I have a little story to tell you about my school days in the small mountain town of Blandford, MA located in the western part of the state.
We lived a little less than a mile from school, just out of the center of town, which meant we had to walk to and from school every day, rain or snow, sleet or sun shine. The bus only picked up the kids that lived a mile, or more from the school. On cold winter days, or even stormy days, those in the car would wave and grin at us as we braved the elements, while they were comfortably, dry and warm. They got sick of doing that after a few times. However, we, also, were wearing big smiles, as we waved back trying to hide our discomfort, even though we were cold and, or covered with snow. We, meaning, Stanley, me and our neighbors, the Allen children. There was Carl Allen, his two older brothers, Tom and Robert, and sister Alice.
Sometimes Mom would give Stanley and me each a penny so we could stop in at Grandpa Ripley’s store to buy a piece of candy. The store was located on the corner of Main Street and Russell Road, a winter time stop and warm up place, even when we didn’t have a penny to spend. Pop worked for Grandpa and sometimes he would wait on us, which can take a long time, because picking out a large piece of penny candy that gave you the most for your money wasn’t easy.
That penny might buy us one piece of black licorice, or a small cardboard box decorated to look like a package of cigarettes, containing five white miniature sugar candy cigarettes with a red tip on one end making it appear they were lit. There was always a good selection of penny candy, but what it was now escapes me, for that was a lot of years ago. There was some days mom gave us a nickel and did we feel rich. We could buy five times as much penny candy, or for the nickel, a roll of wafers, or perhaps a candy bar, or even a package of gum, five individual chews to the package. It was a tough decision trying to decide which way to go.
Grandpa Ripley’s store was a general store where he sold a little bit of everything, groceries, meat, cheese specially cut from a large cheese wheel, fresh vegetables and berries in season, work gloves, sewing needles and thread, dyes for dying clothing, tobacco products, ice cream, candy, newspapers and magazines, to mention just a few. Groceries were on shelves behind the counter and as the customer asked for an item, either Pop, or Gramp would take it off the shelf and place it on the counter to be tallied at the end of the list. They had a long pole with a jaw at the top controlled by the lever at the bottom of the pole that squeezed the jaw around the item on the high shelves and lowered it down to where they could reach it. Many customers charged their purchase, settling up when they had the money.
I went to grammar school in a three classroom building built of brick and mortar that was located just below the White Church on the hill at the north end of town. It was a three story building with half of the basement below ground level. The boys and girls lavs were here in the basement, as was the large hot air coal fired furnace that supplied the heat to the three class rooms on the second floor. The large room on the third floor that was used for Town functions such as, the Annual Town Meeting, Minstrel Shows, School Christmas pageants, school graduations and dances. The floor was striped so it could be used for basketball games. By the time I started school, there weren’t enough older boys to make up a team so basket ball became a thing of the past in Blandford from then on.
Mr Dunlap, a man that always looked very old, but may not have been, lived about a half mile below our house on Russell Road. He was janitor of the school and was on his way to work each morning. about the time Stanley and I were getting ready for school. During warmer days in the Spring and Fall, or when it wasn’t raining, Mr. Dunlap drove his two wheeled, single seat, horse drawn buggy to work. Some days Stanley and I would be at the foot of our driveway standing at the edge of Russell Road waiting for the Allen children. Once in a while, Mr. Dunlap came by just as we were all meeting to continue our walk to school, he’d stop and offer the Allen children a ride. There was a seat on the back of the buggy, actually it was only a narrow board the full width of the buggy where the three boys would sit, and Alice sat up on the driver’s seat with him.
Mom would never let Stanley, or me, ride with him fearing we might fall off and get hurt. One day we did get a ride, but he didn’t let us sit on the back of the buggy. Instead he had us sit on the seat with him, so he could hold us from falling off. Unbeknown to us that day, Mom had been watching from the front room window and saw us climb on the buggy. Stanley sat on one side of him, and I on the other. She said nothing then, but when we returned home later that afternoon, we got a, as she called it, good talking to about "What did I tell you - - -?", followed by more “don’t you ever - - -“, but never a spanking. Her speech worked just fine. We never did it again.
As previously mentioned, the class rooms were on the middle floor of the building. At the front of the building to make it more attractive, the architect had included a wide set of granite steps nearly the full width of the building up to the second floor. On either side of the steps was a curved concrete slab designed as a type of railing keeping people back from the ends of the steps. At the top of the steps were two sets of double doors opened by crash bars from inside, to enter the second floor. These doors were never used by students, or teachers, except in rare instances. The students used one of two other doors to enter the building, one at the west side of the building and another at the rear, each opening to a stair landing that lead either down to the basement, or up to the class rooms.
Grades one and two were in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs, with Miss Shriber teaching. Miss Thomas taught grades three, four and five in the room, directly behind Miss Shriber’s room. Grades six, seven and eight were in the 3rd room just one door beyond Miss Shriber’s room. Mr Hatfield, the man that always wore a light gray tweed, herring bone, three piece suit, was the Principal and teacher of these grades. The few eighth graders sat in a single row of desks adjacent to the east facing outside wall filled with four, or five, large double hung windows offering a view over the center of town, and the mountains beyond hiding Springfield, hidden in a valley below.
The Town office, a room about half the size of a classroom located behind Mr. Hatfield’s room, was where all the town records were kept in a large walk-in safe. The Town Fathers, better known as the Select Men, all elected officials, used this room for their every Monday night meeting. Grampa Ripley was the Town Treasurer.
