Fourth Grade was a season of growing up.
Hickerson Station, 1975. I was nine when the school year started.
During that year...
Some things I had been told all my life, I found out were not true.
Other things we were learning about, became even more of a mystery.
I perfected cussing. The words we heard on the bus and other places, we all started saying.
At Hickerson Station, the Fourth grade class room faced the front parking lot and the railroad tracks beyond that. It was the last door on the left in the old hallway. The new part: library, offices, cafeteria, and more classrooms, was built in 1973. There were a lot of windows, and we had plenty to look at. I can remember counting the train cars as they went by.
As a Fourth Grader, if you really messed up on the bus or at school, you got punished. We were not innocent little kids anymore.
That year, I got a few "licks" from the principal. This happened after our teacher, Mrs. Sutton, had enough of whatever I was doing, or not doing. She would send me out to wait in the hallway. Unless it was lunch time, or another class was going to PE or Mrs. Barton's music class, the hallway was empty.
Looking back, this must be where I got to know Mrs. Jane Caudle. There was something different and special about her. She was in her late forties or early fifties, a small gray headed lady with a big smile. I found this picture online.
photo credit, and obituary... - https://www.kilgorefuneralhometullahoma.com/obituary/2991952
She was the custodian at Hickerson for 24 years. Mrs. Caudle was all over the place, not confined to one room, like the rest of us. If I was out in the hall, and she came by, she would smile, then stop for a minute and check on me.
She was tough, like a fire fighter. When it got bad, and everybody was leaving a room, Mrs. Caudle was going in.
She had that box of magic powder, a broom, and a dust pan. She must have had a cast iron stomach, all the things she had to clean up.
From those short visits in the hall, I got to know Mrs. Caudle, and she knew me. I'm sure a lot of kids have sweet memories of her. I asked her to sign my 6th grade annual.
If Mrs. Sutton left me in the hall long enough, the Principal would come strolling by. That's when the hard questions started. If my answers didn't make him happy, we went to the office.
At least in the office, there was more going on. A few of the lucky smart kids were office helpers. I remember them making copies on an old mimeograph machine, like this one.
The sound and rhythm of the roller kept my attention. The ink had a heavy, sweet smell. As they cranked it, the copies were made, and the inky smell filled up the room.
Waiting was part of the game. Like now, when an opposing football coach calls a time out to "ice" the field goal kicker. Waiting makes some people agitated and nervous. If you think about it, waiting should be one of the easiest things we ever have to do.
In the office, I looked around, and talked quietly to people. Sitting still was the only challenge. When the Principal got around to dealing with me, most of the time I got a good "talkin' to", and sent back to class. Rarely, I got three or five licks with a big wooden paddle. I didn't like getting paddled, but it wasn't terrible.
The Box...
There was one other thing Mrs. Sutton did to get our attention. In the back of her room, away from everyone and everything, was a big box. It was from a refrigerator or freezer, and looked a lot like this one. The top and bottom were both cut out, and one side was made to open and close. Inside, was a single desk.
If you did time in The Box, you could still hear what was going on. I think it was there to make an example out of a student, and scare the rest into submission. Mrs. Sutton was not a mean person, but we must have been difficult kids to have in class all day.
The problem was, I never minded The Box. I could daydream or take a nap. The sounds of the classroom and looking at the ceiling directly above were good distractions. It was peaceful in there. Safe to say this was not the reaction Mrs. Sutton was going for. I suppose there was some soul searching going on. But, being in there didn't stress me out, and it really wasn't too bad.
There is a saying about, "Thinking outside the box." Maybe during fourth grade, a bunch of us learned how to think inside the box. My personality is pretty laid back. Even as a kid, there was a reservoir of calm I could tap into, and just breathe.
Underestimate me? Ok, your mistake.
Place limitations and restrictions on me? Allright.
Put me in a cardboard box with a desk and leave me there awhile? Whatever.
Even as a ten year old, I knew most bad things don't last very long.
By the time Fifth Grade rolled around, there was a school basketball team to try out for, and more mysteries to unravel. There were no more big cardboard boxes. And thankfully, cussing became reserved for special occasions, rather than everyday talk.
We were growing up.