School Bus Driver's Permit

When I was summer school science director I had to get a bus driver’s permit each year so I could drive the busload of kids to each of the areas where we did the science activities. To get that license I had to take a test and drive a school bus for the officer. I also had to get a physical each year.

Driving the bus was easy and so was the test. The physical was easy, too, except that every time I took it I failed the colorblind test. Dr. Rankin had to write a letter each year saying that the colorblindness didn’t affect my driving. Dr. Rankin was always intrigued by my colorblindness and asked me the same questions about it each year. My guess is he just didn’t remember what I told him the year before. The only other thing would be that he was just interested in it?

The summer science program continued for some time. I passed the job off to someone else eventually so I could do other things. I did keep getting the bus driver’s license for a few years. The only time I drove the bus was with my own students. It made field trips easy and inexpensive for the district because they didn’t have to pay a driver to take us out. Eventually, some of the drivers did complain that because I did that it took away their opportunity to earn some extra money.

I was about to give it up when another opportunity presented itself. Hope Haven, in Burlington needed a summer driver to transport kids from Henry County to the center each day for the summer program. John Becker, who was on the board there, knew that I had a permit and told me about the job. It included not only driving a route and then on to Burlington, but to keep me busy in-between they offered me an associate position in the summer school program there.

At first I was a little insulted and told them I was a teacher. They offered me more money and I took the job.

During the year they always had an associate ride the bus but that wasn’t the case for me. I was on my own. The only training I got was one dry run with the supervisor. Then I was ready to go. I picked up one group at the high school in Mt. Pleasant, made a few other stops and then off to New London. I had one rider just west of town and then one stop in town. Then it was on to the Des County Home and then Hope Haven. I did the route in reverse on the way home. Never once did I ever have a problem!

On weekends I parked the big old bus in front of our house. It seemed to work out OK and I don’t remember any complaints from the neighbors. That was the last of my bus driving. Maneuvering a big old bus around is kind of interesting but not as difficult as you might think. I career as a bus driver ended with a perfect accident free record.

Summers

I don’t know how many times in my teaching career I heard people say, “Boy, I’d like a job where you only have to work nine months out of the year!” I would always respond, “Yeah, I’d like one like that, too!” They would always say, “You have one! You’re a teacher aren’t you?” My only response would be, “Let me know if you find a teacher who only works nine months out of the year!”

The truth is teachers put in countless hours in the summer planning and preparing lessons for the year. All teachers are required to continue to take classes to remain licensed. Many curriculum writing projects take place over the summer.

Take the teachers out of vacation bible schools, summer camps, summer recreation programs, swimming lessons, and summer group trips and you wouldn’t have anyone to do it. I once counted in our church in Mt. Pleasant that 8 out of the 11 Sunday school teachers were educators during the week.

Not only do teachers go to summer school for their ongoing education but they often teach summer school themselves. I taught summer school in the Mt. Pleasant district for several years. I started out as a teacher’s assistant the first year and then had my own classroom for a few years after that. Summer school was held in a building near the high school called The Annex. It was really the building that was a pool hall when I was in high school. It now houses a dentist and some other offices.

Maynard Bittle started a summer science program for elementary students. It involved each grade, first through fifth, in summer school having a day of outdoor science education each week. It was revolutionary during its time and highly effective.

When Maynard left the position I became the summer science director. It required me having a school bus driver’s permit. I had to plan a morning’s activities in the field for each group. Summer school was six weeks long so each group got six days.

We did all kinds of cool things! I loved being out of doors and was inspired by the response of the kids. Many had never been on similar adventures. We went geode hunting in Muddy Creek south of New London. We had great success and everyone always came home with a geode. Once we found some Indian artifacts at the site. I imagine if you went back there today you would fine some.

We went fishing at Gibson Park. You have to be sorta nuts and a glutton for punishment to take a group of 20 2nd graders fishing. Tangled lines, icky worms, and hooked earlobes are all over the place.

We went fossil hunting in a local quarry and in the creek where the bugs walk on water. After a day of wading in the water up to their knees and carry large muddy rocks to the bus we looked pretty bad when we pulled into the school at the end of the morning.

We did the tree identification walk on Iowa Wesleyan campus. An astute college president had overseen the planting of over a hundred different varieties of trees on campus. We all learned about the characteristics of each tree and its uses.

These and other adventures occupied our summers for several years. Eventually, I went on to others things that occupied my summers but in my 18 years as a teacher I never had more than a week or two off.

Heather

Heather’s due date was April 5 but nothing happened. By the 10th of April, Becky was pretty uncomfortable. At a doctor visit, Dr. Rankin said that if nothing had happened soon they would “strip the membrane” on Friday the 13th. I wasn’t worried about it being on Friday the 13th and actually feel the 13th is a lucky day. That is probably because I was born on September 13th.

What I was worried about was this “strip the membrane” business. I didn’t know exactly what it meant and it sounded very ominous! I didn’t want to appear stupid so I didn’t ask but wanted to say, “ So, what does that mean?” I don’t recall hearing the term before that time so I cringed when I heard it and hear it I did! It seemed like that week I must have heard it a thousand times. It was as though everyone knew the term bothered me and they enjoyed watching me react. Even now it causes an adverse reaction with me.

Friday came and no baby! Becky went in to the doctor’s office about 2 o’clock that afternoon and the doctor did the “strip the membrane” business. He said it won’t be long now and sent Becky home. It wasn’t until about 10 o’clock that night that there was some action.

We took Angie to my parent’s house and we went to the hospital. Becky was having contractions but they were too far apart. Gradually, they got closer and closer but as time wore on Becky became exhausted! Becky’s Mom arrived sometime in the morning and I took a break and went home for a while to rest. The pains were getting pretty intense and when it looked like the baby would soon be born, they gave Becky an epidural, which helped her a lot. But, since there was no pain the nurses had to tell her when to push. The miracle happened at 2:58 PM!

The doctor said that Becky and the baby were fine! I went downstairs at the hospital and filled out the papers for Heather Anne Ross. Sometime after that though there was concern!

Someone said Heather was a Bileruben baby. No one offered us any information about exactly what that was and I think we were afraid to ask. I think it was my mother who finally explained it to me. It was fairly common and my mother said they used to take care of it by setting a new baby in the sun until their liver begins to fully function. Untreated it can lead to mental retardation. We were horrified but everyone assured us that she would be fine.

They put tiny Heather in a bed with a plastic cover over it and a bright light. They put a black mask over her eyes and otherwise she was totally uncovered. She looked so helpless in there that we were in tears. Every once in while they would come and test her blood by poking a needle in her heal. Soon it was black and blue and we felt so powerless to help her.

