent home. Normally, back then our moms were home. Our principal, Miss Alderman, made sure kids weren’t sent home to an empty house.
If it was necessary for me to stay in alone during play period (recess) due to a cold or other malady, I was treated to Mr. Ashelman coming into the room with a bucket of some granulated green stuff. He would sprinkle that stuff around, then promptly sweep it up into a dustpan. Why bother, if he’s just going to sweep it up again?
Incidentally, Mr. Ashelman was drafted a few months after World War II started. The student body all chipped in for his going away present – it was an electric razor. I’m sure he had a bit of a problem finding an electrical outlet in his foxhole.
Traffic boys were both a help and a nemesis. There were no adult crossing guards, except for police Officer Charlie Roscoe who assisted the kids crossing East Market at Willard. Fifth and sixth grade boys were selected to be traffic boys (no girls) through some mysterious process. They wore a white webbing belt with a webbing strap going over their left shoulder. A chrome plated AAA badge was pinned to it over the heart.
The traffic boy on my route home would hide behind a bush as we rode our bikes toward his corner. As we pedalled by, he would jump out and jam a huge stick into our front spokes, sending us crashing over the handle bars. Nice kid.
Nearly all of the boys wore corduroy knickers which would make a zip, zip sound as the ribbed fabric rubbed together at our knees as we walked down the hall. My socks never stayed up, so the space on my calf between the tops of my boots and the elastic on the knickers bottoms always turned bright red with cold. Happily, knickers went out of style – but not before my mother bought me several pairs on sale.
The school day ended in shifts. The traffic boys were dismissed first at 3:05, then the bicycle boys (no girls) at 3:10, then the walkers at 3:15. Walkers could make it home in time to tune in to WRRN, lie down on the floor close to the console radio and listen to Hop Harrigan – “ZX-4, calling control tower!” – at 3:30.
It was great to be back home where, finally, it was warm enough.