I could be a pretty annoying kid when I was growing up. When I think back on it I don’t know how anybody could put up with me? I was the youngest of three children and the only boy so I was spoiled and I could be very obnoxious.
At some point in junior high school my mother decided I needed a hobby. Oh, I had some hobbies, but nothing really serious. I hunted arrowheads with my father and I loved to fish and hunt. My mother decided I needed something to do the rest of the time.
Miriam Cathy was an older woman on my mother’s Avon route. Mrs. Cathy had a coin collection and my mother decided that would be a good hobby for me probably because I couldn’t seem to hang on to any coin that passed through my hands. I think she thought I would save money and get involved in the hobby…sort of killing two birds with one stone.
She bought me a penny book to start my collection. It was a tri-fold book with slots for coins from 1940 to the present. I starting taking a closer look at pennies that I received in change. I went through my parents change every time I got the chance and was amazed that they let me keep ones that I didn’t already have and even a few of the ones I did. They always let me have any penny that I came across that would fit in my book. Soon I got a second penny book for pennies from 1900 to 1939. I discovered that this was such a lucrative way to get money from my parents that I started collecting nickels and dimes. By the time I started talking about collecting quarters my mother was on to me and suggested I stick to the small change.
Mrs. Cathy was really kind to me. I did wonder why she was so nice but I soaked it up anyway. She talked Mom into letting me join the Mt. Pleasant Coin Club. I don’t think there was a single person under sixty in the group. They met once a month at the REC building on east Washington Street. They usually had a short monthly meeting and then a coin auction. People in the group put their own coins up for auction and bid on others that were for sale.
I soon discovered why they wanted me there. No one wanted to be the auctioneer because if they were they couldn’t concentrate on the auction. So, I became a coin auctioneer. They would call my house each month to make sure I was coming and were always very nice to me. I got pretty good at it after awhile and a few mistakes. Once I tried to sell a 50-cent piece for twenty cents. That didn’t go over too well. Another time a buyer tried to go back on the deal but I stuck to my guns and the other club members stood up for me so the guy had to pay. He was mad and left right away.
As I got older and busier I stopped going the meetings and they soon found another kid to take advantage of so they let me drift away. I still have all of the coins I collected. They are in a box in the basement. Maybe, when I’m over 60 I’ll get them out and start collecting them again.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Student Center
I think I discovered girls in 7th grade. Oh, I had some interest before that but it really bloomed in 7th grade. It might have been because the girls around me were blooming too. I am not exactly sure but I am sure that I was interested.
Mt. Pleasant had a youth center on the south side of the square. It was a place for kids to hang out, dance, and socialize. It had previously been in a building on the corner of Clay and Adams, cattycorner from the courthouse. This one was in a store front about directly across the street from the steam engine on the square. That whole half a block of buildings disappeared when they moved the Savings and Loan to that location. Thinking back on it I think it was great that someone provided this for the kids. I don’t think things like this exist anymore.
High school kids got to use the youth center a couple nights a week and junior high kids got one night. A junior high kid would never dare show up on one of the high school nights. Once in awhile there would be a dance at the youth center for one group or the other.
It was at a youth center dance that I first met one particularly mature 8th grade girl. She was taller than all the girls and most of the boys. I came up to her shoulders. Now I wasn’t totally inexperienced with girls but very close. I had taken two girls to the Rainbow dance. Yes, two girls at the same time and I got a corsage for each of them. One of the girls’ mothers knew my mother and they set the whole thing up. They pretty much used me to have an escort to the dance and usually dumped me the minute we stepped in the door.
But this 8th grade girl was different. Terry said she liked me so when the time came for another teen dance we somehow ended up with a date. My Dad had to drive me out into the country to pick her up at her house. I had a corsage for her, too. I have always thought that was an awkward tradition for guys to follow. Just exactly how are we supposed to pin something on a girls chest without touching something boys are not supposed to touch? Girls, I think, got a kick out of watching us try.
We got to the dance. She looked great and I was slowly getting more comfortable. That was until the first slow dance came up. In that position it put me face to face…no I guess it would be face to bosom with this girl. The trouble with dancing with a girl that is a foot taller than you and well developed is that you don’t know where to put your head. You can’t exactly look straight ahead. Looking to the left is kind of backwards. Looking to the right puts your cheek in inevitable contact with forbidden territory. I ended up with what I would call the swayback position. It was constantly causing me to lose my balance and start to fall backward, which also produced an undesirable effect for my partner.