I remember my first day of school real well because Mom dressed me in my, probably, only and best pair of blue shorts, a freshly pressed white short sleeved button down blouse, and a pair of black patten leather shoes for the occasion. My face was washed, hair combed, and off I went with my lunch box in one hand, and my shoulder bag I would use to carry my books home in, draped over my shoulder. Unlike in years past, the modern students left their books in their desks at the end of each day. They didn’t have to carry them home any more, so from that day on I left the shoulder bag home.
The 8:30 bell rang calling the first and second grade students to line up outside the north entrance door and wait for the teacher to tell us to go first down stairs to the bathrooms, then come back and line up at the foot of the stairs before going up to the classroom.
The seating plan was unique, with the shortest person usually sitting in the first seat in the row, and like rungs in a ladder, by how tall they were, the next tallest, and so forth, lined up ending with the tallest person sitting in the last seat in the row. I don’t know why I was assigned the second desk in the outside row on the right side of the room, because I was sure I was short enough to be in the seat right up front. Carl Allen, the tallest child in first grade, sat at the back. For some reason the desk in front of me was left vacant.
The only classmates I remember from this first day of school were: Howard Barden, Nancy Haines, Benjamin Briggs, and Junior Wyman, the only person I knew. They all lived outside of town, so I never got to know them until we met in school. All but one person, my second cousin who I remember most vividly, Bobby Wyman, only I knew him as Junior Wyman, who would eventually occupy the empty seat in front of me.
When the line of first graders left the basement on our way to the class room, our new home away from home, we all marched single file into the room and were assigned the desks we would spend so much time in front of for the next several months. All except for Junior Wyman, that is. Junior had stopped outside the room, sat down on the floor, and began to entangle his small six year old legs through the railing supporting posts, then did the same with his arms, all the time crying and screaming at the top of his lungs letting everyone know he didn't want to be there. Miss Shriber, our teacher, was trying to untie his arms and legs from the railing and talk him into coming into the room. After much conversation she finally succeeded in releasing his arms and legs from the posts. Now that was accomplished, she had to get him into his seat, the one in front of me, and almost forced him to sit, but he didn't stay sat, he went right back out to the stair railing and quickly became entwined around the railing posts once more.
Finally his mother appeared on the scene and talked quietly to him until he finally gave in, freed himself from the railing, took hold of his mother’s hand as they walked back into the classroom. From then on, he stopped making the fuss, and took his seat quietly each day like the rest of us did. He didn’t stay at our school very long because his father had taken a job somewhere else and the family moved away. I never saw Junior again, which was fine, because I never really liked this kid, even if he was my cousin.
It was in first grade I had my first girl friend, Nancy Haines. I don’t remember much about it, or how it happened. I do remember that Miss Shriber needed something that Nancy’s mother had, so she asked Nancy if she minded walking home and bringing back the item. It may have been a magazine, I’m not sure. Miss Shriber wasn’t about to send Nancy home alone, so she picked me to accompany her. I don’t know if she had seen something to make her think we were an item, or what. They lived only a short distance from the school on the North Blandford Road.
Off we went, side by side, on the way to Nancy’s house. I met her mother, she gave Nancy whatever it was we were after. We were given a drink of water and then we walked back to school. I don’t remember holding her hand as we crossed the road, nor as we walked both ways. I do know that they moved away after school was over for the summer, so I never saw her again. Breaking up is hard to do.
When I was in second grade I spent my morning recess in the basement of the school with a few other children that the teachers thought were undernourished. They gave us a couple of graham crackers and a half pint carton of milk to drink every day, all year. It must have worked because by the time I was in 8th grade, I was still short, but very round and chubby. I don’t remember anyone else getting fat, but I put the weight on.
School lunches were non existent until they became available when I was in 5th grade, but I never was able to take advantage of it. Mom couldn’t afford it, even though I don’t believe it cost much.
A Mrs. Shurtliff lived in the house diagonally across from the school on the corner where main street veers left on the way to Otis, MA. Every day she made a pan of some kind of food and carried it over to the school just in time for lunch. Children from families that could afford it had a hot meal. I never new what they had, as the food was placed in another room where only those that were taking advantage of it would be seated. I don’t remember this happening more than one school year, and I have no idea why it was stopped.
We had a 15 minute recess at 10:15, and 2:30 with a one hour lunch period. There wasn’t much for us to do outside, but we had to go out and get some fresh air, anyway. There were two pine groves on the property and the girls would rake up pine needles with their hands and use these pine needles to make an outline of a house. Once that was done they would play house. I watched, but wasn’t invited to play with them.
For the boys, there was an open space between the pine groves, all up hill towards the White Church, where the older boys would play baseball. If the ball went past the catcher, it could roll all the way down to the center of town, although, I’m not sure it ever went that far.
I never played. I didn’t have a baseball glove, and I was too small and no one wanted me on their team.
There was a swing set with only one swing, and a pair of rings hanging on chains attached to the supporting overhead steel pipe. I don’t know that anyone knew how to use these rings, except to jump up and take hold of them and just swing back and forth a bit before dropping back to the ground. I’ve seen these rings used by the olympiads on TV in later years, and I know what they were doing was nothing like I ever saw anyone at our school ever do.
Six years passed by, one after another, and I received passing grades each of those years until I was in 6th grade, in Mr. Hatfield's room.
Mr. Hatfield was from out of town and boarded at my grandmother's house. I was intimidated by him, as he had piercing eyes that looked right through me, and I believe he rationed his smile and compliments, for it was not until I reached 8th grade that I received both, a smile, and a compliment from him. I think it came after I wrote my graduation speech and he had proof read it.
I never wanted to go with Mom when she visited my Grandmother Hart, afraid he’d be there and I’d have to speak to him. However, as many times as we went to visit Gramma, I never saw Mr. Hatfield. What a relief that was.
