I read with great interest Staff Writer Penny Leuthard’s feature on the Clear Lake residents attending their rural schools of many years ago.
It brought back a flood of memories for me, of 60 years ago, when I and my family members attended Dist. 34 at Oak Park, one of the largest of Benton County’s 33 such schools of the day.
Dist. 34 was not only our school house - it was the center of our tight little farming community, where celebrations included Christmas programs and the biggie, the Memorial Day festival, which included potluck dinner, kitten ball and other games and all kinds of chit-chat about the goings-on of the year.
(The Christmas programs had a lot to do with Christ back in those days - the American Civil Liberties Union wasn’t there to mess with us.)
The Memorial Day party was always the best day of our year, as kids. Hundreds would turn out.
The Minnesota Board of Education stepped in in the late 1950’s and declared all rural schools should close - the idea being we kids weren’t getting the education we could get in the larger burbs, like Foley.
I was one of the last eighth graders to graduate from rural school in the spring of 1960; the state cut the schools back to Grades 1-6 at that time and two years later, our schools were gone.
But, the memories have never gone away.
Dist. 34 was a large rural school, with Grades 1-4 in “the little room” and Grades 5-8 in “the big room.”
Our 1952 incoming first grade class had eight kids, including Kenny Knutson, Louella Schlangen, (my cousin) Shelby Meyer, Dickie Bemis, Connie Moe, Arlan Van Ziel - and one other.
By the time we graduated eight years later, only Kenny, Louella and I were there to “turn our tassels.”
We didn’t realize it at the time, but American farming communities were beginning their tumultuous change - families were leaving small towns - and our class was a ripe example of it.
Inside the classroom, we learned very well. The world and state maps, the chalkboard and books were our avenues to the world. That was all we needed.
(Computers were still 25 years away.)
I looked at the world maps and dreamed about going to those places some day. I have been immensely lucky to have done that.
Our library was stacked with rows of books, every one of which was read by me by the time we left.
That Oak Park library is as much the reason as any other for my doing what I do today.
As we were in the classroom with other classes as they went to the front of the room, we could listen in on their lessons. It was a growing-together phenomenon.
I adored Mrs. Elayne Balder, my first grade teacher. She was the ultimate “Miss McGillicutty” of “The Rascals.”
I complained to my mother (a teacher) why we couldn’t have school on Saturdays. She responded, saying the teacher needs to have a day to do her housecleaning and wash.
It wasn’t a good enough reason for me.
Thereafter followed Mrs. Lind, (my aunt) Rosetta Meyer for two years, Mrs. Heinzel and Mrs. Schultz.
And when we needed it, they were good at corporal punishment.
Spring days were good for kittenball games against kids from area schools. We were pretty good, winning most. And as with most schools, we played girls on our teams because there weren’t enough boys around. (Title IX wouldn’t be a factor on youth school activities for another 20 years.)
But among the best of the girls was my kid sister, Anita, who could hit and throw “like a boy.” And she helped teach her five daughters well, too. I think it all started on the Dist. 34 kittenball field.
We had our lunch pails, some black, some with barnyard notifs; some just had paper sacks. Lunch time was always good, sandwiches, some fruit, perhaps a Hostess cream cake or a personal-sized pie straight from the bakery in St. Cloud. I think they cost five or eight cents.
We were jealous, however, of the kids at The Hill School, south of Ronneby. They had a kitchen and moms stopped in daily to prepare them hot lunches.
(But we always beat them in kittenball.)
I drove by the old school site a few years back. The property has long been converted into a home; a driveway runs through what was our old ball field.
But up front still sits the old merry-go-round. I remember in 1952 the older kids were leading us in a chant, “We Like Ike. We Like Ike.” His Presidential opponant, Adlai Stevenson, never had a chance on the Oak Park Playground.
And it was on that playground I fell in love. I was smitten with Connie Moe, who wouldn’t give me the time of day. She and her family moved away after fourth grade to Milaca, never to be seen again.
Bittersweet years.
