First Grade Memories - Monday Memory

When I was young, we went to the Canfield Fair on Labor Day, or over Labor Day weekend.  It was a fun end-of-summer tradition.  And then, the next day--excitement reigned!--school started (except for the year the levy didn't pass).  Here I sit on Labor Day weekend, in 2022, with my thoughts turning to my earliest memories of school.

Sadly, I don't remember the very first day of school in September, 1956, and have no photos, either.  Moms didn't take photos then like they do these days.  A few memories from throughout the year come to mind, though.  The photo to the right is not a school photo but was taken when I was about 6.

My first grade teacher's name was Mrs. Blott.  She seemed to be about my grandmother's age and though not feeble, she was not spry, either.  (Though, as you'll read later, she was strong enough.)  I think her patience was dwindling, or perhaps she'd never been a patient person.  She must have done a good enough job teaching me because I learned to read and write, learned some math, and probably some other things in her class.

For reading, Mrs. Blott divided us into small groups.  She sat in a chair, then gathered us around her to sit in smaller chairs where we slowly plowed through learning those first sight words in the Dick and Jane readers.  (There was no kindergarten in our school system so any preschool learning happened at home.)

I don't remember our desks but I do remember there was a larger table near the back of the room with a stack of manila drawing paper and crayons where we sat to make drawings.  I think there were probably scissors and paste (the white, minty kind) on the table too.  Probably six or eight children could sit there at a time to draw and color.  When we'd finished our other work or when Mrs. Blott was reading with other children, we were able to draw and color.  I loved that table.

One of the best memories is having a short, mid-morning break when half-pint bottles of milk were delivered to our classroom to get us through to lunch time.  Mom sent money on Monday--maybe a quarter?--and we were able to choose between plain or chocolate milk.  Chocolate milk was not an option at home:  no chocolate milk, ever, came into our home.  At school I could choose, without my mom knowing, and I chose chocolate.  It was something I looked forward to every day.  And. oh, those little milk bottles.  I desperately wanted to take one home.  At about 5½" high, they were just perfect for a 6-year-old's hand.

There was no cafeteria at the school, nor a lunchroom either.  Some children carried their lunches with them in bags or lunchboxes.  Others of us who lived nearby walked home for lunch, ate, then walked back for the rest of the day.  They called us "walkers."

The walk between home and school (and vice versa) was a little more than two short blocks.  Our house was the first one on Furnace Street.  I walked the short distance up Furnace Street to Main Street (which was also State Route 46, so a fairly busy highway), turned left onto the sidewalk, walked another block and a half, then crossed the street to the school.  I must have already learned about watching for traffic and crossing streets because there was no traffic light, no cross walk, and no crossing guards.  I don't remember my mom ever walking me to school.  Times were different then.  And I don't remember walking to school with other children when I was little.

Our classroom had wonderful chalkboards--old-fashioned, black, slate boards.  They went around two walls of the room, at the front and along one of the sides, and had trays at the bottom to hold both chalk and erasers.  They had been installed when the building was new, about the time the photo at right was taken.  (Photo courtesy of Library of Congress; more photos here.)  Mrs. Blott usually wrote on the one at the front of the room where she sometimes wrote and had us copy what she wrote onto our papers.  She occasionally had us go to the side board to write a word or copy a simple math problem.  The dust was awful but that eraser!  Gosh, it worked like magic to remove our marks.

One disturbing experience happened that first year of school between Mrs. Blott and a girl in class everyone called Bunny.  Bunny wore thick glasses, was larger than the rest of us first graders, and seemed to understand and do things more slowly.  One day, for reasons I didn't clearly understand at the time (and still don't), Mrs. Blott grabbed Bunny by the wrist and flung her against the wall, into a corner.  It was frightening to see and it made me wonder if I could or would be next.  I think all of us in the class were stunned into silence, probably most especially Bunny.  Did I tell my parents?  I don't remember.  And I don't remember what came of the incident.  Clearly, someone should have reported Mrs. Blott to the principal.  Who of us first graders would have done it, though, especially when we lived in a time when the teacher was right, no discussion? 

One other little memory is of the radiators.  They were the old-fashioned, cast iron variety.  They were installed under the windows, along a good part of the wall.  When we came in from playing outside on a snowy day, we put our mittens and gloves on the radiator to dry.  And they steamed.

This post is already so long and I completely understand if you're finished reading.  These last paragraphs describe my memories of the school itself and not personal memories of events.

The school I walked to was the Mineral Ridge School, also called Weathersfield Township School, in Trumbull County, Ohio.  As a township school children attended who lived in areas in the township that weren't within the boundaries of a city school system.  In the 1950s our township had a relatively small population so all grades went to the same building.  The first grade rooms were on the first floor to the left of the main door as you're looking at it.  Notice those great, tall windows!

Our classroom seemed large to me.  The classroom door was at the back of the room.  When entering, the closets were to the left along most of the wall and the rest of the room to the right.  Sweaters, coats, hats, mittens, boots, and lunches went into the closet.  In front of us was a wall of windows that faced Main Street.  Around the corner from the windows was a wall of chalkboards which continued around the next corner of the room (where Mrs. Blott flung Bunny).  The teacher's desk sat in front of the chalkboard not far from the windows.  Our desks faced the chalkboards and the teacher's desk.

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I look back at these memories and wonder that I didn't feel intimidated going into that cavernous school with its wide halls and high ceilings, the rooms even larger but equally tall, and with older kids in the building.  Somehow the principal managed to keep a tight rein on most situations and we all survived.  (But I wish I knew what happened to Bunny.)

Was your first grade experience at all like mine?

I'm linking this post to Elizabeth Swanay O'Neal's The Genealogy Blog Party:  School Days at her blog Heart of the Family.  During the month of September, others will be posting their school days memories or posts about other school topics.  Visit and take a look.

-–Nancy.

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