The fall session was well underway, and I was settled into sixth grade, busy at my desk after the lunch hour, when I heard a knock on the door at the rear of the room. Mr Hatfield walked back and opened the door to see a man, woman and a boy on crutches standing there. He talked with them for a few minutes, then the door closed. Mr. Hatfield came down my side of the room with a new kid using crutches following him. The new kid was assigned the desk beside me at my right. I finally found that the new kid had a name, it was Donny Binder, a person that turned out to be a rest of his life friend to me, and I to him. In fact, we were almost like Siamese Twins until Donny was married.
Donny had Polio when he was real young and spent all of this past summer in the hospital having a series of operations so he would’t have to wear a brace, or use crutches. The doctor had just given him the OK to return to school. The family had recently moved to town after buying a home on Glasgow Road. He still had to use his crutches until his doctor’s were sure the operations had healed well, and he would be able to walk with out aids of any kind. Eventually he gave up the crutches and spent most of the rest of his life without them, up until old age made them a part of his life once again. I think it was his left leg that was about an inch shorter than the right one. After braces and crutches, he walked, and ran, using his left hand to press the left knee back to lock it so he wouldn't fall, then hop on the right leg. His fingers pressing on his dungarees just above the left knee always wore a hole through the fabric in a very short time.
Even with his physical challenge, there wasn’t much of anything Donny couldn’t do, or try to do. He played baseball, basket ball, touch football, even tennis and a tough adversary on the tennis court. I know, because he and I played a lot of tennis back then. He was able to snow shoe, but skiing was not for him. He rode horse back, just loved to be around horses, riding every chance he got. He also rode his bicycle, and the list goes on.
A deer hunting story with Donny Binder: One beautiful warm winter Saturday afternoon in December, I came home from work at noon, stopped at Donny’s house to see if he was ready--we were going deer hunting. Today was the first day of deer season. There had been a fresh 10" deep snow fall over night, so it would be a great day for tracking deer, if we happened to find any tracks..
We drove down Russell Road about a mile from where I lived when I saw what looked like fresh deer tracks coming of the bank and crossed the road. I found a place where I could pull off the road, parked the car, and Donny and I got out. We loaded our shot guns, put the safety on, and followed the tracks into th open hardwoods for a couple of hundred yards. I was in front breaking the trail for Donny. Walking in the fresh snow made our trek practically silent. Just ahead of me I saw where the deer veered right following a crude trail, and stopped. I could see he took a few more steps and jumped over a small tree that had fallen across the path and hung up on the brush beneath it. It was an easy jump for the deer, as the tree was only about three feet above the ground. Snow covered limbs and brush beneath the tree prevented me from seeing anything of the trail beyond it.
Just then I heard a noise behind me. I turned to look, even though I knew Donny had fallen. I put my finger to my lips and sshushed him, then turned back just in time to see the deer stand from behind the fallen tree, looked back showing me a beautiful rack of horns. His tail raised revealing the pure white underside as he began running at top speed down the hill straight away from me. I raised the gun to my shoulder knowing the deer was out of range, and pulled at the trigger anyway. Nothing happened. I watched him make one more bounding leap and he was out of sight. I had the safety on and the deer continued on to tell all his friends about the stupid hunter that forgot his gun was on safety. I never liked hunting very much, only doing it because my dad loved it and I think he thought I should like it too.
Donny and I looked at each other as I told him what had just happened and we both stood there laughing at each other, finally settling down before walking back to the car. That was enough excitement for one day and it was time for me to go home. If I ever found myself in with a bunch of hunters telling stories about themselves, I could always reach back into my memory bank and tell them about the one that got away, all because Donny had fallen.
I don’t remember how many students were in my sixth grade class at the time, but by the time we reached eighth grade, we were only a class of four -- Carl Allen, Howard Barden, Donny Binder and me. I never knew if it was a record for being the smallest graduating class the school ever had, or not.
I remember being very anxious to be an 8th grader because Mr. Dunlap used to take the 8th grade boys up to the White Church on the hill and climb up in the belfry, and beyond to the very top where a wood panel could be removed that offered a great view in every direction. This part of town is probably the highest part of the whole town. I asked Mr. Dunlap if he would take the four of us up to the church and climb the steeple. I remember him being reluctant at first, but finally agreed to do it.
The first part of the climb was a set of wooden stairs up to where the huge bell hung, then we had to play monkey and climb up the building frame work timbers and pass through a trap door to continue the rest of the way to the top.
I got as far as the bell and saw what I had to climb to get to the trap door, made one attempt at it, and chickened out. That wasn’t for me. I think I was more afraid of coming back down than going up.
Mr. Dunlap told me to stay there by the bell and I could look out through the louvered shutter slats while Donny, Carl, and Howard followed Mr. Dunlap to the top.
I was just as happy stopping where I did, rather than have an accident that might get Mr. Dunlap in trouble. I’m not sure if any of the teachers new we were doing this, or not.
The eighth grade class of four lasted about a month, or two, when one day a girl walked into the room with Mr. Hatfield. She was very pretty, blond with almost shoulder length hair. She was assigned the seat in front of me, sat down, turned and introduced herself to me. Her name was Barbara Wallbank. She was very friendly, with kind eyes. I liked talking with her, but it never reached the passing notes stage. Now our graduation class of four became a graduation class of five. I was hoping we would be an all male graduating class, but that was not to be. Jumping ahead a litle, but on the night of Graduation, Barbara sat on the stage in the center with 2 boys on either side of her, looking like the queen of the ball. Actually, I didn’t mind her joining our men’s club, she was attractive and it gave us more to talk about. I didn’t know it then, but she was a second or third cousin of mine.
