The Wall

Once upon a time a van pulled up to 26 Poplar and uniformed men with shotguns got out. The men stood behind the trees in our front yard...which we thought very odd. Soon another truck pulled up with men in funny garb who started to unload a truck full of very large stones. Seems my father was friends with the warden at the penitentiary in Moundsville and he had persuaded the warden to allow some prisoners to bring him some stone to build a wall around our house.
The front yard sloped toward the sidewalk and so each time it rained, mud ran down onto the sidewalk and my father was determined to end the mud war by building this wall. He said that his father had taught him the skills of a stonemason and he could do this easily. He spent weeks building the wall. My mother was scandalized because in the heat he often worked topless. Nobody else seemed to care. The wall was about 3 ft high and had some upright stones on it to keep kids from walking on it, but the uprights just made it more of a challenge! It also had a built in light at the bottom of the steps to light your way to the Quinnery.
When that wall was finished, my father decided he had to extend the wall all the way around the property so ordered the troops (his nine children) to go with him to a creek to load bedrock which he proceeded to shape for the new wall. He landscaped both areas nicely and the wall still stands today, so I guess he knew what he was doing!

The Other Side of Mrs. Wood

Mrs. Wood was a tough old bird. She had a mean streak that was the basis for many rumors. I remember hearing stories of her intolerance first hand from my older sister. So, I had been listening to tales about 5th grade for quite some time. Unfortunately, Wood was the only 5th grade teacher at the time I entered the 5th grade. I had no other option. That was the longest year I spent at Woodsdale.

From my ten year old viewpoint, Mrs. Wood was definitely the teacher from "Hell" especially when compared with having spent the preceding year with the lovely Miss Holderman, the 4th grade teacher in the adjacent classroom.

At the time 1st grade through 5th grade classrooms were on the first floor. Mrs. Wood’s classroom was right in the middle of the hallway with the school bulletin board on her outside wall. It was a high traffic area. Under that bulletin board was a hardwood bench seat. I hated that seat.

One of Mrs. Wood’s favorite punishments was to have a "naughty" student sit on that bench so that all the other students could see and know that you were being punished for something you did in her class. I remembered one instance when I got banished to the hall. Ed Bachmann farted and Andy Bates and I couldn’t stop laughing. Mrs. Wood kept asking us why we were laughing. Andy and I refused to rat on Ed. We just couldn’t seem to stop laughing. Mrs. Wood said something like “Mr. Meagle! Mr. Bates! If you two will not stop disrupting the class, maybe you would like to spend the rest of the class out in the hall.” And out we went.

I do not remember any other teacher employing this form of punishment. It was quite traumatic. I remember the humiliation as students joked and said snide things when they walked by. We all know how cruel kids can be at this age. It got so bad with a few of us that our parents went as a group to complain to Mr. Hile. As I recollect, Principal Hile ended this practice of public humiliation. Hile had his own methods of discipline, but that’s another story.

I have many fond memories of my time at Woodsdale School, but 5th grade was not one of them. My apologies to Mrs. Wood; it must have been very hard to be judged so harshly by 10 year olds year after year. Maybe that is the reason she was wound rather tightly.

Stratford Hill by Marsha Montgomery

I remember the huge rock up on the hill, we used to call the Indian rock. It had some marking and it had places that we used to think looked like the Indians used to grind their meal. At least we pretended that. We used to build lean huts pretending we were all Indians and played for hours gathering herbs to use.

I also remember an old caved in well that we were not alloed to go near. Mr. Breezy from the pop factory used to warn us about it. Mr. Breezy was my great friend. I used to climb the tree beside our garage and wait for him to come to work. I would go see him and watch for hours the lids being put on the bottles, and even help load some cases on the trucks. He would tell me stories and always give me an Old Dad's Root Beer or Cream Soda. There were so many neat things about the factory, I used to explore it all the time with Mr.Breezy's consent. However, he kept a close eye on me and was amazed a how many questions I had to ask