That was my one and only date with that girl. Terry said she thought I danced weird and she moved on to someone else. I told Terry that was fine even though I was a little hurt. She had lipstick on her teeth anyway.
Mt. Pleasant had a youth center on the south side of the square. It was a place for kids to hang out, dance, and socialize. It had previously been in a building on the corner of Clay and Adams, cattycorner from the courthouse. This one was in a store front about directly across the street from the steam engine on the square. That whole half a block of buildings disappeared when they moved the Savings and Loan to that location. Thinking back on it I think it was great that someone provided this for the kids. I don’t think things like this exist anymore.
High school kids got to use the youth center a couple nights a week and junior high kids got one night. A junior high kid would never dare show up on one of the high school nights. Once in awhile there would be a dance at the youth center for one group or the other.
It was at a youth center dance that I first met one particularly mature 8th grade girl. She was taller than all the girls and most of the boys. I came up to her shoulders. Now I wasn’t totally inexperienced with girls but very close. I had taken two girls to the Rainbow dance. Yes, two girls at the same time and I got a corsage for each of them. One of the girls’ mothers knew my mother and they set the whole thing up. They pretty much used me to have an escort to the dance and usually dumped me the minute we stepped in the door.
But this 8th grade girl was different. Terry said she liked me so when the time came for another teen dance we somehow ended up with a date. My Dad had to drive me out into the country to pick her up at her house. I had a corsage for her, too. I have always thought that was an awkward tradition for guys to follow. Just exactly how are we supposed to pin something on a girls chest without touching something boys are not supposed to touch? Girls, I think, got a kick out of watching us try.
We got to the dance. She looked great and I was slowly getting more comfortable. That was until the first slow dance came up. In that position it put me face to face…no I guess it would be face to bosom with this girl. The trouble with dancing with a girl that is a foot taller than you and well developed is that you don’t know where to put your head. You can’t exactly look straight ahead. Looking to the left is kind of backwards. Looking to the right puts your cheek in inevitable contact with forbidden territory. I ended up with what I would call the swayback position. It was constantly causing me to lose my balance and start to fall backward, which also produced an undesirable effect for my partner.
That was my one and only date with that girl. Terry said she thought I danced weird and she moved on to someone else. I told Terry that was fine even though I was a little hurt. She had lipstick on her teeth anyway.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
My Dad Knew Everybody
My Dad knew everybody or, at least, it seemed that way to me. For years he worked in Hoaglin’s Department Store, and the Byrd’s Shoe Company that eventually became Tompkins’s Shoe store. He finished up his career at Roederer’s Clothing store. In all that time he went out of his way to know his customers. He could call them by name and knew almost everything about their family. He knew where they lived and who their relatives were. He had a remarkable ability to keep everyone straight.
Often when he met somebody new he could tell him or her who his or her relatives were. Sometimes people came to him to get their family history because they knew he would know. Dad was especially good at figuring out how people were related to us. To this day I think just about everyone in the Wayland area is related to us.
When we traveled and stopped in towns he would sometimes spend hours talking to people and trying to make some connection, no matter how remote, with them. Remarkably, he was able to do it many times. He liked to go in clothing and shoe stores in far away places and talk shop with the workers.
In Spearfish, South Dakota, he made some connection with someone who knew someone who had moved from Mt. Pleasant to the Rapid City area. At the Smithsonian in Washington, DC he made connections with someone who was a friend of someone Dad knew at Iowa Wesleyan College. It happened like that all the time.
His gift of conversation made him a good salesman. In the case of the jobs at
Byrd’s and Roederer’s he was actually recruited by the owners. After he retired he was frequently recruited by stores to fill in for vacations, help out with sales and other occasions by local stores and stores as far away as the mall in Burlington. No matter where he was he was making connections with other people. Today, that is called networking.
Years later, in the 1980s when I started taking classes at the University of Iowa he occasionally came along with me. Dad was in his late 70s or early 80s during that time. He would spend the entire time I was in class wandering around downtown Iowa City talking to people. He didn’t think much of the college students who worked in the stores in the mall but developed a relationship with the theater manager there. The guy had relatives in Fairfield so by the time Dad had done his research and Dad made his second visit with me he knew more about the guy’s family than he did.