After 24 hours like that they said we could take Heather home. We were relieved and by then knew much more about what was wrong. Our relief was short lived however. When Becky took Heather into Dr. Rankin’s office the next day he said she needed to go back under that light. Becky called me in tears from the hospital. When was this going to end!

It did end after 24 more hours under that light and those horrible needle holes in now her other heal. We took her home for good the next day and finally felt some return not to normalcy but more what we expected.

The Last Trip

The last of the three summer trips that Becky and I participated in was probably the most eventful. During at least one of the summers there were two trips but Becky and I only went on one each summer for three year. Participants paid to go along. I don’t remember how much but I would guess it was three or four hundred dollars. Many earned their own money to go. They also needed spending money and were responsible for their own gear. The latter was a new challenge for some but they learned quickly that they suffered if they lost or misplaced something important.

For the last trip we traveled across Nebraska and stopped at a park and campground called Mormon Island just outside of Grand Island. It was a beautiful setting in the middle of wide-open Nebraska. Late that night some young Japanese travelers came into the campground in their VW and set up a tent not far from us. It wasn’t long before a park officer and a deputy sheriff roared up, light flashing, the officers jumped out of their vehicles and started shouting and ordering the Japanese to leave the campground. There was a lot of pushing and shoving by the officers. John Becker and I felt like we should intervene but knew if we did we would be gone, too. I was never so embarrassed to be an American! One of the officers shouted as they shoved them and their gear back into the VW, “We had enough or your kind in World War II!”

We traveled into Wyoming the next day and stayed near Sheraton. From there it was on to Jackson Hole for the night. We had a beautiful campsite and met a bunch of Jewish kids traveling. We had a great time that evening around the campfire as we all sang and they taught us to do the hora. We fell asleep that night listening to a large group of Mormons singing hymns. It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a retreat. We heard them a second time in rehearsal a few days later in Salt Lake City.

We stayed in Bountiful, Utah. The campground was in a huge grove of Bing cherry trees and we got there just in time. We gorged on the delicious fruit. While we were there we visited Mormon Square and toured the visitor center there. We weren’t allowed to go in the temple but still had a very interesting time.

The kids were on their own when we visited places like that. We always gave them a schedule of when to meet and strange as it may sound we never lost a kid. At the end of that day in Salt Lake City we did find out that one of our group members did spend his entire day going up and down on an elevator in one of the cities tall buildings. Obviously, it was very easy to entertain some of us.

While we were in that area we also went for a swim in the Salt Lake. I don’t recommend it. Oh, it fun to be so buoyant but you are miserable when you get out and the salty water begins to dry on you. We also visited the huge Kennecott Copper Mine.

The last day in the area Becky became very ill with what we now think was toxic shock. We were forced to take her to the emergency room. They really weren’t much help and said she would just have to wait for the diarrhea and vomiting to pass. Becky and I ended up staying in a motel room that night just so she could get some rest. The other adults were very jealous but didn’t really want to trade places with Becky.

We traveled from Salt Lake to western Colorado. We had a very interesting time at Dinosaur National Monument and then after a very long day, camped along the river in Glenwood Springs.

They next day we drove to Granby, then over Trailridge Road, and then on to Estes Park where we stayed at the Red Arrow Campground. We liked that spot and had stayed there on a pervious trip. We had originally planned to stay in a campground down in Big Thompson Canyon but had changed our mind because of the proximity of the Red Arrow Campground to the activities in the area.

Rain set in and curtailed our activities. Typically, it rains briefly everyday, passes and the sun comes out. That was not the case this time. The second day, a large group of us climbed Longs Peak. It rained on us almost continuously the last five hours of the trip back. That evening in the activity center at the campground they told us it had rained two and a half inches. That was almost unheard of there. Soggy gear and bad tempers seemed to take over.

The next day, a Saturday, was worse. It rained ten and a half inches that day. It was July 31, 1976. One hundred and forty-four people were killed that day as a fifty-foot wall of water raced through the canyon devastating everything in its path.

I remember taking some of our kids to Our Lady of the Mountain Catholic church for the eight o’clock service because we planned to leave for home early next morning. I waited for them in the van. I watched the pouring rain and waves of water two or three inches deep sweep across the parking lot. I saw a highway patrol car and a county maintainer truck race down into the canyon with lights flashing. Neither survived.

We spend that night sleeping on the floor with a lot of other campers in the activity center because our gear was soaked. In the morning they informed us we couldn’t leave if we were going east or south because all of the roads were closed. We did get to leave about 10:30 but had no idea what we had just survived.

As we went south through Boulder and then east toward Iowa the story unfolded on the radio. First, it was just one life was lost and then more. It gradually occurred to us that we had by chance just sidestepped a tragic event. We stopped in western Nebraska to let our kids call home and spread the word that all were safe and well. The whole incident traumatized us and the group never had another trip.

The Southern Trip

The first year we went on what we called the northern trip because we went up into Montana and generally stayed in the upper part of the 48 states. The second year we took a southern trip meaning we went into New Mexico and the four corners region.

The same group of adults went on this trip. The other people in the group were far more experienced when it came to travel than Becky and I. While we were usually wide eyed and inexperienced the others had already been to all the places we were visiting. The advantage was they knew what to avoid and what was worth seeing.

We traveled long days and what seemed like short nights sleeping on the ground in a sometimes-dry tent. Becky and I weren’t much different than the kids in the group. We were kids ourselves. Sometimes I wonder if the group regretted having us along.

The first day on this trip we left at 6 A.M. and traveled to into Kansas. I don’t think the wind ever stops blowing in Kansas. We traveled as far as we could in a day. I am not sure how far we got but ended up camping in a nice county park the first night. The kids had slept in the vans all day and kept us up most of the night. The next morning, after breakfast the group chaperones met and decided there would be no sleeping in the vans. We decided we would use the radio and loud conversation to keep everyone awake so they would sleep that night.

The second day we traveled the rest of the way across Kansas and then into Colorado. After what seemed like an eternity we could see mountains in the distance. It seemed to take even longer to actually get close to those mountains. We turned southwest off of Interstate 70 on U.S. 24 and headed for Colorado Springs. Did you know the stoplights in Colorado Springs are horizontal instead of vertical? That can be tricky for a colorblind boy. I think I ran several trying to stay with the other two vans.

While we were in Colorado Springs we visited the Air Force Academy, and the Garden of the Gods. We also visited the Manitou Incline. To get near the top you ride in rail cars that are pulled by cable up the side of a very steep mountain.

Ron Marshall and I climbed that last two or three hundred feet to the top of the mountain. I remember being amazed at how fearless Ron was. He stood on the very precipus and looked over the edge while I was hugging the rock several feet back.

From Colorado Springs we headed southwest on a narrow back road through a narrow canyon to Canon City. Canon City is the home of the Colorado State prison. There we visited the Royal Gorge. I remember the hummingbird feeders and the dozens of birds that visited them and the deer that would eat out of your hand.

