Dennis Crocker Memories - Part 5 (June 9, 2013)
Once again, I am musing of days of long ago. I was in the second grade, it was in 1949,and Mrs Lorraine Wells was my teacher. I went to the grade school at Pacolet Station. For those of you who might remember where the "band room" was in later years, That room was the first grade room, taught by Mrs Ethel Turner. If you were leaving the band room, the first door on your left was the second grade room, and then the rooms correlated with the grades as you turned the corner and went from the elementary grades to the high school grades.
Mrs. Shealy taught the third grade, Mrs. Byars the 4th, and possibly Mrs. Trowell the fifth (I am a little unsure about that as I went to Pacolet Mills grade school for the fifth grade year). Mr. Moore taught the 6th grade, and he used to read to us from Alec and the Black Stallion. I surely enjoyed those stories, but I get ahead of myself.
Mr. Dooley Littlejohn was a much beloved old gentleman, must have been in his eighties back in 1949, and he would visit the school about once every week or two. He would go from classroom to classroom, tapping on the door, and asking the teacher if he could come in and read to the children. He would have an old battered, dog-eared copy of Joel Chandler Harris's book, Uncle Remus and he would read us stories of "Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox, Brer B'ar" and of the old "darkey and the little white boy". Wonderful stories, in black dialect about "Brer Rabbit and the briar patch" and "Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby". I think that book is outlawed in some school libraries now as it is not "politically correct" and that is a shame. It was a wonderful piece of literature that was reflective of the time in which it was written.
Back in those days, school lunches were a dollar, a dollar for the week that is. Each of us kids that could afford it, and that was most of us, would bring a dollar from home on Mondays, and our teacher would take up the money on Monday morning. The poor kids whose parents could not afford the lunches, sat in the auditorium while the rest of us ate.
My Dad worked the second shift at the mill. He got off at 11pm and would come home, eat a bite, and go to bed about 12. He would usually not be up when I left to go to school about 7:20 am. We lived just inside Cherokee County, and technically were supposed to go to Cherokee County Schools, but we didn't. We walked down to "KegTown" as Mr. Carl Whitlock's store and the immediate surrounding are or were known. The school bus would pick us up there.
Some mornings it would be really cold, the "dog ice" would be standing on the red road banks but If we timed it just right, Mr. Jesse Lee, who operated a taxi. would be coming down the road from taking his 3rd shift fares home . The third got off at 7 am and he had 2 or 3 workers who didn't have a car , but lived further up the Cowpens road than we did, and would share his taxi fare. Mr. Lee would give us a free ride on really cold mornings, but when he got to the foot of Brown's Chapel Hill, he'd let us out 'cause he was going over Brown’s Chapel Hill instead of around it via "Kegtown". We'd then walk the short walk on down to Whitlock's Store.
Often when we'd get there, Walter Harvey who was 2 or 3 years older than me, would have a fire going in a trash barrel, and we'd all gather around that until the old Orange School bus got there to take us to Pacolet Station. I don't remember all the kids who caught the bus there, but Patsy Brown, Larry Scales, Walter Harvey, Bob Shack. his sister Janice, and I are those that I recall. Ours was the only Orange bus, the rest of them were yellow. I was glad we had the orange one 'cuz it kept me from getting on the wrong bus when school was out and all the buses were lined up revving their engines.
One day Mr. Lee had given me a ride (I don't remember why, but I was by myself that day) I got out of his taxi on the passenger side and ran around the back of the car and across the road right in front of an old car being driven by an older black gentleman. He tried to miss me, but his bumper caught my leg and it threw me up into the air - I remember seeing his car go under me! It knocked my shoes off, and I landed on my seat , which knocked the wind out of me. They thought I was really hurt. Mr. Lee saw it happen, and he went to get my parents.
I didn't want anyone to get them, I was afraid they'd be mad because it was my fault. I told them I was OK, just to let me go on to school. Nothing doing there. The old black man was beside himself with fear for me, and for himself. Can you imagine being in his shoes in 1949, having run over a white child. He was telling me he was so sorry, but that he just didn't have a chance to miss me when I darted out from behind Mr. Lee's taxi. Well, Mom and Dad got there, and once they saw I was basically OK, they reassured the old man that it was not his fault, and they reassured me that even though it was my fault, they weren't mad at me. They were just relieved that I was OK.
I had a deep bruise on my right thigh, and missed several day of school , but I learned to be much more careful in crossing roads. Mom and Dad spoiled me for about 2 or 3 days, but then it was back to business as usual.
Well, I had another story in mind when I started this narrative, but in reminiscing about the old school, the teachers and the old orange bus, I have used too much space. Next week, reread paragraphs 4 and 5 and we'll get to the story I promised last time in which 'The Middle Field" plays a role.
Until then be safe and tell those that you love that you do.
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