Except for Howard Barden, the rest of us went on to High School, a house of higher learning ten miles away in Westfield, MA. Barbara didn't graduate from high school with us. I never had any classes with her, so I never paid any attention to where she was. I only saw her on rare occasions around the halls, usually at lunch time. However, as I learned several years later, she had left school in her Junior year, I think, but she made up for it in spades by putting her heart and sole into becoming a registered nurse. While raising her eight children, she put herself through nurses training for a long career.
I lost track of her whereabouts completely after graduation and it was several years and a few school reunions before she attended one of them, where I had a chance to talk with her briefly about her life after school. I never realized she became a nurse. All her children did well and many of them went into the medical field, from what I understand.
Currently I stay in touch with a woman by the name of Barbara Palmer Pease, that was a year ahead of me in school, and used to live in Blandford. Through our emails I learned that these two Barbara's remained long time friends and were still communicating with each other on a regular basis. I asked Barbara Pease if she would send me Barbara Holland's current address, I would like to write to her. The address I received was for a nursing home in Westield, and in reading the letter, I had missed the word “Hospice”. Barbara was in Hospice. I didn’t respond immediately, but when I did and had posted the letter, I learned that she had passed away the week before. I procrastinated writing my letter for about a week longer than I should have, and haven't forgiven myself for it yet.
I wanted to remind her of the time she walked to my house after school one warm fall afternoon. None of us really having anything to do, so just to do something, we began to walk up the hill behind our house to a large oak tree at the edge of the tree line on our property. Being somewhat shaded, the oak tree sent out it’s lower limbs in search for sunshine. One limb in particular was very long as a result of looking for sunlight. It wasn’t large in diameter which made it quite limber. By standing on our tip-toes, Barbara and I could just reach up and wrap our hands around this limb and pulled the leafy tip far out on the end, about half way to the ground. I stood a short distance behind Barbara, facing her back. Just then my brother, Stanley, came from out of nowhere in front of Barbara, reached up and quickly pulled the leafy tip of the limb all the way to the ground. This movement caused me to end up sitting on the ground with my legs extending full length out in front of me. Barbara being in front came down hard in a sitting position, only she sat right on top of my upturned toes. Her landing on my upturned feet broke two middle toes on my left foot. I was in a cast all summer and went back to school using crutches. I thought this incident remembered, would make her smile. Unfortunately, my card didn’t arrive in time to give her that smile she really could have used.
In addition to this bit of humor, I also had an incident with the crutches that I thought she might enjoy, also.
I had watched Donny using his crutches back when he came to our school, so I knew by copying his method of going down steps, I’d do just fine.
Mom drove me to school my first day back after summer vacation, crutches and all, leaving me in front of the building and those beautiful granite steps leading to the second floor, trusting me to stay out of trouble. While I stood there waiting for one of the teachers to arrive and let me in, I found myself going up the granite steps one step at a time until I reached the landing in front of the double doors that lead to the classrooms. I went all the way to the top of the steps because once I had started up, I wasn’t sure how I would get down. So up was my only way out of a self made predicament. When a couple of the teachers arrived, they opened one set of doors and let me in the building.
School let out at 3:30 and Mom was there to pick me up and take me home. I would never be able to walk home using crutches, it was much too far. She came in the building to help me down the stairs, being pretty sure I couldn’t do it on my own. But instead of leaving right at that moment, she began talking with my teacher back in the class room. I became impatient and slowly hobbled out to the top of the stairs where I intended to wait for her to catch up. As I stood there waiting, I began assessing the stairs and decided I was going to try Donny’s method of using crutches for the descent.
Previously I had already used a safe method of going down stairs using my version, which was: I put the crutch nearest the stair railing in the other hand, holding both crutches and still be able to work the two as one. I would put the crutch tip down on the next step below my feet, hold the stair railing tight in the other hand, and move my feet down one step. Repeat this enough times and one can come out safely at the bottom, which I did.
I stood there looking at the steps thinking, “I can do this.” Donny can do it, I can do it. While standing at the top of the stairs, I’ll lower the crutches to the top of the first step below, then with the crutches tucked tightly into my arm pits, move my body slowly forward with the aid of the crutches, and lower my feet, both at once onto the step the crutches were on. I knew I had to be very careful making each move. Easy enough, if done right because Donny did it all the time. So, I made the next move with all my weight on the pads of the top of each crutch, slowly moving my feet over the edge of the floor into space, intending to put them down on the step. But just as my feet moved into space above that step, not yet on the step, the weight of my body moved forward freely, using the base of the crutches as the pivot points, I swung out into space, airborne, and on my way to the bottom of those 13 steps. I catapulted in a beautiful arc well out over the stairs, all of the stairs, missing every step until I came to a full stop, both feet together in a semi-standing position on the landing in front of the door. What a noise I made when I landed. Both, Mom and the teachers came running too late to see my Arial act, but in time to see where I landed. I thought they’d be pleased when I told them the landing never even cracked the plaster cast. I was fine, but a bit shaken from the free flight. Wow! flying without a license. What an experience. And, you can bet I’ll never do that again. I’m not sure Barbara ever new about my flying trip over the stairs, I had hopes this might give her another reason to crack a smile.
I felt this story should be told because I wanted my family to know something about my life in grammar school, and the story of the five graduates from the Blandford Consolidated School from 1934 to 1942. Having done this, my point to the story at the time of this writing is to let everyone know there are only two of us left -- Carl Allen and myself. Carl and I are the only remaining living graduates from a small town Grammar School where we spent a large part of our young lives.
The town, the homes and the people have changed in many ways over the years--only the written history will go on unchanged forever.
Even the brick and mortar school building where I spent eight years learning the three “R”s, is gone, demolished several years ago after a new, modern grammar school, had been erected on the property that once belonged to my grand parents, Mom’s mother and dad, Fred and Ella Hart.