I remember too, the tram ride across the gorge. Over a thousand feet above the Arkansas River and over two thousand feet long, I was uneasy from the moment I got into the car. When we got across I didn’t want to go back but, of course, I had to because there were only two ways back; the tram and walking across the bridge. The bridge was even worse for me so I took the tram back and never before or sense has solid ground felt so good to me.

From there we headed south on Interstate 25 and then west to a spot near a tiny town called Eagles Nest, New Mexico. We camped there and visited Taos, New Mexico the next day. It was a famous artist colony in those days. We walked all over the little town looking at the art and the hippies that inhabited the place. We took a horseback ride near Eagles Nest but my horse didn’t like the idea of going on and turned back. The rest of group, not knowing what else to do, followed me back.

From Eagles Nest we headed north back into Colorado. We visited the Black Canyon of Gunnison. It was huge and some said more beautiful than the Grand Canyon. We kept heading north and camped for the night in a remote spot. From there we traveled to a spot near Evergreen, Colorado where we spent the night. To get there we had to go over a high pass near the Continental Divide. Narrow roads and harrowing turns led us past Leadville and Climax to our campground.

We spent the night at Evergreen, toured Coors Brewery in Golden, and then headed to Granby and then over Trail Ridge Road to Estes Park. On the way we stopped at a roadside turquoise and silver stand and I bought a silver and coral ring which I have worn on my right hand everyday since.

We stayed in Estes Park for four days. The idea was to get as acclimated to the elevation as we could and then climb Longs Peak. It extends well above the tree line at 14,256 ft. Typically, above 10, 000 ft. Climbers use oxygen because the atmosphere is so thin. The day before we climbed a nearby mountain, Twin Sisters.

We left camp at 2:00 in the morning. The idea is to get off the top of mountain before noon and the afternoon rainstorms. The top of a mountain is the last place you want to be when lightening is all around you.

We climbed in the dark for hours and finally when the sun came up we could see the peak. It took us four more hours to get there. At about 11:00 that morning we scrambled hand over hand up the last 300 ft. and reached the top. There all the kids were waiting for us. Some had been there for as much as two hours. We had a group picture, looked around a little and then headed back down. Becky was the only adult female to make it to the top. We were back down to our Van about 5:30 P.M. It was an exhilarating experience even though we had walked and climbed almost continuously for the last 15 hours. Needless to say we slept well that night.

We departed early the next morning and traveled all the way back to Mt. Pleasant, arriving late that evening.

Summer Trips

Becky and I went on three trips with junior high students in the Mid 70s. Maynard Bittle, John and Betty Becker, Ron and Marsha Marshall organized them. They asked us to come along as chaperones. They were great adventures with kids. Maynard tried to incorporate as much science education as possible into the trips. Becky and I had not traveled much and were just as excited about it as the kids. Each one of the kids had to pay three or four hundred dollars to go.

We camped all the time and cooked all of our meals. Each person had the responsibility for their own gear and duties at each meal. It was well organized and generally came off remarkably smooth. The trips usually lasted from fourteen to sixteen days.

The first year we went it was a northern trip. We traveled to Pipestone Minnesota the first day and toured the quarry where the Indians found the stone to make pipes. From there we traveled into South Dakota and camped our first night. The next days we traveled through the Badlands, Black Hills and stayed near Rapid City.

From the Black Hills we traveled west and briefly visited Devil’s Tower and then after stopping for groceries headed north towards Montana and the Little Big Horn. After the groceries stop the van I was driving lost the other two. I knew where we were headed but was unsure whether I was ahead of them or behind. I drove pretty fast thinking I could catch up. Near the tiny town of Lodge Grass on the Crow Reservation in Montana I had a blow out. Fortunately, I was able to pull off the road safely.

As we changed the tire the other two vans pulled up. After sandwiches we stayed together the rest of the way to Little Big Horn where we toured the monument. It is an impressive place well worth the visit.

We spent the night in that area and then traveled all the way to Bozeman the next day. We bought more groceries and then headed north of Bozeman to a remote campsite about forty miles. In the next few days we climbed Mt. Sacagawea, visited a ranch, and went trout fishing. The last evening there while carving with my knife, I cut my finger and we had to make a trip to the emergency room in Bozeman to get nine stitches.

From Bozeman we traveled southwest through the haunting Madison Canyon. There, in 1959, campers were buried under a huge landslide. Twenty-six people were killed but few bodies were found because they were buried under the slide.

We entered Yellowstone from the Western side and stayed just out of the park in the town of West Yellowstone. We toured the park for two days, seeing the falls, many geysers, and Old Faithful.

From Yellowstone we went to Gray Bull, Wyoming. We camped in that area for a few days and attended a rodeo and visited a museum. Maynard arranged a guided trip for us out to a remote area where we hunted for fossils.
After one more stop in the middle of Nebraska we arrived back home. It was a fantastic adventure!

Moving to the Farm

One of the teachers I worked with, Myra Garner, told me that her and her husband had bought a farm as a tax shelter. He worked in an upper management position in a local company. They were from Georgia and Myra had a wonderful southern accent. The farm had a house on it that they planned to rent out and Myra thought it would be perfect for our young family.

Becky and I went out and looked at the place. It wasn’t much but offered a lot more room than our apartment. It had a kitchen with a dinning area and two other rooms and a bath downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. They were doing some work on the house and thought we would be able to move in sometime that winter.

Rent for the house was $80. a month. We thought we could handle that and moved in during the late fall of 1971. It had a garage for the car and several acres to wander. There was a second smaller house on the farm that the Garners kept and used as a place to stay occasionally. They had two teenage boys who came out and stayed sometimes.

They had cattle on the farm and although Mr. Garner had no experience as a farmer. He worked hard to learn all about it and seemed to relish the opportunities. He didn’t have a lot of cows and borrowed a bull to inseminate them. His plan was to produce beef to send to market. He probably would have but in less than two years he was transferred back to a plant on the east coast.

My cousins, Russell and Rose Ross lived about a half mile away. They had lost their son, Stanley, in the Viet Nam war a couple years earlier. A friend, Maynard Bittle, and his family lived a couple miles away and we knew some other folks in the area. My Dad knew many of the people around there and talked a lot about the White Oak Church that was up on the blacktop a quarter mile away.

I didn’t mind living in the country but every time you needed something it meant a trip to town. We quickly learned to plan better so that didn’t happen too often. It was quiet and sometimes lonely on the farm.

We ended up having to move after about a year and eight months on the farm because the Garners were selling it to move back where they came from. Myra resigned her teaching position and they packed up everything and were gone. We briefly entertained the idea of trying to buy the farm ourselves but just didn’t have anything for a down payment so we were out. It probably was for the best because the farmhouse was not in good shape and would have cost a lot to maintain. The new owners eventually did build a new house on the place.

