Wilshire and elementary memories, part 2
Posted Friday, October 25, 2013 11:21 AM

This continues Wilshire and elementary memories, part 1:

Every morning a group of students would report to the principal’s office and go through the pledge of allegiance and the morning devotional.  We would actually PRAY or listen to a scripture out of the bible.  They passed the duty from class to class on a weekly basis so we all got our chance to get on that microphone and have our voice go out to all the school like mini radio announcers.  It was kind of exciting!

Our principal was Mr. Henry Coors.  He had a habit of walking in the door and making surprise visits to our classrooms and prowling up and down the orderly rows of desks looking at our work.  But we didn’t mind it!  If we were doing math, his hand would shoot out and point at our mistakes!  We were simply amazed!  How could anyone be so smart? 

He was an unfailingly kind and helpful man.  We respected him greatly, but did not fear him.  One day I had slid in the playground gravel, and had to limp into sick bay with a torn and bloody knee.  There was no nurse, and no secretary, so I had to limp on through in search of Mr. Coors who was the only adult around.  But he cleaned up my knee and bandaged it for me. 

At Wilshire, we worked hard during school hours.  Then at recess we played harder.  We would gobble our lunch and race outside.  We got at least 30 minutes of recess every day, often more, and we deserved every minute of it.  They let us loose on the playground like a troop of caged monkeys and we hit the swings, seesaws, jump ropes, and monkey bars or just  careened all over the playground expending our energy.  It was healthy.  We girls often played that we were herds of horses, and the boys were the cowboys trying to round us up.  We indulged in that classic tradition of the little boys chasing shrieking little girls.  We loved it.  I, though, had a very bad habit of chasing Layne Summers all over the playground and trying to grab the back of his shirt, usually popping off several buttons.  His mother hated me.    At least one year she was our room mother and would glare at me throughout our parties.  She probably gave me the smallest cupcake.  (“That’s her, Mom!  That’s her!”)  One day, Layne finally got enough and broke me of the habit for all time by whipping off his damaged shirt and hitting me across the face with it, which HURT.  

There was no bussing into Wilshire, except in the first grade.  It was the responsibility of our parents to get us there, or we walked.  When I walked I had to cross four lanes of Harry Wurzbach Highway which I managed to negotiate without becoming street pizza.  But for some reason in first grade, the school district swung a deal with the San Antonio bus system for us to ride the city bus, which brought us directly to school.  It was pleasant, especially since the busses were air conditioned with green tinted windows.  We cruised like a tour bus through green fog for about 30 minutes all through Terrell Hills picking everyone up.  Occasionally, the driver would stop and pick up someone’s “help” in her maid’s uniform.  Would we stare!!!  What was SHE doing on OUR bus???  The maid would stop in her tracks and stare back at us.

I got into my first and only fight on one of those city busses.  A second grade girl decided to bully me and block my exit off the bus one afternoon.  And she was a bus patrol too!!  I missed my stop and was hysterical when I finally got home.  My mother’s solution was simple:  if she tried it again, deck her.   That’s right, deck her.  My gentle and sweet mother had spent her childhood having to defend herself from her older bully of a sister, so she was an expert brawler and no stranger to the noble necessity of having to use her fists for self defence.   So ……when the bully tried to block me the next day, I plowed into her like a fullback, stepped over her and marched off the bus.   That was the end of bullying for all time.  In today’s times, we would have both been run into the principal’s office, had our color changed to red, parents called, and probably counseled about mutual respect for each other.

But in 1959, she hit the floor of the bus and the problem was instantly and forever solved.  The bus driver just watched her get hers.  Heck, he was just there to drive us around, not break up fights, especially between little girls.  For all I know he was cheering for me.  To this day, I wonder why she chose me to pick on.  I was every bit as big as she was, and not frail looking.  I can only imagine that she just wanted to see how much she could get away with.  I walked away from the experience feeling empowered. 

We should all remember the elementary tornado drills out in the halls, but after the Cuban military crisis, we did a nuclear bomb drill.    The mothers lined their cars up all around the perimeter of the school and practiced loading us up 5-6 kids per car so that they could have tried to get us out of the city limits in case Fidel was launching a nuclear missile in our direction.  We never left the property.  Just got into the car, closed the door and then got back out.  I have no idea what they would have done with us afterwards in the event of an actual nuclear threat , but the intent was noble.  At least we didn’t have to do earthquake drills and brace ourselves in doorways, like my future husband near Mexico City.