Once we were walking through the mall heading for the parking ramp and the guy from the theater yelled, ”Hey Pat!” greeting Dad as if they were old friends. In the parking ramp that same evening we ran in someone from Washington, Iowa, that Dad knew for some reason. I could only shake my head in amazement.
My Dad once described someone who knew a lot of people in our area as “someone who cuts a wide path.” Dad cut a wide path!
Often when he met somebody new he could tell him or her who his or her relatives were. Sometimes people came to him to get their family history because they knew he would know. Dad was especially good at figuring out how people were related to us. To this day I think just about everyone in the Wayland area is related to us.
When we traveled and stopped in towns he would sometimes spend hours talking to people and trying to make some connection, no matter how remote, with them. Remarkably, he was able to do it many times. He liked to go in clothing and shoe stores in far away places and talk shop with the workers.
In Spearfish, South Dakota, he made some connection with someone who knew someone who had moved from Mt. Pleasant to the Rapid City area. At the Smithsonian in Washington, DC he made connections with someone who was a friend of someone Dad knew at Iowa Wesleyan College. It happened like that all the time.
His gift of conversation made him a good salesman. In the case of the jobs at
Byrd’s and Roederer’s he was actually recruited by the owners. After he retired he was frequently recruited by stores to fill in for vacations, help out with sales and other occasions by local stores and stores as far away as the mall in Burlington. No matter where he was he was making connections with other people. Today, that is called networking.
Years later, in the 1980s when I started taking classes at the University of Iowa he occasionally came along with me. Dad was in his late 70s or early 80s during that time. He would spend the entire time I was in class wandering around downtown Iowa City talking to people. He didn’t think much of the college students who worked in the stores in the mall but developed a relationship with the theater manager there. The guy had relatives in Fairfield so by the time Dad had done his research and Dad made his second visit with me he knew more about the guy’s family than he did.
Once we were walking through the mall heading for the parking ramp and the guy from the theater yelled, ”Hey Pat!” greeting Dad as if they were old friends. In the parking ramp that same evening we ran in someone from Washington, Iowa, that Dad knew for some reason. I could only shake my head in amazement.
My Dad once described someone who knew a lot of people in our area as “someone who cuts a wide path.” Dad cut a wide path!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
8th Grade English
Ruth McDowell taught 8th grade English at the Mr. Pleasant Junior High. My Mom said we were distantly related to her. She was from the Salem area and so was my mother’s side of the family. She was much feared by most kids and known to be a stickler for grammar and spelling. Not being so great at either I was really worried about being in her class when I got to eighth grade. Unfortunately, she was the only 8th grade English teacher so it was inevitable for everyone.
She was strict and even the toughest kids didn’t mess around in her class. Her room was at the top of the south stairwell on the third floor and there she reigned over that end of the building and all the way down the stairwell to the ground floor. If a kid misbehaved anywhere on the stairwell you could hear her yelling all over the building. She would order the child to come up stairs to her room. In those days the kid would dutifully walk up the stair to face the scolding. Seventh graders shuddered when they heard her voice. There were stories about kids in trouble with her and never being seen again.
When the first day of school rolled around I was pretty nervous about that English class.
I had Mrs. McDowell for 3rd period. After hearing all of the stories about her I expected it to be a nightmare…a yearlong nightmare. The grammar, the research paper, and everything else just seemed overwhelming.
As I walked into her room for the first time she greeted me and called me by name. She mentioned admiring my mother’s poetry and how much she respected my sisters. I thought, “Oh boy! I have heard this before!” Usually it was followed by something like, “So what happened to you?” but not this time. She told me she looked forward to having me in class.
That year we worked systematically through the research paper and what had appeared to be overwhelming seemed manageable. I can’t say that I did a great job on it but I got through it. It was hard for me to grasp the idea of the research paper. We weren’t really doing research but just restating in our own words what someone else figured out. Having done some real research in my adult life I can’t say the experiences I had with it in junior high and high school were of any value. I wonder how many people are researchers when they grow up? Not many but the “research paper” was a right of passage for all of us.