Heather was born while we lived on the farm. That is a story I’ll tell another time.

Teaching

I started teaching in the fall of 1971. My first year teaching salary was $7, 050.00. When I showed the contract to my father and he was upset. Oh, he was very happy for me, but that was more money per year than he had ever made.

My room was on the top floor near what was the principal’s office at that time. As you entered the room there was a cloke room on either side. One was the girls and the other the boys. Each had its own restroom and sink. There were hooks all along the wall to hang up coats. The small rooms weren’t much different than when I was in 4th grade there.

The classroom itself was smaller than I remember it as a kid but still was a nice size for a classroom. Windows lined the north side of the room and there were bookshelves along the wall under them. The room was equipped like a regular classroom. The floors were the original wooden boards. The marks where the desks had originally attached to the floor were clearly visible under several layers of varnish. The classroom really had not changed much in the last 20 years or so.

That first year I had 32 students registered for my class. Because of the high numbers two of them were placed at Harlan Elementary. That left me with 30 students for my first year as a teacher. That was a challenge but the students were a bright group and seemed to prosper in spite of my inexperience.

There wasn’t much support for new teachers in those days and the district had a mish mash curriculum. Teachers pulled together whatever material they could find to teach. When I looked at the reading materials there were pieces of three different programs but not enough of any one to use with the whole class. I checked with the third grade teacher, Nadine McCoy and she was using yet another program.

Unsure what to do I went over and visited a 4th grade teacher at Harlan. She had different materials as well. After talking with her I decided to use the materials I had and hope to make the best of it. A couple days later the principal stopped in and said the Harlan teacher was telling everyone I didn’t know what I was doing. I explained that I had simply asked her for advice since no one at Saunders seemed to be able to help me. In those days I guess it wasn’t a good idea to ask for help.

One day after recess a 4th grade girl came in and said the boys had called her a dirty name at recess. She was from a family that included three pretty wild boys so I couldn’t imagine there would be too many words she hadn’t heard many times. I asked her what the word was but she refused to tell me. After some time she pulled out the front of her dress and pointed at her tummy. I said, “Pregnant?” and she said that was it. I tried everything I could think off to convince her that wasn’t a dirty word. We even looked it up in the dictionary.

When her mother came in at parent teacher conference time I told her the story. The mother smiled and said, “Perry, when you have boys as ornery as mine, pregnant is a dirty word!”

Student Teaching

(This is the first story of my life in the 1970s. Fifty-one more will follow.)

I student taught at the elementary school in Crawfordsville, Iowa, part of the WACO Community School District. I spent the spring semester of 1971 in Marilyn Ries’s 4th grade classroom. She was a great teacher and I was very fortunate to be able to learn from her.

We had two cars in those days. One was a 1954 Chevy Becky’s parents had given her. It wasn’t really a bad car but after we had it awhile reverse went out of it. You had to be careful where you parked. If you had enough space to pull in to parallel park you were fine but if you parked diagonally then you would have to push it out of the spot by hand and then jump in and drive away.

The other car we had was a red Opal Cadet. It was a small car with an equally small engine. It took a couple miles to get up close to the speed limit if there was more than one person in the car. If you were driving into the wind you couldn’t get up much past 45 miles per hour. It got great gas mileage! The doors were thin and it was about as solid as and empty pop can. The car, made by Buick, is no longer manufactured.

So, when it came time to commute to Crawfordsville the Opal seemed like the way to go. I car-pooled with Anita (Brent) Hampton and one other person who I have forgotten. When it was my turn to drive we packed all of our books and bodies in the tiny Opal and headed off. We had to leave ten minutes earlier if I was driving simply because the Opal was so slow. I am happy to say we made it safely there everyday even if some trips took longer.

I was a brash young teacher in those days and maybe a little too bold and progressive for some of the older teachers at the Crawfordville building. More than once they shook their heads at me. Once, after we had launched a home made model airplane from the third story window of the building, one of the teachers told me, over lunch, she hoped I grew up before I started teaching. Fortunately, another mature teacher immediately said, “I hope he doesn’t! He is going to be a great teacher just as he is!”

Midway through student teaching Mrs. Ries told me she was going to give me an “A” for the course. In April, Ottumwa Community School District asked me to come to an interview. Kathy (Garretson) Helman and I drove over for the opportunity. We were interviewed at the district’s central office that was in a huge, but elegant old house. They offered me a contract on the spot and pressured me to sign. I told them that I would need more time and took the contract home.

The temptation was great to sign that contract but I knew I had a shot at a job in Mt. Pleasant, too. John Becker had promised me a job. John was an old friend from the swimming pool and principal at Saunders Elementary, my old school. When he saw the contract from Ottumwa he hurried things up for me and Mt. Pleasant offered me a contract, too. I signed it and took a job across the street from the house I grew up in, replacing my fourth grade teacher.

The Sixties

The sixties took me from age twelve to age twenty-two, from 6th grade to a senior in college, from single to married, from a kid to a parent. Probably more happened in that ten years than any other ten-year period in my life.

I was never a stellar student but was positively influenced by my parents, my sisters, and some of those around me. Even in the worst of times I was annoyingly positive and naïve. Neither attribute causes people to take you very seriously; at least until they know you better.

The country was in great turmoil much of the time. Somehow I decided I was a Republican. I don’t know why because my parents weren’t and did not get actively involved in politics. I joined the campaign of a candidate for county supervisor. He was victorious and defeated a candidate who had held the seat for many years.

I got involved in Bob Ray’s run for the Governor. Soon, I found myself as county chairman for his campaign. We had fun and he won the election easily. During the process I got in on a lot of back room politics. I had honestly believed that these people had the best interests of the state in mind. I soon realized that was secondary to power. Bob Ray was a nice person. I can’t say that for many of the other people involved in the campaign.

The whole thing soured me on politics and the Republicans. For years after that I was not tied to any political party and didn’t trust those who were. Having seen it from the inside I was disgusted with the motives and behavior of those involved. I have always been embarrassed that I was part of it.

In order to graduate from Iowa Wesleyan College I needed to do a Responsible Social Involvement (RSI) project. Every student had to do something. It involved putting in forty hours doing something to help others and then writing it all up in a paper. My involvement in politics didn’t count. I guess they didn’t think it was responsible or social.

My project involved teaching remedial reading to struggling students at Lincoln Elementary School. I went there for two hours a day for about six weeks. It really cut into my work time but I really didn’t have a choice. I had to do something and it was the only thing that I could come up with.

I worked with licensed reading teachers and learned a lot from them. I was able to use much of what I had learned when I became a teacher myself. I think I actually helped some kids and so it was a positive thing for me.