We lived a little less than a mile from school, just out of the center of town, which meant we had to walk to and from school every day, rain or snow, sleet or sun shine. The bus only picked up the kids that lived a mile, or more from the school. On cold winter days, or even stormy days, those in the car would wave and grin at us as we braved the elements, while they were comfortably, dry and warm. They got sick of doing that after a few times. However, we, also, were wearing big smiles, as we waved back trying to hide our discomfort, even though we were cold and, or covered with snow. We, meaning, Stanley, me and our neighbors, the Allen children. There was Carl Allen, his two older brothers, Tom and Robert, and sister Alice.
Sometimes Mom would give Stanley and me each a penny so we could stop in at Grandpa Ripley’s store to buy a piece of candy. The store was located on the corner of Main Street and Russell Road, a winter time stop and warm up place, even when we didn’t have a penny to spend. Pop worked for Grandpa and sometimes he would wait on us, which can take a long time, because picking out a large piece of penny candy that gave you the most for your money wasn’t easy.
That penny might buy us one piece of black licorice, or a small cardboard box decorated to look like a package of cigarettes, containing five white miniature sugar candy cigarettes with a red tip on one end making it appear they were lit. There was always a good selection of penny candy, but what it was now escapes me, for that was a lot of years ago. There was some days mom gave us a nickel and did we feel rich. We could buy five times as much penny candy, or for the nickel, a roll of wafers, or perhaps a candy bar, or even a package of gum, five individual chews to the package. It was a tough decision trying to decide which way to go.
Grandpa Ripley’s store was a general store where he sold a little bit of everything, groceries, meat, cheese specially cut from a large cheese wheel, fresh vegetables and berries in season, work gloves, sewing needles and thread, dyes for dying clothing, tobacco products, ice cream, candy, newspapers and magazines, to mention just a few. Groceries were on shelves behind the counter and as the customer asked for an item, either Pop, or Gramp would take it off the shelf and place it on the counter to be tallied at the end of the list. They had a long pole with a jaw at the top controlled by the lever at the bottom of the pole that squeezed the jaw around the item on the high shelves and lowered it down to where they could reach it. Many customers charged their purchase, settling up when they had the money.
I went to grammar school in a three classroom building built of brick and mortar that was located just below the White Church on the hill at the north end of town. It was a three story building with half of the basement below ground level. The boys and girls lavs were here in the basement, as was the large hot air coal fired furnace that supplied the heat to the three class rooms on the second floor. The large room on the third floor that was used for Town functions such as, the Annual Town Meeting, Minstrel Shows, School Christmas pageants, school graduations and dances. The floor was striped so it could be used for basketball games. By the time I started school, there weren’t enough older boys to make up a team so basket ball became a thing of the past in Blandford from then on.
Mr Dunlap, a man that always looked very old, but may not have been, lived about a half mile below our house on Russell Road. He was janitor of the school and was on his way to work each morning. about the time Stanley and I were getting ready for school. During warmer days in the Spring and Fall, or when it wasn’t raining, Mr. Dunlap drove his two wheeled, single seat, horse drawn buggy to work. Some days Stanley and I would be at the foot of our driveway standing at the edge of Russell Road waiting for the Allen children. Once in a while, Mr. Dunlap came by just as we were all meeting to continue our walk to school, he’d stop and offer the Allen children a ride. There was a seat on the back of the buggy, actually it was only a narrow board the full width of the buggy where the three boys would sit, and Alice sat up on the driver’s seat with him.
Mom would never let Stanley, or me, ride with him fearing we might fall off and get hurt. One day we did get a ride, but he didn’t let us sit on the back of the buggy. Instead he had us sit on the seat with him, so he could hold us from falling off. Unbeknown to us that day, Mom had been watching from the front room window and saw us climb on the buggy. Stanley sat on one side of him, and I on the other. She said nothing then, but when we returned home later that afternoon, we got a, as she called it, good talking to about "What did I tell you - - -?", followed by more “don’t you ever - - -“, but never a spanking. Her speech worked just fine. We never did it again.
As previously mentioned, the class rooms were on the middle floor of the building. At the front of the building to make it more attractive, the architect had included a wide set of granite steps nearly the full width of the building up to the second floor. On either side of the steps was a curved concrete slab designed as a type of railing keeping people back from the ends of the steps. At the top of the steps were two sets of double doors opened by crash bars from inside, to enter the second floor. These doors were never used by students, or teachers, except in rare instances. The students used one of two other doors to enter the building, one at the west side of the building and another at the rear, each opening to a stair landing that lead either down to the basement, or up to the class rooms.
Grades one and two were in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs, with Miss Shriber teaching. Miss Thomas taught grades three, four and five in the room, directly behind Miss Shriber’s room. Grades six, seven and eight were in the 3rd room just one door beyond Miss Shriber’s room. Mr Hatfield, the man that always wore a light gray tweed, herring bone, three piece suit, was the Principal and teacher of these grades. The few eighth graders sat in a single row of desks adjacent to the east facing outside wall filled with four, or five, large double hung windows offering a view over the center of town, and the mountains beyond hiding Springfield, hidden in a valley below.
The Town office, a room about half the size of a classroom located behind Mr. Hatfield’s room, was where all the town records were kept in a large walk-in safe. The Town Fathers, better known as the Select Men, all elected officials, used this room for their every Monday night meeting. Grampa Ripley was the Town Treasurer.
I remember my first day of school real well because Mom dressed me in my, probably, only and best pair of blue shorts, a freshly pressed white short sleeved button down blouse, and a pair of black patten leather shoes for the occasion. My face was washed, hair combed, and off I went with my lunch box in one hand, and my shoulder bag I would use to carry my books home in, draped over my shoulder. Unlike in years past, the modern students left their books in their desks at the end of each day. They didn’t have to carry them home any more, so from that day on I left the shoulder bag home.
