Special English Class

(1980 memoirs)
Then someone in High School had a brilliant idea.  This was to form a Special English Class made up of all the English A students from all the grade schools in town to be taught by Tess O'Brian, a splendid teacher and I went.  Also some boys.  One was later a senator -- what was his name? A judge.  I wish I had a picture of this group.

Gawky

(1980 memoirs)
[At Fond du Lac's 8th grade] I was very gawky at first, being the only one who brot my lunch and all.  I had the wrong shoes too, cloth tops that buttoned at the side.  But after while I made some friends.  There was Eleanor and her cousin Irma, and we often talked at recess.

Another 8th grade

(1980 memoirs)
My parents could never have made a better decision [than sending me into town to repeat eighth grade].  The whole grade was new.  Not a thing I ever learned in country school seemed to be repeated, tho it may have been.  The teacher was about 40, slim, pretty, experienced, a good teacher.

Repeat 8th grade

(1980 memoirs)
My parents could see I was poor in Arithmetic and probably never would pass and so arranged for me to go into town [Fond du Lac] and repeat Eighth Grade there.  Of course city kids automatically went into high school.

Arithmetic

(1980 memoirs)
I did pass some [parts of the entrance exam] but failed Arithmetic, probably because along the way one teacher, not wanting to bother with my being the only one in my class, shoved me ahead.  So I was always very poor in that field and blamed it on this teacher.

Recite by heart

(1980 memoirs)
Our teacher was a leather-faced, seasoned old biddy who rode her bicycle to school every day until snow came, and she knew pretty well what the questions might be and primed us accordingly.  All of us could recite by heart without taking a full breath the circulation of the blood beginning with "Starting at the left ventricle" -- or is it the right auricle?  Does it matter?  We also knew the causes of the Civil War, rules for spelling, the names of our senators, and a lot more.

Ordeal

(1980 memoirs)
At that time graduates from Country School Eighth Grade had to write and pass an exam to enter High School.  This was a terror.  Imagine how frightened country kids can get who rarely go into town to go into a big strange building and write an entrance exam.

Teeny letters

(1980 memoirs)
I said [to Boobie] I guessed I could [write to him], and later when his mother also asked me to write I again said yes.  I believe we each managed one or two letters.  It was amazing how little there was to write about and how very interested we were in other things just then.  I think he went to St. Johns but time hazes over facts like that for me.

My girl

(1980 memoirs)
While living on Ruepings' Estate, my brother and I often played Hide & Seek with the Rueping kids and their friends.  One summer night Boobie and I were kneeling behind a bush when he gave me a very sweet kiss and said, "You're my girl now, Carrie.  Will you write to me when I go away to school in the fall?"

Bad boy

(1980 memoirs)
So we walked back and forth to school.  Sometimes I caught up with Lillian, usually I was alone. Neither she nor I cared for many other girls.  On this day in late fall, I had walked home from school past her house coming home, not noticing Harry behind me.  Suddenly he ran as fast as he could, grabbed me and threw me into the ditch, kissed me violently on one cheek, scrambled out and ran for home as fast as possible.  My sole reaction was amazement.  Who can understand boys?  I picked myself up, brushed myself off and came on home bewildered, wondering what brot that on.  Nothing more was ever said, ever done, and I somehow knew it was better to keep it to myself than make a to-do over it.

Three vegetables

(1980 memoirs)
It was like the time Cousin Frankie brought to my attention how curious it was if you repeated the names of three vegetables in a row you got a very strange message.  You have heard them I am sure.  Who hasn't?  Lettuce, turnip, and pea.  Neither she nor I had the least inclination to laugh at that, either.  Though peculiar.

Hatchet

(1980 memoirs)
One February our teacher was talking about Lincoln and Washington and getting the first grade to color and cut out hatchets.  When I looked over at Lillian, she was laughing silently, holding herself in, wiping her eyes, shaking all over.  This went on for some time, and of course I was beside myself with curiosity.  At length she whispered, "Listen.  She's saying it again!" and stuffing her handkerchief over her mouth, she got red in the face and shook all over.  Finally she passed me a note that said:  "Listen when she says hot shit."  Well, I did hear it, and even when it was pointed out to me, I couldn't laugh much.  I just couldn't.  Not funny.

Lillian & Harry

(1980 memoirs)
Coming out of my front door, turning left was the way to country school [at Green Lake].  On the way I passed the farm where Lillian, my friend, lived with her family, including a brother, Harry.  Lillian was a blonde with dimples and thin hair, a nice girl.

Deceit

(1980 memoirs)
I must have been in 6th grade or so, going to country school, when I learned about deceit.  It was spring and we were going to have a picnic lunch with games afterward.  A rather new girl, Alice, said to me, "What are you going to wear tomorrow?"  I said I hadn't given it any thought, to which she answered, "Let's not dress up at all.  I am going to wear just some old thing I wear around home.  Sitting on the ground and playing games, we might get our good Sunday clothes all torn and dirty."  I agreed and surprised my mother by insisting on wearing quite an old dress.  Imagine my innocent amazement when I laid eyes on Alice, beautiful in a brand-new dress outshining us all, especially me!

Some odd experiences

(1980 memoirs)
So four years [at Ripon] went by for me, on the whole pleasant and satisfactory.  I suppose I was learning quite a few things.  [I had already learned other things in grade school.]  I remember back about some odd experiences with friends -- girls and boys too.

One dollar

(1980 memoirs)
One Sunday afternoon a carful of relatives from Fond du Lac, I among them, were out riding and stopped in to see Frankie.  [Skip was there too, picked up from scout camp, in 1943.]  She felt so bad because she couldn't ask us to supper, but we had no idea of stopping.  After talking a while, we all piled back into the car for home.  And here stood dear Frankie with a dollar bill pressing it on us to buy something to eat.  We were not around the corner before they were all laughing so hard tears ran down their faces.   A carfull -- probably seven or eight -- and Frankie expecting us all to have supper with the dollar bill she was pressing on us!  Whoop!  Did you ever know anything funnier?  Well -- yes.  Lots of things.  In the first place, Frankie never ate out and had no idea how far her dollar would go.  In the second place, I am sure it never entered her head to figure it out.  She was not of their world nor they of hers, thank God.

The band and the button

(1980 memoirs)
The family regarded Frankie somewhat as a curiosity.  At times I could see why.  When Aunt Lois asked her for any old skirt or petticoat she might not be using, for a black edge around her braided rug, Frankie said she would see and rummaged in her closet.  At length she found what she was after and showed it to Lois.  The skirt was approved and accepted.  Thanks were given and accepted.  Then Frankie said, "Lois, if you have no use for the band and the button, I'd like to rip that off before you take it."  My aunt's lips twitched but she controlled herself, at least until she drove off in her Ford.  They never forgot it.  If a garment were handed down forevermore, one or the other would say, "Are you sure you don't need the band and the button?"  Roars and gales of laughter!  I never thought that was so funny.  If she were making another skirt, the band and button would come in handy, and Lois didn't need it.

Mild and pleasant

(1980 memoirs)
Frankie's manner was always mild and pleasant.  She held in anger because she felt it was the right thing to do.  I have never seen her in any excess of joy or hatred, anger or love.  Always thoughtful, at times forgetful, never unkind, never revengeful.