School

This is a picture of my 5th grade class at PS 69 in Jackson Heights, Queens. I am in the first row, fourth from the right. That year I had a crush on Michael Rogers, second row, sixth from right.

I must have been only four when I started looking forward to school. My mother, who grew up on a farm in Nova Scotia, would often tell me how she had to stop school after the 8th grade to help with the chores at home. “There’s so much to know that I’ve never learned and can’t tell you.” My favorite cousin Jessie, who was older and lived next door, would come home with stories of places her 3rd grade teacher had visited: the White House, Niagara Falls, and the Grand Canyon. Frannie and Joe, my favorite couple in the boarding house and in their 40’s, would spend hours reminiscing about their school days. “Wish we could do it all over again,” they kept saying.

It was a clear sunny day in September of 1944. It was the first day of Kindergarten. Mom and I walked to P.S. 69, five blocks from our house.  As we stood at the school gate waiting for the teacher to meet us, a group of other kindergartners-to-be gathered around us. After a wait that I still remember as being endless, a short, chubby woman with short, curly brown hair and a big smile walked toward us.  “Hello, I’m Miss Harkins,” she said. I looked up, let go of Mom’s hand and—grabbing her sleeve—attached myself to Miss Harkins. I kept hanging onto the sleeve of her jacket as she welcomed us to school, reassured our parents that we’d be OK, and led us into the school yard. I vaguely remember some kids lagging behind. As Mom often told it, “you were the only child who ran to the head of the line, leaving the others still tugging at their mother’s knees. They must have thought I was a terrible mother.”

I still remember my teachers:

Kindergarten, Miss Harkins

1st grade: Miss Zereko

2nd grade: Mrs. Fay

3rd grade: Mrs. Fay

4th Grade: Mrs. Plover

5th Grade: Miss Mellick

6th grade: Mrs. Timon

7th grade: Miss Farrell

8th Grade: Miss Dromgool

I loved learning about everything:  the beauty of Hawaii and Spain from teachers who had vacationed there; the Cold War and why we needed to crouch under our desks during shelter drill; typing at 40 wpm and stenography at 60 wpm; and learning to sew on an electric Singer sewing machine. I even learned to enjoyed classical music—I can still hum the first few bars of “Rustle of Spring” by Sinding and recognize “Flight of the Bumble Bee.”

In 8th grade, I was elected Head of the Stair Squad (a highly-regarded position), made my own graduation dress, and became valedictorian of my graduating class. On Graduation Day, I led the class into the auditorium, down the aisle and onto the stage.  When I looked up at the audience, the first person I saw was my father, who had gotten a one day pass from the TB hospital to come to my graduation. I remember beaming that whole day.

            That fall, life changed when I entered 9th grade at William Cullen Bryant high school in Long Island City. Freshman year was really hard. Most of my PS 69 friends had gone to other high schools. Plus, Dad had died after hemorrhaging from the removal of one of his lungs. I grieved and felt alone.

Three levels of degrees were offered at Bryant High: Academic (going to college), Commercial (going to work), and General (going for a trade). Mom insisted I take the Commercial course so I could get a job with no intent of attending college; we needed the money since Dad had died and she saw no reason for a woman to have a college degree.

Luckily, in my junior year, my academic advisor suggested that if I took more math and history, I could graduate with a combined Academic and Commercial degree, thereby giving me a choice of going to college or going to work. Mom objected vehemently, but cousin Jessie, and Frannie and Joe, came to my rescue and convinced Mom it was the right thing for me to do. So that’s what I did: graduate with a combined Academic and Commercial degree.

I went to work right after high school, but I knew I had the option and the credentials to go to college if I wanted to. Fifteen years later, I applied to Hunter College and, at 40, graduated five years later with a BA in English and Communications, plus a license to teach high school English.