The 8:30 bell rang calling the first and second grade students to line up outside the north entrance door and wait for the teacher to tell us to go first down stairs to the bathrooms, then come back and line up at the foot of the stairs before going up to the classroom.
The seating plan was unique, with the shortest person usually sitting in the first seat in the row, and like rungs in a ladder, by how tall they were, the next tallest, and so forth, lined up ending with the tallest person sitting in the last seat in the row. I don’t know why I was assigned the second desk in the outside row on the right side of the room, because I was sure I was short enough to be in the seat right up front. Carl Allen, the tallest child in first grade, sat at the back. For some reason the desk in front of me was left vacant.
The only classmates I remember from this first day of school were: Howard Barden, Nancy Haines, Benjamin Briggs, and Junior Wyman, the only person I knew. They all lived outside of town, so I never got to know them until we met in school. All but one person, my second cousin who I remember most vividly, Bobby Wyman, only I knew him as Junior Wyman, who would eventually occupy the empty seat in front of me.
When the line of first graders left the basement on our way to the class room, our new home away from home, we all marched single file into the room and were assigned the desks we would spend so much time in front of for the next several months. All except for Junior Wyman, that is. Junior had stopped outside the room, sat down on the floor, and began to entangle his small six year old legs through the railing supporting posts, then did the same with his arms, all the time crying and screaming at the top of his lungs letting everyone know he didn't want to be there. Miss Shriber, our teacher, was trying to untie his arms and legs from the railing and talk him into coming into the room. After much conversation she finally succeeded in releasing his arms and legs from the posts. Now that was accomplished, she had to get him into his seat, the one in front of me, and almost forced him to sit, but he didn't stay sat, he went right back out to the stair railing and quickly became entwined around the railing posts once more.
Finally his mother appeared on the scene and talked quietly to him until he finally gave in, freed himself from the railing, took hold of his mother’s hand as they walked back into the classroom. From then on, he stopped making the fuss, and took his seat quietly each day like the rest of us did. He didn’t stay at our school very long because his father had taken a job somewhere else and the family moved away. I never saw Junior again, which was fine, because I never really liked this kid, even if he was my cousin.
It was in first grade I had my first girl friend, Nancy Haines. I don’t remember much about it, or how it happened. I do remember that Miss Shriber needed something that Nancy’s mother had, so she asked Nancy if she minded walking home and bringing back the item. It may have been a magazine, I’m not sure. Miss Shriber wasn’t about to send Nancy home alone, so she picked me to accompany her. I don’t know if she had seen something to make her think we were an item, or what. They lived only a short distance from the school on the North Blandford Road.
Off we went, side by side, on the way to Nancy’s house. I met her mother, she gave Nancy whatever it was we were after. We were given a drink of water and then we walked back to school. I don’t remember holding her hand as we crossed the road, nor as we walked both ways. I do know that they moved away after school was over for the summer, so I never saw her again. Breaking up is hard to do.
When I was in second grade I spent my morning recess in the basement of the school with a few other children that the teachers thought were undernourished. They gave us a couple of graham crackers and a half pint carton of milk to drink every day, all year. It must have worked because by the time I was in 8th grade, I was still short, but very round and chubby. I don’t remember anyone else getting fat, but I put the weight on.
School lunches were non existent until they became available when I was in 5th grade, but I never was able to take advantage of it. Mom couldn’t afford it, even though I don’t believe it cost much.
A Mrs. Shurtliff lived in the house diagonally across from the school on the corner where main street veers left on the way to Otis, MA. Every day she made a pan of some kind of food and carried it over to the school just in time for lunch. Children from families that could afford it had a hot meal. I never new what they had, as the food was placed in another room where only those that were taking advantage of it would be seated. I don’t remember this happening more than one school year, and I have no idea why it was stopped.
We had a 15 minute recess at 10:15, and 2:30 with a one hour lunch period. There wasn’t much for us to do outside, but we had to go out and get some fresh air, anyway. There were two pine groves on the property and the girls would rake up pine needles with their hands and use these pine needles to make an outline of a house. Once that was done they would play house. I watched, but wasn’t invited to play with them.
For the boys, there was an open space between the pine groves, all up hill towards the White Church, where the older boys would play baseball. If the ball went past the catcher, it could roll all the way down to the center of town, although, I’m not sure it ever went that far.
I never played. I didn’t have a baseball glove, and I was too small and no one wanted me on their team.
There was a swing set with only one swing, and a pair of rings hanging on chains attached to the supporting overhead steel pipe. I don’t know that anyone knew how to use these rings, except to jump up and take hold of them and just swing back and forth a bit before dropping back to the ground. I’ve seen these rings used by the olympiads on TV in later years, and I know what they were doing was nothing like I ever saw anyone at our school ever do.
Six years passed by, one after another, and I received passing grades each of those years until I was in 6th grade, in Mr. Hatfield's room.
Mr. Hatfield was from out of town and boarded at my grandmother's house. I was intimidated by him, as he had piercing eyes that looked right through me, and I believe he rationed his smile and compliments, for it was not until I reached 8th grade that I received both, a smile, and a compliment from him. I think it came after I wrote my graduation speech and he had proof read it.
I never wanted to go with Mom when she visited my Grandmother Hart, afraid he’d be there and I’d have to speak to him. However, as many times as we went to visit Gramma, I never saw Mr. Hatfield. What a relief that was.
