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Dorothy Copus Brush School sure has changed Another school year is beginning, and it reminds
me of how eagerly I always looked forward to returning to school.
Kindergarten was unknown in my school system, but I attended
the same centralized school from first through 12th grade. Our
society had not yet become so mobile, so my class was filled
with the same kids year after year as we moved from childhood
into young adulthood at graduation. It took about 25 years after graduation before
we came back together for a reunion. By that time, we had settled
into our life's work, married and had families. At that reunion,
each person reintroduced him- or herself and gave a brief update
on their lives. I was impressed by the emphasis each put on the
accomplishments of their children. We continued to meet every five years until
we reached the 55-year reunion. Then we decided it would be wise
to meet every year. Last weekend I drove to Ohio for our 60th
Shawnee High School reunion. No longer do we meet for an evening
meal. Instead it is for lunch, even though most of the class
still lives near the school. After lunch, everyone said a few words about
what our school had meant to us. Most mentioned the influence
of several of the fine teachers who had guided our paths. A clipping
had been circulated about our fifth-grade teacher, who had just
celebrated her 97th birthday. She taught at our school for 37
years before she retired. This was not one of those wonderful teachers
we had been lauding. The floodgates opened in all our minds.
Miss S. was a stern taskmaster, especially when it came to spelling.
Her motto was, "One smack for every word misspelled."
She kept a paddle close at hand and used it liberally. One man remembered the day when not one student
had a perfect spelling paper. Miss S. lined up all those whose
scores were above 50 and gave each a swift crack with the paddle
for each word missed. She promised those whose scores were below
50 they would get their punishment the next day. Perhaps she
forgot, but when that didn't happen, one of our classmates asked
her several days later if she was going to paddle the others.
Miss S. called him to the front of the room and paddled him for
that other half of the class. Just why she was so obsessed with spelling
we did not know, but she made a deep impression on our minds
and bottoms. She became the hit of our reunion as we recalled
some of her tactics. We dissolved in laughter remembering. I doubt she would have agreed with a recent
letter to the editor that appeared in the Chronicle. The headline
read, "Remember not to paddle those kids this school year."
It was written by the vice president of Tennesseans for Nonviolent
School Discipline and presented the group's strong opposition
to paddling. The last sentence urged, "Please join us in
our effort to promote humane, peaceful, respectful and cooperative
disciplinary programs in our public schools." My immediate
reaction was that the youngsters should have been taught to behave
according to those nice-sounding words before they were sent
off to school. True, everyone at our reunion remembered the
paddlings, but there were no shattered lives because of the punishment,
and our self-esteem had not been lowered. It was another incident
that happened the week of graduation that shook our psyche. Our
homeroom teacher announced that one of our classmates had been
injured in a farm accident and his leg had been amputated. That man missed our 1940 graduation, but he never misses a reunion. He is always smiling and has lived a full and productive life. This was the first year we talked openly about his accident. His response was, "I missed graduation, but I got my diploma!" |