School #5

We all went to School #5 and had to cross the TYPINK meadow to get there. We did not take a lunch or were we given a penny or two to buy a large grandfather cup of cocoa, with a floating marshmallow. Some kids bought a peanut butter sandwich, we had to go home and eat that ever-lasting fried squash, when it was in season. If the TYPINK should be frozen over, Harrison and I had to skate to school by holing the metal skates to our high-top shoes. The lunchroom was in the basement of the school with a long table extended in the middle with wooden benches all around the wall, where the kids sat.

Cocoa was sometimes brought up to the calls room but as a rule it was for sale in the basement. There were times when the school sold peanut butter sandwiches, but this was few and far between, since no one had money to spend. We had one hour for lunch most all children went home to eat. Directly at 12:00 noon when the town whistle blew, we grabbed our coat from the cloak room and ran. Many of the Jewish Mothers would meet their children on the road and feed them Kosher foods.

We all graduated from School #5 as well as Lakewood High School. We knew most of the teachers personally, or they were customers at our grocery store, some where related. It was not unusual to be hit across the hand with the wooden slate board pointer, at school, or a chalk board cleaning pad could come flying thru the air and hit you in the head. Many times, I felt like hiding under my desk. When I rebelled, Mother would announce that I was the first hippy to land at our town and Aunt Annie declared that I was the black sheep of the brood. I failed grade four “A” but regained strength in the six grade where sewing was a part of our curriculum.

Many older girls, in our sewing class, made their own graduation dress, Winnie Wallace made her graduation dress and when graduation day arrived, Winnie sat on the stage all decked out in her new dress and everyone graduated, but not Winnie. When I was in the second grade, Ms Skidmore was my teacher, there was a contest about designing an exterior of a large wooden house. When the bug judges came to our School, from Trenton, NJ, they decided that I was too young to receive the prize. They asked Dad to appear at School to discuss this dilemma, stating that I should not attend School # 5 – I should be educated at a Creative Art School. My Dad’s reply was, “she is taking piano lessons and this is as far as it can get.”