This is the last piece I will write about the sixties for a while. There are many other stories to tell about that time in my life but they will have to wait. The next 52 pieces will be about the seventies. There is a lot to tell about those days as well.

The First Moon Walk

Conspiracy theories about the assassination of President Kennedy, his brother Bobby, and Martin Luther King abound. Add to those the theory that the moon landing never happened. Some actually believe it was a Hollywood type production to fool the American people. I think it really happened and it will happen again.

On July 20, 1969 Terry Conrad and I watched the first moon walk on television. Terry came over to our house and we watched it until about 2:00 in the morning. Becky wasn’t very happy because the noise of the TV and our excitement kept her up, too.

The lunar module landed on the moon late that afternoon. About six hours later Neil Armstrong climbed down the ladder and set foot on the moon. When he stepped on the moon he said, “That’s one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind.” The first bit of controversy was whether he included that “a” that is in parenthesis in that sentence. It has a slightly different meaning if it is there.

Neil Armstrong has always claimed he included it. Sophisticated technical analysis recently has indicated it is there on the tapes but not loud enough to be heard under regular conditions. I think it is finally settled but at the time there was considerable amount of discussion about it. It was just one word and a one-letter word at that. I don’t know why they didn’t believe Armstrong in the first place?

Along with Armstrong in the lunar module Eagle was Edward “Buzz” Aldrin. He joined Armstrong on the surface a short time later and together they spent two and a half hours drilling core samples, taking pictures and collecting rocks. We were spell bound as we watched. Nothing would ever be quite the same after seeing the Earth from another surface in space.

A third astronaut, Michael Collins controlled the command module Columbia that orbited the Moon while the other two took their space walk. Armstrong and Aldrin spent less than 24 hours on the Moon’s surface. The Eagle docked with the Columbia and they headed back for Earth. The Earth averages about 238855 miles from Earth. They traveled at about 25,000 miles per hour on their trip back. It took them about nine hours to get back into the Earth’s orbit.

Thanks to television we could witness this event along with millions of others across the globe. In a difficult time, the nation took great pride in this accomplishment. We had beaten the Russians, our cold war enemy, to the Moon. In the process knowledge in technology, human health, and outer space had grown immensely. For the first time the Soviet Union blinked and I believe that was the beginning of the end for their empire. The country broke apart in less than twenty years.

I have to be honest and say that I had a bad habit of staying up until all hours watching things like the moonwalk or political conventions. It wasn’t considerate of Becky and thinking back on it I was pretty selfish in doing it because if I was up Becky couldn’t sleep. While I am glad I saw things like that I regret the discomfort I caused Becky and probably Angie, too.

Heady Days

The late sixties was an unusual time! Young men were going off to war while others protested in the streets. War protests happened on the University of Iowa campus. There were a few small demonstrations at Iowa Wesleyan. At the same time African Americans were demanding fair treatment and equal opportunity. The drug culture flourished and hippies grew long hair and wore strange clothing. Becky and I really didn’t get into those things but knew many who did. We didn’t get into drugs either but saw them take over the lives of some.

I was a member of the Henry County Rescue Squad that was turned into the Police Reserve. We trained with Sergeant Roy Eubanks of the Iowa Highway Patrol. He trained us in defense techniques in hand-to-hand combat and with the baton. We were transformed into a Riot Squad with the black helmets, mace, shields and the baton. The baton was a 20-inch long club. I still have it.

The fear was that the unrest at Iowa Wesleyan would get out of control so we were trained to be mobilized if that were to occur. This was a lot more than I had bargained for and it made me very uncomfortable. Rescuing someone was quite a bit different than clubbing one of my friends on campus.

Then on the evening of April 4, 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr was assassinated. He had been standing on the balcony of a motel in Memphis when James Earl Ray shot him. The irony of it wasn’t lost. A man who had devoted his life to equality and peace died a victim of horrendous violence. Immediately people began to wonder whether this would spark further violence. There were riots in some places but many who followed Reverend King kept to his precepts of non-violence.

Locally, we wondered how you could hate or fear someone so much that you would resort to killing him or her. We lived in a sheltered and safe world and couldn’t imagine what this killer was thinking. The police reserve was placed on alert for a short time but were never called out.

Then on the 5th of June 1968, 12:15am, Senator Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated after winning the California presidential primary. He was shot by a Palestinian Arab, Sirhan Sirhan who also shot and wounded five others. Sirhan is still in prison in California. Kennedy had been a popular candidate and now had met the same fate as his brother.

Two murders of national figures in less than three months made everyone anxious. We wondered what would happen next. The war, civil rights, the draft were heavy on the minds of most people in those days.

That summer a local African American boy who had served in Viet Nam was denied entrance to the local American Legion Club. A small protest was set up in front of the club, which was kitty corner from City Hall. The Police Reserve was mobilized. We entered the City Hall and gathered in a second floor office area. In the room there were about 20 police reserve members, the Chief of Police and four policemen, the County Sheriff and two deputies, and seven highway patrolmen. We could see the demonstrators, mostly white friends of mine, through the blinds.

Several in the room thought we should march on the group and force them to disperse. The mayor arrived and, after an animated discussion with the commanding Sergeant of the highway patrol, cooler heads prevailed. It ended simply by the Sergeant walking by himself out into the street and asking the protestors to leave. After some discussion they did and we all went home. I was relieved that it was settled so peacefully.

Speeding Ticket

My family and friends have made fun of me from time to time because I drive the speed limit. It doesn’t really bother me too much. My Dad was the same way so I guess I take after him in that respect.

I did get a speeding ticket once. That was all it took for me to learn my lesson. The consequence of that incident was severe! I was driving 88 miles per hour in a 55 mile per hour zone.

It was a sunny but cool Thursday morning in November of 1969. I had a morning class at Southeastern Community College in Burlington by 10:30 I was headed back to Mt. Pleasant to go to work at the print shop. Coming out of Middletown I fell in behind a woman driving about 45 miles per hour. I swung my White Dodge Dart convertible out to pass her and she sped up. Annoyed I pulled back into the westbound lane. She slowed down and I pulled out again. She sped up. I was getting mad! This happened several times and finally, timing it just right, I pulled out to pass her. She sped up again and we were going side by side down the highway. I floored the Dart and was up well over 90 miles per hour. After getting around the other car I slowed down to 55, the speed limit.

As I neared Danville I could see something going on. There was a guy standing out in the middle of the westbound lane. When I got closer I realized there was a highway patrol car on the right shoulder and the guy in the road was a patrolman.

The conversation was short! He said I was going 88 miles per hour. That was 33 miles per hour over the speed limit. They had caught me with the airplane. He wrote me a ticket and I took it and thanked him. I don’t know why?