The fall session was well underway, and I was settled into sixth grade, busy at my desk after the lunch hour, when I heard a knock on the door at the rear of the room. Mr Hatfield walked back and opened the door to see a man, woman and a boy on crutches standing there. He talked with them for a few minutes, then the door closed. Mr. Hatfield came down my side of the room with a new kid using crutches following him. The new kid was assigned the desk beside me at my right. I finally found that the new kid had a name, it was Donny Binder, a person that turned out to be a rest of his life friend to me, and I to him. In fact, we were almost like Siamese Twins until Donny was married.
Donny had Polio when he was real young and spent all of this past summer in the hospital having a series of operations so he would’t have to wear a brace, or use crutches. The doctor had just given him the OK to return to school. The family had recently moved to town after buying a home on Glasgow Road. He still had to use his crutches until his doctor’s were sure the operations had healed well, and he would be able to walk with out aids of any kind. Eventually he gave up the crutches and spent most of the rest of his life without them, up until old age made them a part of his life once again. I think it was his left leg that was about an inch shorter than the right one. After braces and crutches, he walked, and ran, using his left hand to press the left knee back to lock it so he wouldn't fall, then hop on the right leg. His fingers pressing on his dungarees just above the left knee always wore a hole through the fabric in a very short time.
Even with his physical challenge, there wasn’t much of anything Donny couldn’t do, or try to do. He played baseball, basket ball, touch football, even tennis and a tough adversary on the tennis court. I know, because he and I played a lot of tennis back then. He was able to snow shoe, but skiing was not for him. He rode horse back, just loved to be around horses, riding every chance he got. He also rode his bicycle, and the list goes on.
A deer hunting story with Donny Binder: One beautiful warm winter Saturday afternoon in December, I came home from work at noon, stopped at Donny’s house to see if he was ready--we were going deer hunting. Today was the first day of deer season. There had been a fresh 10" deep snow fall over night, so it would be a great day for tracking deer, if we happened to find any tracks..
We drove down Russell Road about a mile from where I lived when I saw what looked like fresh deer tracks coming of the bank and crossed the road. I found a place where I could pull off the road, parked the car, and Donny and I got out. We loaded our shot guns, put the safety on, and followed the tracks into th open hardwoods for a couple of hundred yards. I was in front breaking the trail for Donny. Walking in the fresh snow made our trek practically silent. Just ahead of me I saw where the deer veered right following a crude trail, and stopped. I could see he took a few more steps and jumped over a small tree that had fallen across the path and hung up on the brush beneath it. It was an easy jump for the deer, as the tree was only about three feet above the ground. Snow covered limbs and brush beneath the tree prevented me from seeing anything of the trail beyond it.
Just then I heard a noise behind me. I turned to look, even though I knew Donny had fallen. I put my finger to my lips and sshushed him, then turned back just in time to see the deer stand from behind the fallen tree, looked back showing me a beautiful rack of horns. His tail raised revealing the pure white underside as he began running at top speed down the hill straight away from me. I raised the gun to my shoulder knowing the deer was out of range, and pulled at the trigger anyway. Nothing happened. I watched him make one more bounding leap and he was out of sight. I had the safety on and the deer continued on to tell all his friends about the stupid hunter that forgot his gun was on safety. I never liked hunting very much, only doing it because my dad loved it and I think he thought I should like it too.
Donny and I looked at each other as I told him what had just happened and we both stood there laughing at each other, finally settling down before walking back to the car. That was enough excitement for one day and it was time for me to go home. If I ever found myself in with a bunch of hunters telling stories about themselves, I could always reach back into my memory bank and tell them about the one that got away, all because Donny had fallen.
I don’t remember how many students were in my sixth grade class at the time, but by the time we reached eighth grade, we were only a class of four -- Carl Allen, Howard Barden, Donny Binder and me. I never knew if it was a record for being the smallest graduating class the school ever had, or not.
I remember being very anxious to be an 8th grader because Mr. Dunlap used to take the 8th grade boys up to the White Church on the hill and climb up in the belfry, and beyond to the very top where a wood panel could be removed that offered a great view in every direction. This part of town is probably the highest part of the whole town. I asked Mr. Dunlap if he would take the four of us up to the church and climb the steeple. I remember him being reluctant at first, but finally agreed to do it.
The first part of the climb was a set of wooden stairs up to where the huge bell hung, then we had to play monkey and climb up the building frame work timbers and pass through a trap door to continue the rest of the way to the top.
I got as far as the bell and saw what I had to climb to get to the trap door, made one attempt at it, and chickened out. That wasn’t for me. I think I was more afraid of coming back down than going up.
Mr. Dunlap told me to stay there by the bell and I could look out through the louvered shutter slats while Donny, Carl, and Howard followed Mr. Dunlap to the top.
I was just as happy stopping where I did, rather than have an accident that might get Mr. Dunlap in trouble. I’m not sure if any of the teachers new we were doing this, or not.
The eighth grade class of four lasted about a month, or two, when one day a girl walked into the room with Mr. Hatfield. She was very pretty, blond with almost shoulder length hair. She was assigned the seat in front of me, sat down, turned and introduced herself to me. Her name was Barbara Wallbank. She was very friendly, with kind eyes. I liked talking with her, but it never reached the passing notes stage. Now our graduation class of four became a graduation class of five. I was hoping we would be an all male graduating class, but that was not to be. Jumping ahead a litle, but on the night of Graduation, Barbara sat on the stage in the center with 2 boys on either side of her, looking like the queen of the ball. Actually, I didn’t mind her joining our men’s club, she was attractive and it gave us more to talk about. I didn’t know it then, but she was a second or third cousin of mine.
