You Can Go Home Again

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PURE FOUNTAIN HIGH SCHOOL

Next I want to tell you about our school.

The building was a two story red brick, and seemed very large at the time. The first floor consisted of four large rooms, with a hall running through the middle, from east to west. The main entrance was on the east end, nearest the street.

The front door was locked promptly at eight-thirty, and late comers had to wait outside until general assembly was over. Then they had to face Professor Edmondson, who could be rather unpleasant at times.

There was a double stairway at the east end of the building, with a landing half way up, over which the bell rope hung. There, the stairs reversed and became one wide flight, and continued to the second floor. This was a large auditorium covering the entire first floor, with an elevated stage on the south end.

The first, second and third grades occupied the southwest room on the first floor. I have a clear recollection of our spelling class standing around the wall.

You moved by progression toward the head of the class, and if you missed a word, you had to go to the foot. If the head student could hold first place for a day, he or she would get a star, and then go to the foot to start over. We had some pretty good spellers and some of the kids had long strings of stars at year's end.

When we were promoted, I think we moved across the hall to the northwest room. I draw a blank here. The northeast room was Professor Edmondson's office, and you didn't go in there unless you were in trouble.

The seventh and eighth grades were in the southeast room, and the high schoolers occupied the second floor, where large sliding tarpaulins provided separate rooms as needed.

I remember lots of things that happened in the southeast room. For one thing, that gorgeous Miss Emma D. taught us in there. I have already referred to her.

There was a small pond on the south edge of the campus that was good for skating, I fell through the ice one day and got wet to my knees. I went in old S. E. and used the balance of the lunch period to dry by the big wood stove.

Another time, Woodfin Vaughn, an upper classman, passed in the hall in front of our open door.

Jim Hobson hollered, "Hi, Woodie!"

The teacher assessed him one hundred "HI, Woodie's" on the blackboard.

About halfway through, Jim said out loud, "Sure glad I didn't say "Good Morning, Woodfin!"

Quick as a flash, the teacher said, "That would have sounded a lot better, don't you think? Suppose you finish it just that way?"

It was after three when Jim finished the last of his "Good Morning, Woodfins."

Professor Woods came to that room to teach our algebra class. He was one of nature's noblemen.

One day he was checking our performance on the previous day's assignments. Each student had different problems. Preparation had not been outstanding as he went down the roll, but most had worked the majority of their problems.

Then he came to me. "James, how many did you work?" he asked.

"All but thirteen, sir," I replied.

"And how many did you have?"

"Sixteen, sir," and the class tittered.

Instead of giving me a rap in the teeth, that grand old man just shook his head in obvious disappointment.

I have regretted that unkind and disrespectful remark all my life, and if Professor Woods can hear me, I want to apologize, even at this late date.

Our indiscretions did not go unpunished very often. Professor Edmondson really believed that "Spare the rod and spoil the child" bit. He had a long black leather paddle, and when he came at you with that weapon in hand, he looked eight feet tall. These encounters often took place on the stage as part of the general assembly program, much to the delight of everyone except the professor and the spankees.

He flogged us at will, unhampered by such things as tri-ethnic committees and other vermin; things conceived in parental ignorance and midwifed by social do-gooders in judicial robes. Furthermore, when we got home, we faced a trip to the wood shed, and the second was worse than the first.

The thought of physically assaulting a teacher would not have been entertained in the most secret corner of our minds - boy or girl. Twenty-eight such assaults occurred in Dallas last fall semester -- according to press reports.

I remember so well one of my own experiences. School was out for the day and a bunch of us were going toward town on College Street. We were in the middle of the street, for there were no sidewalks out that far.

We spied a man we knew approaching in a buggy, and decided to have some rare fun. We clasped hands, and, with a raincoat stretched between two of us, we barricaded the road and stopped his horse. We didn't hold him long, just long enough for him to make a mental list of the culprits.

The next morning, Professor Edmondson was waiting, and invited us to the festivities on the stage.

After explaining our crime, he whipped our hands instead of our derrieres -- you see, one of us was a little lady, I can tell you it hurts either place!

Jack Woodside told me a tale in which he was involved in a similar situation.

It seems a group of some twenty students took the day off without permission. Jack mentioned names like Martin Puckett, Huston Webb, Scootie Allen, et al.

They knew they were in for a session on the stage next morning, and some of the larger boys talked of resistance. When morning assembly rolled around, however, Professor Edmondson was in fine form, and if there was any resistance, it was hardly perceptible. He took the big boys first; he threw them over his long leg, held them down with one powerful hand, and made their britches smoke.

Jack said he was the smallest, and was getting his last. He wasn't worried, however, for he had come prepared -- he had stuffed a sizable piece of quilt in the seat of his pants.

His turn on center stage finally arrived. Professor Edmondson stopped to rest his weary arm, and gave Jack a good inspection at the same time.

"My, my, Jack," he said, "you sure have gained weight since day before yesterday. This little paddling should be just what you need."

Jack bent over to take it like a man, and the wise old Professor lowered his sights to just above the knees. Jack said he thought he was going to kill him before he got through.

Continue to Chapter 14

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