When I told my friends about it they told me I was in big trouble. Not only would I have a big fine, but also I would lose my license for at least 180 days and have to file an SR22 form and buy high-risk car insurance. I was devastated! I didn’t have the money to pay the fine much less afford the insurance. How would I get to school without a license? Becky was disgusted with me when I told her about it.

I took my checkbook when I went to the Des Moines County courthouse to appear before the judge. It was short but not so sweet. The fine was sixty dollars plus costs. The total was seventy-seven dollars. That was more than a weeks pay for Becky and I. I went to the clerk and asked if they would take a check. She said “no” and said I could have 60 minutes to come up with the cash.

I went to a bank in downtown Burlington and waited in line for what seemed like twenty minutes. At last when I got to the teller I asked to cash a check. She said I had to have an account in the bank or at least know someone there. My first piece of luck came when the teller two windows down said, “Hi Perry! What are you doing here?” She was married to someone I knew in Mt. Pleasant. I cashed the check and made it back to the courthouse in time.

The clerk took my money and said I would be receiving a letter with an order to surrender my driver’s license and car license plates. That letter came about two weeks later. At the bottom of the letter it said I could request a hearing with the highway patrol if I wanted to appeal the suspension.

After talking to friends on the police department they said I didn’t have much of a chance. They said the hearing officer was Sergeant Steffins of the Highway Patrol and he was as tough as they come. I had to try it, so I officially made the request.

Sergeant Steffins met with me at the City Hall in Mt. Pleasant. His office was on the second floor. He gave me the most thorough chewing I have ever had! He said, “ What makes you think you are any different than anyone else?” I tried to make a case for a struggling college student with a young family to support.

He, at last, very reluctantly agreed to restrict my license to driving to school and work but I would still have to have the high-risk insurance. He asked me when my classes were and he wrote it down. Then I gave him my work schedule for Glanzman Printing Company. He wrote that down, too. Then I gave him my schedule for working at the Mental Health Institute. He started to write it down and then stopped and asked what the weather was like the day I was speeding. I told him it was sunny and clear. No ice or snow.

He looked down at his desk a long time and finally looked at me and said, “Ok, I’m going to check on the weather and road conditions. If you are lying to me this deal is off. I am going to rescind the suspension order.” I thanked him and left the building as quickly as possible.

I couldn’t believe it! No suspension, no high risk insurance! Luck was with me! When I told my friends of my luck they were speechless. They couldn’t believe I had gotten off so easily. Even thinking back on it now I can’t believe I got off with just the fine.

College Jobs III

I worked for a very short time at Metromail. I was a stock handler and moved stock from the warehouse to a pickup point near the machines. Metromail is a large direct mail advertising company on the east side of Mt. Pleasant. They mail out massive amounts of material to households across the country.

I drove a forklift to the warehouse, found the material and then delivered it back to the pickup area. There, handlers with handcarts would move the material to the machines that inserted it all into envelopes. It was actually fascinating to watch. I worked the evening shift. It was a good job but after the first week or so it was apparent that I would not be able to work there and still get my schoolwork done.

I gave my two weeks notice so I ended up only working there for a month. When I left they said I was a good employee and that I could come back anytime I wanted. That made me feel good and I actually considered it a few times but never went back to work there. Factory work is a different kind of work than I have ever experienced. I am glad I had that experience.

I also worked at Walgren’s Market during college. I was a night and weekend manager. Another store in town had started opening all night and weekends and so Dick Walgren and his brother decided they had to at least be competitive so they extended the evening hours from 6:00 to 10:00 PM and started opening on Sundays from noon to 4:00 PM. A small group of us manned the store and served what few customers we had during those times.

The schedule worked well for me. I had plenty of time for schoolwork and the job paid pretty well. I think it was around $7.00 an hour, which was considered very good pay in those days. I ran the cash register and supervised another worker who stocked shelves or carried out groceries if we had a customer. When we closed I hid the cash drawer in the back of the store, secured all of the doors, and activated the alarm. I goofed the latter two up a few times and set off the alarm.

It was an easy job and I enjoyed the responsibility and meeting the public. Once when I wouldn’t sell beer to a minor he got all excited and screamed and yelled at me. When he threatened me I picked up the phone and called the police and he left the store immediately.

One of the owner’s sons had keys to the store and would come in the back way when we were still open. I know he carried a lot of beer out the back door but there didn’t seem to be anyway to stop him. On other occasions members of the families of the two owners would come in and fill carts heaping full of groceries and then wheel them right past me and out the door. I felt a little uncomfortable about that but didn’t know what to do.

Walgren’s caught fire and burned late in the summer just before I started teaching.

College Jobs II

I worked in the medical records department at the Mental Health Institute while I was in college. After college I worked there part time as an educational consultant. Prior to working there I had volunteered there on short-term projects a couple times as a boy scout or as a member of our church youth group.

Growing up there was a lot of mystery about the Mental Health Institute. People in neighboring communities often jokingly threatened to send each other to Mt. Pleasant if they acted silly. In Mt. Pleasant we just threatened to send people to the east end of town. We heard a lot of stories about the people out there. In the summer, groups of them would come to the pool to cool off. I don’t remember one negative incident in all of the times they came. Still, we talked about them with fear and uncertainty.

It wasn’t until the early 60s that they started using effective drugs with the patients and the institute population dwindled from nearly one thousand patients to only a little over 300. Many were there because they simply had no place else to go. Others were so severely mentally ill that medication wasn’t much help.

The institute consisted of the main three-story building with wings on each side. There were 2 wards on each floor of the east wing and the west wing. The patients lived on the wards. There were underground tunnels that linked that building to the hospital building, the employee residence, the physical plant building. There were several other smaller buildings. I am not sure how many were linked by tunnels.

I worked nights and weekends. My job was to process medical records, manage the front desk, and answer the phone. After nine o’clock each ward called in once each hour. They would identify their ward and then say “Ok”. Within a one or two minute period all wards would call in. I recorded it on a tally sheet all night long. If they didn’t call I would call them. I used to have dreams about it. “4 west, ok.”

Most of the time it was a very boring job. I was able to study some while I was there. Once in awhile on the weekends a patient would stop by to talk. On the night shift I rarely saw anyone. A night shift nurse might stop by but not often. On even more rare occasions a patient might be admitted. Sometimes if it wasn’t for the wards calling in I would have fallen asleep. That never happened even though I was on the verge of it a couple times.

I did avoid some patients while I worked there. I had been warned about the ones not to be alone with. I had to call for help a couple times when they showed up at my desk on weekends. At night they were in locked wards.

A few times, a social worker that lived in the employee’s building would stop in and play cards with me in the evening for a while. She was blind but had brail marked cards so she was impossible to beat when she dealt.