Christmas food drives for the custodians:  We did this every year.  The custodians would pile up all the cans and boxes in their custodial closet and one afternoon before Christmas Break we would all file by and see the cache of food and goodies that they got to take home.  The custodians would stand by the pile and smile and wave at us.  It was all a bit patronizing, but I am sure they appreciated it.  No one has a worse job than a school custodian.  No one.  Well, maybe the bus drivers come close …

We only got to do P.E. a couple of times a week.  We enjoyed it despite the sadistic tendencies of Coach Dvorzak.  He loved to exercise us half to death with jumping jacks and squat thrusts until our muscles ached, or someone threw up.  But we always ended by doing some type of enjoyable sport and how we loved to play.  Once we were in line going across the monkey bars and it had recently rained, leaving about six inches of water in the sand pit beneath it.  Pretty little Rhonda Warnick got about half way across, started slipping  and screaming for help, or she was going into the drink!  Coach Dvorzak rushed over and plucked her off.  Then some random little boy started across and started screaming for help.  Coach Dvorzak just let him hit the water and ruin his Keds.

The TALK:  one afternoon in sixth grade we girls were all sent home with sealed brown envelopes that we were NOT to open until we saw our parents.  We had no idea what was inside but the boys were all snickering.  You guessed it.  It was that little booklet explaining all about how we were about to become “young ladies” and pay welcome to the little general or the rag or whatever else we all called it.  The booklet just fascinated me.  I read it at least ten times, and then had my mother explain everything to me over and over again.  I actually looked forward to my coming womanhood , that is until it actually arrived ….That envelope also contained the permission form for us to watch THE FILM.  All we girls left the boys behind and gathered smugly in the cafeteria.   We watched the animated egg bursting out of the ovary and making its way down the fallopian tube and how that happened each and every month.  The animation was repeated at least three times to make sure we got it.  The fact that something could happen to interrupt that cycle and cause that little egg to implant was then covered with LIGHTNING speed before we could ask any questions or get any ideas about THAT.   We learned all about sanitary belts, kotex, cramps, bloating, PMS and the coming need for a good fitting bra.  A few of my classmates soon revealed that they already knew everything and in fact had been putting up with all this since the 4th grade.  Poor souls.  The schools are still educating young girls today, but the poor school nurse can’t legally cover birth control, and she needs to in our community …

Music class was with Miss Lothringer, who became Mrs. Windon.  That woman could stand up and play the piano one-handed, and direct our singing all at the same time.  This was multi-tasking at its finest.  She was a tough little number.  In fourth grade she demanded that we learn to play little children’s five hole flutes, which I detested.  I never practiced and tried to watch the kid’s fingers in front of me so I would know what notes to play.  I got nailed more than once.   It was Mrs. Windon who played the organ at our graduation at Blossom Center eleven years later.  She ran an excellent choir.  You had to try out for that, and she only selected the best.  Phyllis Trcka was a main soloist and showing signs of becoming  a diva even then.  At Garner, the divas became a threesome when Phyllis was joined by Carol Childress and Patrice Dye.  The librarian was Miss Kamlah.  She always gave me free rein in the library and I went there often to pick up books to ingest.   She could read The littlest angel to us without even having to look at the pages.

Many of us had a habit of turning up on the school playground early, before school.  We would play HARD even before school began.  We used all of the playground equipment, and got up games of tetherball and four-square.  I had to play four-square against kids 3-4 years older than me and spent most of my time getting creamed and then back to the end of the line.  Tetherball could be rough.  There was no adult supervision out there and a sixth grader thought nothing of knocking that ball right into your face.  Things could get pretty vicious and it was survival of the fittest. 

Garner was unbelievably different when we arrived there.  It was as if everyone had suddenly become miniature adults.  When I first saw those little grassy areas between the wings, my first thought was Wow!  What a great place to run and play horses!  Surprise:  No one was interested in doing THAT!  Instead, girls dressed beautifully, fussed with their hair in the bathrooms, wore jewelry and touched up their make-up.  I didn’t even know where you bought make-up.  They wore hose, not white anklets from JC Penney like me, and even little heels.  I soon figured out that I needed to start shaving my legs, though it took me a while.  There were parties held that were not birthday parties.  Couples “went steady,”  and girls wore boys’ ID bracelets.  There was no playground where you got dirty.  Being sophisticated was important.  We were growing up fast and I missed Wilshire, but it was soon to be like another world.