Maxine's Story ~ Elementary School Years

Maxine's Story

Elementary School Years

many moves. I count them now and they total 15, after I started school. Three were for summer only, putting me in 12 different grade schools. So memories are hazy, names of friends forgotten, with maybe two exceptions. In Ontario, there was Ruth Kenny and in Eagle Point I met Helen Harnish. Although more than sixty years have gone by, I can still remember exactly how they looked, the closeness we shared, and the pain at separation. Letters were written but as the years went by it became increasingly more difficult until the separation was complete.

Recalling my grammar school years is difficult to say the least .... there were just too many Maxines in the world are exactly my age, though I don't know what happened in 1928 that caused the Mothers to make that decision .... In the second grade there were three girls named Maxine ... I have a theory that all the names of teachers are forgotten also, with one exception! There was a Mr. Dixon! But what grade I cannot be sure. Was he the one in the 8th grade that I had a serious crush on, as did every girl in that class? A young man, cute and funny and single ... there were few men teachers in my experience, and few young ones for that matter, though that may be a matter of perspective.

subjects, excelling in only one, reading. Because of my age, 6½ when I started 1st grade I remember the process of learning to read. I also remember what happened on that first morning of my first day in school.

My single remaining report card indicates an average student, slightly better in some

There was a word on the blackboard---just a small insignificant word, but I heard an older girl pronounce it before school began. When the teacher came in she asked if anyone knew what that word was, and since no one else offered, I raised my hand and told her. Thus began my school years, under false pretenses ... the teacher assuming that I could read when indeed I could not. I had not attended kindergarten nor preschool, or head-start, nor any other program. Those came along many years later. And I had not learned at home ...

My Mother read very little and though my Dad loved to read, at that time there was little time for books. I don't remember having any in our home.

The most memorable experience of all was the 1st grade---there were no amenities at all. We didn't even have desks! My Dads' work took us to Beulah, in the south central part of the state, a place that no one has ever even heard of. Beulah needed a dam, but evidently there had been no need of a school until that construction crew moved in. A one-room building was available with no running water, or bathroom and I'm not sure about electricity. We had none in our home. We sat on benches and kneeled down to write on the same bench. After some weeks, benches were made and it was a joy to be able to sit and write. All eight grades met together and it was a challenge for that teacher I am sure. It was also a trying time for me. Other than my name, I could not read, but because of my very first experience, where I read that word on the blackboard, she assumed that I could, and I got little help. We had an old fashioned pot belly stove that kept us toasty warm when winter set in but it took a lot of attention. Someone came in early and started the fire; it was always warm when we arrived at school.

The main problem in changing schools so often was the subjects that somehow I completely missed. Civics was a class that was taught when I was somewhere else it seemed. Math---I never received anything but the most simple and basic instruction. We moved before I had finished memorizing the multiplication table and the next school had already finished it. This has been a problem all my life. At that time High School required no higher math, so I escaped again. It was only when my own children needed help with their math, that I realize my lack of education, and the need for it.

While I did become a good reader, somehow spelling just didn't come naturally, and I struggle with it still. My parents found this to be amusing I guess. They used to have spelling bees at home, and my younger sister always won! There was one grand moment for me however. I was so sure of the spelling of 'sirup', (with an I) that my Dad bet me one dollar I was wrong. On Monday, back in school, my spelling book proved that I was right. (That spelling is an option.) I spent the dollar on a permanent wave, my first. It was done on an antique machine from Mars, or hell---all electric connections to every curl. The beauty operator forgot me and my hair was fried. It took months before I could comb my frizzy hair, or for my scalp to heal. My one dollar permanent proved to be no bargain. But I was satisfied that I had won at least one spelling dispute.

Another situation that happened in Mt. Angel would surely be considered politically incorrect today. I was the only non-Catholic in my class at this public school. Every morning they began the day with catechism and prayer. I was asked to go out and wait in the hall while this occurred. Now 15 minutes, standing in the hall every morning wasn't my idea of a good start for the day. I would have rather been at my desk no matter what the rest were doing. I was never invited to join them. Note: We had good experiences in Mt. Angel, and those will be included in another chapter, when I write about the depression years.