College Jobs I

I had several different jobs while I was in college. They ranged from scooping hog manure to being the night manager of a grocery store. I have already written about working on a farm and the swimming pool. I did some odd jobs in those days like painting or carpentry work but they were very short term.

I worked as a typesetter and printer for Glanzman Printing Company part-time for several years. It didn’t pay well but I needed whatever money I could get so I couldn’t turn it down. It usually amounted to 3-4 hours a day. Jerry Glanzman, the owner, was the only other person working there. I learned a lot about the printing business during that time.

We printed everything from business cards to funeral programs to massive runs for Metromail, the direct mail advertising company in Mt Pleasant. Some printing runs involved only 25 or 50 pieces. Metromail had runs of up to 3 million pieces.

I learned a lot while I worked for Jerry. It was an interesting job and you really had a feeling of accomplishment when you created something that looked very professional. Typesetting is now a lost art. You would have to go to a historical village to see how it’s done. The type drawers are now sometimes hung on the wall and filled with nick knacks.

Jerry had a linotype machine that you could set type with, too. It was complicated and I never learned to use it. As part of the process it actually poured molten lead into a mold to make the reverse image of each letter. Flat strips of hot metal would come out of the machine in perfect order.

Jerry was close friend of Maurice LeMaster a local policeman. He came twice everyday for coffee…once in the morning and once in the afternoon. We would walk over to the Cozy Café, find an empty booth, and have coffee. I was fascinated with the local philosophers who would hang out in there and talk about how to solve the problems of the world. I think I learned as much in the coffee shop as I did in some of my classes at college. I also wasted a lot of time there and drank too much coffee. I got so I knew almost everyone who came in.

One day when I was doing a long run for Metromail on the offset press I caught my thumb in the machine. I had been applying water to the plate and pressed a little too hard. My right thumb was in before I realized what happened. It was nearly severed about a half inch from the tip. Pushing it back together I went, dripping blood all the way, to Lauser’s where Becky worked and had her take me to Dr. Rankin.

Dr. Rankin shot it full of painkiller, cleaned it out, sewed it back together and sent me home. It was so bandaged up that I had to write with my left hand for about two weeks. To this day the thumb looks different, flatter and wider, than the other one.

I worked at Glanzman Printing on and off for about four years. I’ll tell you about another one of my jobs in the next piece.

College Swimming Team

College sports are all together different than high school sports. It is much more rigorous and time consuming. The few athletes that go on to college sports are generally the skilled and the very best and talented high school participants. I was not a very talented high school athlete. I swam competively in the AAU league when I was young and swam in the annual swimming meet at the pool. That was my only experience.

When I visited with Coach John Steigman about going out for the team he told me he really doubted that I would be very successful because I would be swimming against skilled athletes that had been swimming competitively for years. Some had as much as twelve years experience. I think Coach Steigman let me on the team because he was hurting for swimmers because of injuries and was having trouble putting a team in the pool.

The team consisted of a gifted swimmer and Olympic trial qualifier who had flunked out of The University of Iowa; three freshmen that had been state qualifiers and place finishers in their home states and two junior lettermen. Then there was me. When I told the team members of my experience they laughed. It was obvious they were way out of my league.

The first day of practice nearly killed me! Two hours of intensive swimming including sprints and distance was more physical activity than I had had for some time. I remember going home and collapsing on the bed and sleeping for a couple of hours. It went on like that for a week and I finally begin to build up some endurance.

I don’t think anyone ever expected much out of me. The team needed a backstroker. That would be me and then I would fill in a place on the sprint freestyle relay and the medley relay. In the first meet I was second in the 200 backstroke and the 200-yard freestyle. I could tell the rest of the team looked at me differently and I felt like I might be able to help out after all.

In the second meet I swam the backstroke leg of the medley relay and we won the race although we lost the meet to Coe College. At Illinois College we won the 400-yard relay just after I won the 200-yard backstroke. I was exhausted but swam well anyway. We also won the medley relay that day and the meet.

In the conference championship meet we placed second. Our medley relay and freestyle relays placed second and I placed third in the backstroke. It was a tough meet and a long trip to Principia College that is located high on a bluff above the Mississippi River north of St. Louis.

At the winter sports banquet I was recognized for my contributions to the team and I received a letter. I was thrilled. I had achieved something I didn’t think was possible for me. That was the end of my college athletic career. Coach Steigman asked me to come out my senior year but I was busy working and student teaching and just didn’t see how I could work it in.

The Lottery

For the first time since World War II the government held a lottery drawing at the Selective Service National Headquarters in Washington, D.C. It determined the order of call for induction during the calendar year 1970. It was for all registrants born between January 1, 1944, and December 31, 1950. This was a change from the pattern of drafting the oldest man first, which had previously been the practice.

They put 366 capsules, each containing a date of the year, into a large glass container. Then on national television and radio they drew out one capsule at a time, opened it and read the date. You would think that on that evening, December 1, 1969, that I would be standing by the radio or TV anxiously awaiting the results but I wasn’t. I was in the library at Iowa Wesleyan studying for a test.

A friend of mine, Calvin Crane, a fellow student at Iowa Wesleyan, was in the work-study program at the college. He was an AV technician. When a professor needed an overhead, a projector or whatever they went to Calvin. He had a desk and storage area in the lower level of the library. I often saw him rolling around equipment on a cart.

That night, December 1, I was in the lower level of the library studying for a test. Calvin came by pushing his cart and informed me that he would be listening to the drawing and I could come and listen to it, too. I told him I wasn’t that interested but that I might at least check in with him later. Somehow just sitting around waiting for them to draw 366 capsules and read the date didn’t sound too exciting. I was only interested in one date, September 13th. What number would it be? He said if he heard it he would let me know.

Shortly after the drawing started Calvin came down the hall and said, “You’re first! September 14th is first.” I said “September 14th?” And Calvin said, “Yes, September 14th is first!” I said, “I’m September 13th.” Calvin laughed and said, “You are lucky!” and went back to listening.

Later that evening Calvin came by again and said “One seventy-five, You’re lucky! They probably won’t ever get to you.” I asked him what he meant by that and told me the Selective Service would reorder their files to the order birth dates were drawn and that Henry County would meet it’s quota long before they got to one seventy-five. He was right.

If you weren’t selected that first year then you dropped into a second category when the new eighteen olds were added to the mix. Each year after that it was less and less likely that they would ever get to you.

I saw many friends leave and go into the service. Some of them never came back. Most of those who did were somehow different when they returned. Some of them described the horror of war and while others said nothing. It was a difficult time! I thought we would never let it happen again.

Staying in School

I went to summer school after my freshman year of college and again after my second year. Back then you needed to stay on pace to graduate in 4 years or it could jeopardize your draft status. After my earlier experience with the draft board I wanted to avoid that at all costs. I went to summer school at Iowa Wesleyan both summers and did Ok.

