Charley Applewhite

Charley Applewhite was supposed to be the next Frank Sinatra.  He had been on national TV, and came to our school to perform with our choir when I was in the fifth grade.   He was a graduate of our elementary school (Carroll Peak in Fort Worth), and had the same music teacher we had.  He had skin like a teenage girl who used a lot of creams, and had that soft, slick look of someone unaccustomed to manual labor.  Channel 5 TV news was there to record his visit and performance.   I saw myself that night on television, jumping up and down in front of a high window that had a camera on the other side.  Our choir performed with Charley Applewhite, though I think most people came to see him.  Unfortunately, his star faded soon after, and he was hardly heard from again.  I later learned that he sold office equipment in Mansfield, and died a few years ago.

Fighting Cocks

In the third grade, one of our art assignments was to do a watercolor painting on any subject.  The project was to last for a month or more (art classes were twice per week).   I didn’t have any ideas, so the teacher suggested that I do a painting of fighting cocks.  I think she got the idea since I had started to draw something that looked a little like a chicken.   Per her suggestion, I did the fighting cock painting, then took it home to the praise of both teacher and family.  I felt pretty good about my art skills, given the extensive feedback.  Unfortunately, years later I saw the picture again, and realized that it was not very good.  The two fighting cocks facing each other, each  with one leg up, looked like two overweight chickens  urinating dog-style.  There was no “tension” in the painting at all, and no animal could have the kind of balance those chickens displayed.   That was the last attempt I made at serious art until the seventh grade, when I made a passable chopping block still in use  today.  The shop teacher gave me a “B,” with the comment “Not bad for a country boy.”  I never quite knew what he meant.  I might have gotten an “A” if I had not messed up the edges. I had to plane them over and over until the edged plane was almost 1″ wide.

The Gift of Love

In St. Joseph’s Academy, in Abilene, Texas,  our first and second grade classes were in the same room.  We either attended in the morning or afternoon (It was after WWII, and schools were crowded).  I sat next to a “dreamboat” female second grader.  I fell in love immediately.  One day I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I felt that I had to declare myself.  Since I had no means to do such a thing,  I decided to give her all my school supplies.  I began to take all my books and papers from my desk and stuff them under her desk in the storage area.  She was confused, and told me to keep my “stuff,” but I continued  like one possessed.  The teacher came over since I was disrupting class, and asked what I was doing.  Of course I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I was on a mission.  Things settled down after a while, and all returned to normal, but I still am not sure what came over me that day.

Color Wars

In the second grade, we could color after we finished whatever written assignments we had.  One day we had a coloring contest.  We were given printed sheets with ducks, chickens, and other animals on them, and told to color them.  The best “colorer” would win.  I knew that the girls would always win this kind of thing, and I thought it was completely boring.  I remember deliberately pressing my Crayolas down hard so that a solid, waxy color was what I produced.  The whole page was filled with this solid mass, which used up a lot of crayons.  When the teacher saw it (It was Mrs. Brubaker, and I didn’t like her at all) she said “You can do better than this.”

Mrs. Brown

My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Brown, had all the male members of her class take turns rubbing her back during the day.  When my turn came  I showed my dislike by not rubbing hard.  Finally, she realized that the only one who could do the job as she liked was Don Taylor.  He used to use his elbow, and did most of the “rubbing” for the class.  He got all kinds of extra credit, but I didn’t care, as long as I didn’t have to do it.  I can still see those sloping fifty-year-old shoulders.  One day during reading, after I read out loud (we took turns),  Mrs. Brown told me that I could go home.  When I left the classroom,  she said “The reason I let Jimmy go was …” I couldn’t hear the reason, but felt special anyway.   I went home, but felt bored because everyone else was still in school.

Sylvia Hulsey

In the second grade at Alta Vista Elementary in Abilene, Texas, we had a music class once per week.  That class consisted of the teacher’s walking up and down to each student singing “Hel-lo,” and the student had to respond with a similar “Hel-lo.”  I hated it.  First, I found it humiliating to “sing” in front of my classmates, who always laughed when my turn came.  Second,  I had to perform right after Sylvia Hulsey, the teacher’s pet, who had the perfect voice, according to Mrs. Brubaker, our teacher.  Every week I dreaded  music day.  Finally,  I refused to participate further,  and would respond by saying “hello” in my normal voice.  This made the teacher very unhappy.  One day she made me stand outside for about 20 minutes alone.  She sent a student out finally, who asked if I was ready to participate.  I said “no,” so I stayed out another few minutes.   Finally the teacher came out herself and had me come back in the class.  She never did pressure me to do this exercise again, but she did note on my report card that my music skills “needed improvement.”

Empty Threat

At the end of the 6th grade, we took a field trip to the junior high we would be attending the following year.  The junior high was “fed” by several “thuggy” elementary schools.  As I walked through the school, several students, definitely in the “thug” category,  told me that they were going to “get” me the next year when I started at their school.  I was not a bit worried, however, since I knew that we were moving and that I would be in an entirely different environment.

Annette

Annette Bodoin was in our second-grade class.  One day during reading she wiped her runny nose, then took her hand away.  A long string of mucus ran from her nose to her hand–at least a foot in length.  At first the teacher did not notice, but then came over to help.  It made a lasting impression on me.

Haunted House

About 1950, we lived a few blocks from an old stone house almost completely hidden from the street by vegetation.  Rumor was that the old woman who lived there kept a retarded kid in the basement.  One day on the Safeway parking lot I was on a bicycle, and the woman who lived in the house drove up in her chauffeur-driven limousine( I knew who she was.)  She called me over to the car and told me that when I got to be in a position of authority in the future that I should put a stop to nuclear testing, because that was what was causing the multi-year drought that we were experiencing at the time.   I assured her that I would see what I could do.  I didn’t think much more about it or about the kid in the basement,  but years later when I came home from college one weekend,  I read that authorities had arrested a woman who had kept her retarded kid locked up in the basement for decades.  It was that house.

Mynah bird problem

Our local zoo had a bird section with a mynah bird that would curse at people walking by.  Usually he called people “bastards.”  I thought it was funny, but the zoo eventually had to move the bird because he was in the children’s section.