A Fifth Grade School Dropout

It was the first day of school and we lined up on the school steps and Mr. Hile read out the teacher's list of who was in which class. When I heard my name and Mrs. Woods was to be my teacher, I walked home. I was quitting school. IT WAS NOT FAIR!!!! All four of my older siblings had had Ms. Fritz, ridden in her Caddy convertible, had parties, and generally played in fifth grade....and I got Miss Woods! Oh, the injustice of it! How had I offended the gods? Miss Woods was the MEAN teacher.
When I got home and informed my mother that I had quit school, she just kinda shrugged and said "Well, you will have to tell your father when he gets home". That night I pled my case to my father and he said, "Go to bed, we will talk about this in the morning". When morning came he said, "I've decided you can quit school, but you will have to go tell Mr. Hile."
This was more than just a little scary...this was major fright, but better than being in Miss Wood's class. I waited til everyone was in their classroom, crept up to the office and asked to see Mr. Hile. He had me sit in one of his high-backed, leather wingchairs that made me feel like Alice in Wonderland after she took the shrink pill. Mr. Hile reminded me of Abe Lincoln...bushy eyebrows and so tall! Anyway, he said, "I hear you are quitting school". "Yes", I explained, "you gave me the MEAN teacher and it's just not fair". He agreed it was not fair and that I was probably justified in quitting school, but said that the only way he could approve my disenfranchisement was if I would go explain to Miss Woods WHY I could not be in her class.
Now THIS was a problem. I was terrified...horror movies seemed tame compared to this assignment. Meet the devil in her den? I was shaking all over when I knocked on her classroom door. She was thin, white haired and very bird-like in appearance...her beak peeked out the door and I asked to talk to her privately. In a few minutes she came out in the hall and I told her I was quitting school because I didn't want to be in her class. When she asked why, I replied, "Because you are the MEAN teacher!". "How do you know? you've never been in my class!" she said. I just looked at her in surprise and said, "EVERYONE knows you are the MEAN teacher!!!".
She suggested that it was very silly of me to take other people's word for it and that I should come into her class for one week before I decided that she was MEAN. I agreed that was a fair offer ....made sense to me. So, in I went. Within days I discovered that she was the best teacher I had ever had....but there was no way I was going to admit it so when Friday rolled around and I stayed after class to give her my "report" I said that I was going to need more time to make up my mind and asked for another week. This went on for the rest of the school year. Every Friday I would tell her I needed more time. It didn't take me long to figure out that i was her "pet" and she let me do grown up errands for her, etc ...she even let me have my birthday party in the classroom....my mother brought cupcakes and ice cream...an unheard of event.
Many years later my father confessed that he had had a conversation with Mr. Hile and he told him to expect a visit from me. He told him exactly what to tell me and knew that I would give Miss Woods a fair chance. Don't think that would happen today.
When I graduated from teachers' college I was asked to give the commencement speech and I told this story admonishing the teachers-to-be that if they could keep a student WANTING to come back on Monday...they were a good teacher.

Miss Ball was a Ninja

When
I had English we tortured Miss Ball incessantly. One day she got the respect of every junior high boy when she demonstrated her ability to use a Ninja trick. I cannot recall what Mike Phillips had done to get Miss Ball mad, but she called him to the front of the class and grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the black board. As Mike's back hit the black board Miss Ball drew back her hand and Mike flinched ready to get slapped. To the amazement of the whole class the fake slap turned out to be a diversion. When Mike flinched expecting to be hit on the face Elanor drew back her leg and kicked Mike in the shin. I am sure everyone in the class thought this lady surely at one time was a world class boxer. She could fake a jab, and hit you with a roundhouse that would drop you.

New Year and New Neighborhood

One of my most vivid New Years memories is staying up until midnight then going out on the front porch to bang pot lids together and make as much noise as possible. This dates back to a Chinese belief that you must scare away the evil spirits so that the new year will be lucky, but I think it was just a way of giving little kids one chance to do what they do best (with approval)...make noise! Lee Frizzell tells me that her family did not celebrate that way....I KNOW it was not just a Quinn tradition because there were other kids on THEIR porches making just as much noise up and down the street.
Two other memories I have of New Year's: The year my father gave our dog Skippy champagne and got him so drunk he could not stand and the year my grandmother was doing my hair in curlers (those old metal kind that left a definite kink in the ends of your curls...why at midnite? goodness knows). I had laryngitis and no voice and nothing came out when I tried to tell her I didn't want curly hair...I remember thinking that my voice was gone for good (I was about five) and when we went out on the porch to yell and scream...I could not make a sound!
I recently talked to some current Woodsdale folks who complained of the guys who pull up in the middle of the night, check to see which cars are unlocked, and when they find one steal everything inside. In the "good old days" my father would have been sitting on the front porch all night with his shotgun.
Since most women did not work outside the home and only one car was needed, and most people parked their cars in the garage, the streets seemed much wider. Now when I drive down a street in Woodsdale I wonder how anyone finds a parking space! Playing in the street was one of our favorite pastimes...especially Indian ball. For some strange reason these games always took place in front of Jim Squibb's house on Poplar. This game HAD to be played in the street because it involved rolling a softball at a bat and they just don't roll that well on grass. The lot next to the Law's house at the corner of Woodlawn and Poplar was a popular spot for most sports and was especially good for snowman building contests.
It must be strange growing up in Woodsdale now...with ghosts of children past still roaming the streets.