I was raised in the country many, many years ago. As the oldest of four brothers, I spent summer days out the back door after breakfast with instructions to come back for lunch and stay out of trouble. Four boys roaming the countryside however were often not likely to stay out of mischief, the result usually was the discipline of a switching. And so it was also with school.
If our teachers saw a need for a paddle, a phone call to mother afterwards meant there better be a good explanation when we got home to avoid a second dressing. Today however, many parents fear for their children and trust neither teachers nor neighbors to help in their care.
The concern for our children’s safety seems to have largely grown from our ability to receive news of faraway child-related tragedies which instantly turn into threats on our doorsteps. But please take a deep breath parents, recent national reports state that this is the safest time overall for children since the 1960s and the worst thing to happen to many children of the 60s was that they became hippies.
Here are two stories about school. The first recalled from my favorite niece this year. It is hoped this story conveys that even though today’s methods are different, communication with neighbors and involvement in the community are still the best methods to help our children be safe. The second story is from 1898 by Captain Blank of the sailing bark Dexter and shows that teachers have always had a difficult job. Interestingly, both stories are about the same rural area.
Kelly’s daughter is a reincarnation of Shirley Temple. A child who has tea parties with Teddy bears and feels that she is not dressed properly if her socks have no lace. So, Kelly was taken aback to discover that her kindergartener, after transferring from a small town school to a rural northern county school, had suddenly become a classroom trouble maker who also regularly lost her coat and lunchbox.
After no success in addressing her child’s regression at meetings with the teacher who was strongly supported by the principal, Kelly was able to transfer back to the original school and quickly rediscovered her gold star daughter. Later, through Facebook, she and several other mothers discovered that they shared similar experiences of theft and discipline in the classroom at the rural school.
The parents organized and then demanded school oversite involvement. As a result, it was eventually determined that the trouble blamed on several students by the teacher had come from one child, and the teacher knew this. It was also found that ongoing emotional issues suffered by the teacher were known to the principal. Corrections at the school were then promised to the parents by county officials; we wait to see.
“I was in Pensacola, Florida during the winter of 1876. As I had forty-five lay days, I concluded I would take quarters ashore, and enjoy myself hunting and fishing. One day, while I was in Milton, a small village about ten miles from Pensacola, I met a planter who made me a very flattering offer to teach a private school in his district, some twenty miles north of Milton.
As the salary he offered me was nearly three times as much as I was getting, I concluded that I would accept it. So, that night I drove out with him to his place, and next morning I was introduced to my scholars. You never saw such a lot of children in your life – boys and girls from 10 to 22 years of age, and as untamed as a hurricane in the Indian Ocean. The planter had been gone about five minutes when the fun began, and from that time until the noon recess these pupils had lots of fun.
When school reassembled in the afternoon a big, red-headed lad started the circus by hitting me square in the face with a spitball, and thereby raising a storm. I went outside and got a couple of good-sized clubs, and when I came in I locked the door, took off my coat, and started in.
Within five minutes they were cowed. You never in all your life saw such a set of badly whipped boys and girls; for I was so excited, once I got started on them, that any head was good enough for me to hit, and about the only thing I felt sorry for twenty years afterward was the language I used, for I talked pretty much as I would on the quarter-deck of a ship to a mutinous crew.
After I had thoroughly beaten the cubs I struck for Pensacola as fast as my legs would carry me, as I was sure the planters would murder me if they caught me, after giving the children such a trouncing, but a letter I received from the man who engaged me convinced me that, instead of doing me an injury, I could have anything I wanted. This is the letter I received:
‘Milton, Fla., January 15, 1976 – Dear Capt. Blank: Enclosed is $50, your compensation for teaching *** school one day. During the past five years we have had fully thirty teachers, not one of whom was able to handle our boys and girls for a week, but the thorough licking you gave them will only make it necessary for us in future to say: “If you don’t do right we will go to the city and get some shipmaster to come out and take the school.” Accept my thanks and those of my neighbors for the great service you unconsciously rendered us.’ Yours truly. J.C.B.”
