Mrs. Lamson wasn't mean or anything, she just didn't encourage much joy in the learning process. She had short dark hair, and her makeup seemed a bit clownish to me. Too much lipstick,too much rouge. When she laughed or smiled,she exposed rows of very large teeth,which made her countenance a little more garish, a bit more severe. I think that behind the facade there lurked a much nicer person, but she was there to do her job and do it well. She never wrote a single comment about me on my report card, so I have no idea what she thought of me or how I progressed throughout that school year.
We would pledge allegiance to a new flag, 50 stars now, adding Alaska and Hawaii; two more state capitals to memorize.
We'd watch Wee Willie Webber in the morning as we got ready for school. He'd show us cartoons and remind us what time it was; how much longer we had before we had to hit the trail. I'd sing "The Battle of New Orleans" on my way to class,imagining myself in the army with Andy Jackson in the lead. My classmate Tommy Budd would draw amazing battle scenes composed entirely of stick figures. Massive armies engaged in storming fortresses,frontal assaults and cavalry charges. Tommy's stick figures had style and motion. He raised them to a level of high art. I would spend hours trying to imitate what he could do, but there was only one Tommy Budd: stick figure genius.
Once again I only managed a B in Physical education. Maybe they should have let me run more, or let me hit a Wiffle Ball, that would have shown them.
I know my handwriting was never quite up to par, so I only managed a solid B in that.
I could read almost anything now, and I didn't struggle too much with arithmetic, and nobody could touch me at spelling.
Our class program that year was an evening of singing and storytelling,some kind of operetta and a rhythm band selection. What the stories were about I can't remember, but somebody wore a costume consisting of three heads made out of paper bags. Three others wore paper bags over their heads as well. The rest of us banged cymbals and triangles and shook bells. I had the red rhythm sticks. You banged and scraped them together at the appropriate moments in the musical score. I was less than thrilled.
I would walk the same walk to school and back, marking time on the same old trail. But this year would be different. I didn't always walk alone. I would meet up with Tommy Madden or his brother Ricky, or sometimes I'd walk with Lora Carter and Patsy Mulin. The company was welcome and made the march less tedious,less routine.
Walking to school with friends for a change!
Nothing could be better.
At least you would think so....
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