I probably learned more in that English class that year than all the other years up to that point. I actually, really read books for the first time and my interest in reading exploded. I even started reading the newspaper everyday and anything else I could get my hands on. While she did correct my grammar in my writing she encouraged me and was very positive about things I had written. I felt empowered by her!
At the beginning of the school year Mrs. McDowell told us we needed to memorize a poem by the end of the year. It was a requirement. We could get it out of the way as soon as we were ready or wait until the end of the year. She said we should pick a poem by someone we admired. I talked to my Mom about it and she suggested Robert Frost. After reading some of his poetry I picked “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.” I surprised myself by learning that poem in a few days and Mrs. McDowell heaped on the praise when I recited it to the class after just a couple weeks of school. My whole eighth grade year was positive for me and my confidence grew tremendously.
She was strict and even the toughest kids didn’t mess around in her class. Her room was at the top of the south stairwell on the third floor and there she reigned over that end of the building and all the way down the stairwell to the ground floor. If a kid misbehaved anywhere on the stairwell you could hear her yelling all over the building. She would order the child to come up stairs to her room. In those days the kid would dutifully walk up the stair to face the scolding. Seventh graders shuddered when they heard her voice. There were stories about kids in trouble with her and never being seen again.
When the first day of school rolled around I was pretty nervous about that English class.
I had Mrs. McDowell for 3rd period. After hearing all of the stories about her I expected it to be a nightmare…a yearlong nightmare. The grammar, the research paper, and everything else just seemed overwhelming.
As I walked into her room for the first time she greeted me and called me by name. She mentioned admiring my mother’s poetry and how much she respected my sisters. I thought, “Oh boy! I have heard this before!” Usually it was followed by something like, “So what happened to you?” but not this time. She told me she looked forward to having me in class.
That year we worked systematically through the research paper and what had appeared to be overwhelming seemed manageable. I can’t say that I did a great job on it but I got through it. It was hard for me to grasp the idea of the research paper. We weren’t really doing research but just restating in our own words what someone else figured out. Having done some real research in my adult life I can’t say the experiences I had with it in junior high and high school were of any value. I wonder how many people are researchers when they grow up? Not many but the “research paper” was a right of passage for all of us.
I probably learned more in that English class that year than all the other years up to that point. I actually, really read books for the first time and my interest in reading exploded. I even started reading the newspaper everyday and anything else I could get my hands on. While she did correct my grammar in my writing she encouraged me and was very positive about things I had written. I felt empowered by her!
At the beginning of the school year Mrs. McDowell told us we needed to memorize a poem by the end of the year. It was a requirement. We could get it out of the way as soon as we were ready or wait until the end of the year. She said we should pick a poem by someone we admired. I talked to my Mom about it and she suggested Robert Frost. After reading some of his poetry I picked “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.” I surprised myself by learning that poem in a few days and Mrs. McDowell heaped on the praise when I recited it to the class after just a couple weeks of school. My whole eighth grade year was positive for me and my confidence grew tremendously.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Don Taft
In junior high I encountered many unique teachers but none was more unique than Don Taft. Mr. Taft was a social studies teacher and the junior high football coach. He was a short stocky man who seemed to be a very independent person.
More than once I heard conversations in the community about Mr. Taft using profanity in the classroom or on the football field. He did and I heard him use it in both places but most often on the football field. Many parents were upset about it but powerless to do anything. Most of the kids didn’t really care.
Mr. Taft had special punishments for each kind of misbehavior in his class. Chewing gum and getting caught was bad news. You had to stick the piece of gum on the black board and then stand with your nose on it until he allowed you to move. If someone did something really dumb he made him sit on a stool in the corner with a dunce cap on. Other punishments included sending students out to run laps around the building. While the student would run Mr. Taft would lean out the third story window and hurl taunts at the runner.
Today, any one of these things could result in the reprimand or termination of a teacher. Mr. Taft had a special status in the community. As a very successful junior high football coach no one wanted to challenge him. In a football community the coaches had a royal position and could do almost whatever they wanted. I really don’t think Mr. Taft abused his royalty position that much but I have heard of some who did.
I went out for football. We were a rag tag bunch with mismatched equipment. The too large helmets slid down over our eyes when we ran and we crashed into or fell over each other all of the time.