My family will be amused to learn that I once played in a band, on a coronet of all things! It is not a memory that I treasure, or one that I've talked about. Why a coronet? (I still feel uncomfortable thinking about it. I always felt that the coronet was a boys instrument.) But the answer was simple, we owned one, though where my Dad got it I do not remember. It was old and smelly and I hated it. I never really understood music either, so my musical career ended happily when we, once again, moved!

a fair amount of hits, I found my weakness---couldn't run! Since I was fully grown at that age and the boys were not, I was, at 5ft. 8½ inches, taller than most of them. I can remember their anguished cry when I'd get put out at base … "Johns, if we had your legs we'd use them!"

My happiest experienced were in Eagle Point I suppose. The teacher made it fun and I was old enough to appreciate BOYS. The war had started by then, but like many Americans, we didn't foresee the years ahead. We somehow thought it would soon be over. In any case, at age 12-13, I was just not yet emotionally involved.

I discovered soft ball and loved it. I played a pretty good first base. And although I got

writing class. I think it more fully explains the situation that I was in, attending a public school that was in fact, more like a Catholic school. It was early morning and I was, as usual, standing out in the hall, while my class had their religious training, and prayer. A Priest came along, and asked what I was doing in the hall. I explained, and he was very indignant .... that I wasn't Catholic and didn't pray with my class. Since he was obviously very drunk, and stank badly, I was not very impressed, nor intimidated.

My grade school years ended there at Eagle Point. I graduated and the most memorable part of that occasion was my hair style! We lived next door to a beauty shop, and I became somewhat acquainted with the owner/operator. For some reason, and I suspect it was her suggestion, I had my hair done. And I loved the new look! I think it cost me one dollar, but I baby-sat by then and had money to spend! It was my plan to have this same great hair-do for graduation. But my ever frugal Mother assured me that she could do the same thing just as well, and save the money. And that is what we did---my graduation pictures show the result. A row of silly looking sausage curls across my forehead that embarrasses me still. I did have a new dress however, and one that I felt was very pretty and proper.

We left Eagle Point and moved on to Lakeview for the summer. By fall a big decision had to be made. High school loomed, and my Dad felt that this gypsy lifestyle was not going to work any longer. We simply had no roots. His decision was to leave road construction, and move to Portland where there were shipyards and jobs waiting. This was 1942. I was 13 years old and my next and only school was to be Gresham Union High.

PS. I had one experience in Mt. Angel that I chose not to include in this script for my learning to write. My first experience was to learn the Rice method, and then moved into another school where they were teaching the Palmer style. I don't suppose either of those are taught anymore, but there was a distinct difference, and it messed up my handwriting forever ... .I can see it in the simplest words ... I'll use both styles in one word ... Another reason to be grateful for computers that are legible and can spell! Thank you again David and Jackie!

There was another problem with changing schools so often, and that was the process of

This might be a good place to document the various places where we lived ....

BISBEE ARIZONA: Born 1928

PAUL IDAHO: Where the Johnses lived

HEYBURN IDAHO: Where the Sabins lived

BEULAH OREGON: Started school (no longer on the map)

NYSSA: Near Ontario

ONTARIO: On the Idaho border (lived there for 5 years)

BROWNSBORO: No longer on the map [abt 12 miles north-west of Medford]

BUTTE FALLS: By Medford

GLIDE: Near Roseburg

MINAM: Between LaGrande and Wallowa

BURNS: Summer only

FT. KLAMATH: Near Klamath Falls

MT. ANGEL: Near Woodburn

REITH: Near Pendleton

CANYONVILLE: Between Roseburg and Grants Pass (WWII began)

EAGLE POINT: By Medford (graduated 8th grade)

LAKEVIEW: Summer only

GRESHAM: High school, the year was 1942 .... (WWII ended 1945)

I was 13 years old and had lived in 18 places. Now you can see why I've not wanted to move at all throughout my adult life. I love my roots! And even more important, wanted my children to have them .... and they do. Anyway they all live within about a 12 mile radius, and that makes me the envy of all my friends, all my grandchildren close by ... lucky Grandma!

PS. There is one more story that ought to be included here ... my first political experience. I was probably in the second grade ... Ontario though the details are unclear except for the day we voted on the President of the United States! There were four votes for the Republican candidate, Alf Landon, including mine, and the rest of the class voted for Franklin Delano Roosevelt, his second term I believe. After school I was approached by a gang and beat up! And left in a ditch. For voting republican! I remember the misery and the embarrassment and going home dirty and torn up, to parents who were very angry about it, but did nothing. If there were any consequences I never heard about it. My parents wouldn't have initiated anything. So much for free expression ... hasn't kept me from my republican voting all my life .... and it was the only beating I ever got.

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