Except for Howard Barden, the rest of us went on to High School, a house of higher learning ten miles away in Westfield, MA. Barbara didn't graduate from high school with us. I never had any classes with her, so I never paid any attention to where she was. I only saw her on rare occasions around the halls, usually at lunch time. However, as I learned several years later, she had left school in her Junior year, I think, but she made up for it in spades by putting her heart and sole into becoming a registered nurse. While raising her eight children, she put herself through nurses training for a long career.
I lost track of her whereabouts completely after graduation and it was several years and a few school reunions before she attended one of them, where I had a chance to talk with her briefly about her life after school. I never realized she became a nurse. All her children did well and many of them went into the medical field, from what I understand.
Currently I stay in touch with a woman by the name of Barbara Palmer Pease, that was a year ahead of me in school, and used to live in Blandford. Through our emails I learned that these two Barbara's remained long time friends and were still communicating with each other on a regular basis. I asked Barbara Pease if she would send me Barbara Holland's current address, I would like to write to her. The address I received was for a nursing home in Westield, and in reading the letter, I had missed the word “Hospice”. Barbara was in Hospice. I didn’t respond immediately, but when I did and had posted the letter, I learned that she had passed away the week before. I procrastinated writing my letter for about a week longer than I should have, and haven't forgiven myself for it yet.
I wanted to remind her of the time she walked to my house after school one warm fall afternoon. None of us really having anything to do, so just to do something, we began to walk up the hill behind our house to a large oak tree at the edge of the tree line on our property. Being somewhat shaded, the oak tree sent out it’s lower limbs in search for sunshine. One limb in particular was very long as a result of looking for sunlight. It wasn’t large in diameter which made it quite limber. By standing on our tip-toes, Barbara and I could just reach up and wrap our hands around this limb and pulled the leafy tip far out on the end, about half way to the ground. I stood a short distance behind Barbara, facing her back. Just then my brother, Stanley, came from out of nowhere in front of Barbara, reached up and quickly pulled the leafy tip of the limb all the way to the ground. This movement caused me to end up sitting on the ground with my legs extending full length out in front of me. Barbara being in front came down hard in a sitting position, only she sat right on top of my upturned toes. Her landing on my upturned feet broke two middle toes on my left foot. I was in a cast all summer and went back to school using crutches. I thought this incident remembered, would make her smile. Unfortunately, my card didn’t arrive in time to give her that smile she really could have used.
In addition to this bit of humor, I also had an incident with the crutches that I thought she might enjoy, also.
I had watched Donny using his crutches back when he came to our school, so I knew by copying his method of going down steps, I’d do just fine.
Mom drove me to school my first day back after summer vacation, crutches and all, leaving me in front of the building and those beautiful granite steps leading to the second floor, trusting me to stay out of trouble. While I stood there waiting for one of the teachers to arrive and let me in, I found myself going up the granite steps one step at a time until I reached the landing in front of the double doors that lead to the classrooms. I went all the way to the top of the steps because once I had started up, I wasn’t sure how I would get down. So up was my only way out of a self made predicament. When a couple of the teachers arrived, they opened one set of doors and let me in the building.
School let out at 3:30 and Mom was there to pick me up and take me home. I would never be able to walk home using crutches, it was much too far. She came in the building to help me down the stairs, being pretty sure I couldn’t do it on my own. But instead of leaving right at that moment, she began talking with my teacher back in the class room. I became impatient and slowly hobbled out to the top of the stairs where I intended to wait for her to catch up. As I stood there waiting, I began assessing the stairs and decided I was going to try Donny’s method of using crutches for the descent.
Previously I had already used a safe method of going down stairs using my version, which was: I put the crutch nearest the stair railing in the other hand, holding both crutches and still be able to work the two as one. I would put the crutch tip down on the next step below my feet, hold the stair railing tight in the other hand, and move my feet down one step. Repeat this enough times and one can come out safely at the bottom, which I did.
I stood there looking at the steps thinking, “I can do this.” Donny can do it, I can do it. While standing at the top of the stairs, I’ll lower the crutches to the top of the first step below, then with the crutches tucked tightly into my arm pits, move my body slowly forward with the aid of the crutches, and lower my feet, both at once onto the step the crutches were on. I knew I had to be very careful making each move. Easy enough, if done right because Donny did it all the time. So, I made the next move with all my weight on the pads of the top of each crutch, slowly moving my feet over the edge of the floor into space, intending to put them down on the step. But just as my feet moved into space above that step, not yet on the step, the weight of my body moved forward freely, using the base of the crutches as the pivot points, I swung out into space, airborne, and on my way to the bottom of those 13 steps. I catapulted in a beautiful arc well out over the stairs, all of the stairs, missing every step until I came to a full stop, both feet together in a semi-standing position on the landing in front of the door. What a noise I made when I landed. Both, Mom and the teachers came running too late to see my Arial act, but in time to see where I landed. I thought they’d be pleased when I told them the landing never even cracked the plaster cast. I was fine, but a bit shaken from the free flight. Wow! flying without a license. What an experience. And, you can bet I’ll never do that again. I’m not sure Barbara ever new about my flying trip over the stairs, I had hopes this might give her another reason to crack a smile.
I felt this story should be told because I wanted my family to know something about my life in grammar school, and the story of the five graduates from the Blandford Consolidated School from 1934 to 1942. Having done this, my point to the story at the time of this writing is to let everyone know there are only two of us left -- Carl Allen and myself. Carl and I are the only remaining living graduates from a small town Grammar School where we spent a large part of our young lives.
The town, the homes and the people have changed in many ways over the years--only the written history will go on unchanged forever.
Even the brick and mortar school building where I spent eight years learning the three “R”s, is gone, demolished several years ago after a new, modern grammar school, had been erected on the property that once belonged to my grand parents, Mom’s mother and dad, Fred and Ella Hart.