In seventh grade every kids dream is to be a ball carrier. The biggest adjustment is realizing that is not going to happen for you. That is when you learn what a team is. We practiced right there on the playground and played our games at McMillan Park.
In seventh grade we had 3 games and 5 or 6 in eighth grade. Dewayne Similar was Coach Taft’s assistant and worked with the seventh graders while Taft worked with the eighth graders. Coach Taft would let lose with a few expletives in almost every practice. It was usually after someone missed a tackle or messed up on a play. Whenever it happened we would all duck as if we were going to get hit. The hit was only with words but they probably hurt just as bad as a rap on the helmet.
Each fall near the end of the season the 7th and 8th graders were divided into two teams. Just how it was done I am not sure but in 7th grade I was on the Gold team. At this point in my football career I had played several different positions but had not really settled into one in particular. Most 7th grade boys want to be a running back simply because that is where all the glory is and I was no different.
We had a week of practice and then we were to play the Maroon team. Our team happened to have Terry Ross who was a ferocious guard at the time, Randy Welcher who was the starting 8th grade quarterback, and another kid who was the second team center for the 8th grade team.
The first day of practice Coach Taft was trying different offensive combinations using the 7th and 8th graders he had on his squad. I was relegated to playing defense with some of my lesser talented buddies. I lined up over that second team 8th grade center. For three plays in a row I tackled the quarterback and Coach Taft was furious! He had wanted to try out some plays and couldn’t even get them started. In frustration he told the center that if I did that again he would be standing on the sideline and I would be playing center. So, that’s how it happened. I played offensive center for the rest of my football career.
More than once I heard conversations in the community about Mr. Taft using profanity in the classroom or on the football field. He did and I heard him use it in both places but most often on the football field. Many parents were upset about it but powerless to do anything. Most of the kids didn’t really care.
Mr. Taft had special punishments for each kind of misbehavior in his class. Chewing gum and getting caught was bad news. You had to stick the piece of gum on the black board and then stand with your nose on it until he allowed you to move. If someone did something really dumb he made him sit on a stool in the corner with a dunce cap on. Other punishments included sending students out to run laps around the building. While the student would run Mr. Taft would lean out the third story window and hurl taunts at the runner.
Today, any one of these things could result in the reprimand or termination of a teacher. Mr. Taft had a special status in the community. As a very successful junior high football coach no one wanted to challenge him. In a football community the coaches had a royal position and could do almost whatever they wanted. I really don’t think Mr. Taft abused his royalty position that much but I have heard of some who did.
I went out for football. We were a rag tag bunch with mismatched equipment. The too large helmets slid down over our eyes when we ran and we crashed into or fell over each other all of the time.
In seventh grade every kids dream is to be a ball carrier. The biggest adjustment is realizing that is not going to happen for you. That is when you learn what a team is. We practiced right there on the playground and played our games at McMillan Park.
In seventh grade we had 3 games and 5 or 6 in eighth grade. Dewayne Similar was Coach Taft’s assistant and worked with the seventh graders while Taft worked with the eighth graders. Coach Taft would let lose with a few expletives in almost every practice. It was usually after someone missed a tackle or messed up on a play. Whenever it happened we would all duck as if we were going to get hit. The hit was only with words but they probably hurt just as bad as a rap on the helmet.
Each fall near the end of the season the 7th and 8th graders were divided into two teams. Just how it was done I am not sure but in 7th grade I was on the Gold team. At this point in my football career I had played several different positions but had not really settled into one in particular. Most 7th grade boys want to be a running back simply because that is where all the glory is and I was no different.
We had a week of practice and then we were to play the Maroon team. Our team happened to have Terry Ross who was a ferocious guard at the time, Randy Welcher who was the starting 8th grade quarterback, and another kid who was the second team center for the 8th grade team.
The first day of practice Coach Taft was trying different offensive combinations using the 7th and 8th graders he had on his squad. I was relegated to playing defense with some of my lesser talented buddies. I lined up over that second team 8th grade center. For three plays in a row I tackled the quarterback and Coach Taft was furious! He had wanted to try out some plays and couldn’t even get them started. In frustration he told the center that if I did that again he would be standing on the sideline and I would be playing center. So, that’s how it happened. I played offensive center for the rest of my football career.
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