Still after two years at Southeastern Community College it appeared that my critics were right. I was not really college material. In the spring of 1969 I took interest surveys and aptitude tests. After several consultations with my advisor it was determined that I was best suited to be an industrial draftsman. The assessments said I had a high aptitude in math and would do well in that field. Go figure! I lost my faith in those tests right there!

Nevertheless, wanting to stay in school and believing I couldn’t get in a four-year college I enrolled and was accepted in the two-year industrial draftsman program at Southeastern. I planned on attending until late that summer when one day in early August my Dad said someone from Iowa Wesleyan had been in the store and said that Wesleyan was really hurting for students because of the war and would take almost anyone. Dad thought I should apply.

Not really believing I had a chance I went through the whole application process. I was surprised that I received a letter of acceptance in just a few days. I was accepted on academic probation. All I needed was a 2.8 GPA my first semester and I was in. If I didn’t get a 2.8 my slate was clean and it would be as if I had never been there at all.

I don’t know exactly what happened? Part of it was maturity. Part of it was that the college was very supportive and made sure I did well, and part of it was the fear of the draft. Anyway, I had a 3.1 GPA after that first semester and was never in academic jeopardy again, eventually ending up on the dean’s list.

In the two years I had been at the community college I had been an English major, a Physical Education major, a business major, and back to an English major. When I enrolled at Iowa Wesleyan I decided that I would be a physical education major.

Olan Ruble, a famous teacher and coach was my advisor. He had coached a number of Olympic women’s basketball teams and was well known. Google him today and you will find that he was a pioneer in women’s sports nationally and internationally. It was him who brought the Russian women’s basketball team to Mt. Pleasant for a game.

He was a genuinely kind person and very good to me but after a semester as a physical education major I knew it was not for me. I told my sister, Nancy of my dissatisfaction with that major and that I just didn’t know what direction to go. Nancy told me a story about a man who had gone into elementary education. She reminded me of my love for teaching swimming lessons and told me male teachers were in great demand. The rest is history.

Burning Draft Cards

During the 60s the country was deeply mired in the unpopular Viet Nam war. Young men were being drafted and sent to fight in this far away war. Protesters demonstrated on college campuses and marched in the streets. Many draft eligible men burned their draft cards in a public demonstration of their distain. Burning a draft card was a federal offense and those who did it were often arrested.

The University of Iowa campus was a hot spot for demonstrations and in the news a lot. Iowa Wesleyan students tried to copy University students but on a much smaller scale. The FBI visited students known to be involved as a method of intimidation more than anything else. I knew one student who was identified as a leader of the local dissidents and visited often.

In 1968 I was still at Southeastern Community College and only read or heard about the things happening at the University of Iowa and Iowa Wesleyan. There were a few posters around our campus but not much was happening.

In the fall of that year I was taking Speech I and having a fairly easy time of it because of my experience in speech and drama in high school. We were assigned different topics and then learned about the different parts of a good speech. We learned we needed a good introduction with a strong attention getter. The teacher thought the first 30 seconds were the most critical. The speeches were usually 3-5 minutes. That seemed like a long time then but seems very short now.

We were assigned a 3-minute speech on a topic of our choice with the focus on our introduction attention getter. I had a weekend to think it over. Headlines in the press on Saturday were about a University of Iowa student who burned his draft card. He was arrested immediately. A year or so later he was sentenced to 2 years in prison.

I decided that was what I was going to do, burn my draft card. Well, not really my draft card, but the card that came with it that was exactly the same size and from a distance indistinguishable from the real thing. Then I planned to talk about the origins of the conflict and it’s impact on the youth of America. I saw the fake card burning as a good way to get everyone’s attention and accomplish the assignment. I had no idea about the stir it would cause.

Eager to get it over with I volunteered to be first. The teacher reviewed the goal of the lesson and then went and sat down in the back of the room. “You're on, Perry.” She said.

I went to the podium turned and faced the class and pulled the card out my breast pocket and then a lighter out of my jeans. I held the card up about eye level and then lit the lighter and held it to the corner of the card. The instructor screamed! The class gasped and the card was gone in a few seconds. I let the last bits of it drop to the floor and stepped on it. The instructor was shouting and trying to get out of her chair. Another teacher in a nearby room came rushing in to see what was happening.

I had to assure my instructor that it really wasn’t my draft card before she let me continue with my speech. She was visibly shaken the rest of the class, but afterward told me I had done an excellent job and she gave me an A. She also told me that if I ever was going to do anything like that again I should tell the instructor in advance.

By lunchtime that day several students and instructors had approached me and said they heard the whole story. Everyone, even the other instructors were quite amazed by the whole thing.

First Summer

Angela Sue Ross was born of Wednesday, May 1, 1968. May 1 just happens to be my parents wedding anniversary so that has been convenient. It has always helped me remember both. We took Angie home on Saturday morning. We had a nursery ready in the room next to ours. The crib was on the wall next to our room. We had a changing table there, too. It was just a few steps from our bed and we always left the door open.

Becky was the perfect mother and took care of Angie in every way. I was glad of that because it meant I didn’t have to do the diapers very often. I could do it but it wasn’t a job I looked forward to. My job was to make the baby smile and eventually laugh. Angie was born smiling and laughed long before most babies do so that part was easy. She still has a great sense of humor.

Becky was off work for at least 6 weeks but after two was stir crazy from being in the house all of the time. One day when I was getting ready to mow the yard she said she wanted to do it. I agreed to let her, figuring she could handle it or she wouldn’t have asked.

I stayed inside with the baby and Becky went at it. About 10 minutes into the mow a backyard neighbor called almost hysterical. She was screaming about me making Becky mow the yard! She said I was an awful person and she was calling my parents immediately. She did!

I went out and told her what the lady had said. Becky was unruffled by the whole thing and insisted on finishing the lawn. I went back to my babysitting duties in the house and Becky went back to the mowing.

When my Dad called and told me she had called him, too. He said Becky shouldn’t be mowing the yard just two weeks after having the baby. I explained that I didn’t make her do it. He felt I should make her stop. I guess at that point he didn’t know Becky very well.

I don’t think that neighbor ever forgave me and actually reminded me of my terrible offense years later. She was much older and from a time when women rested much longer after childbirth. I wonder what she would say about the hospitals sending new mothers and babies home after one day now?

That summer we took Angie everywhere and she was the life of the party everywhere she went. It was never hard finding someone to help with her because kids and adults were just drawn to her. Well, pretty much the same as now.

I worked at the pool that summer. Becky and Angie came down often and enjoyed the sun and water. Becky even took Senior Lifesaving that summer. Being competitive Becky didn’t hold back and it is a rigorous course so it was very difficult for her.

Kids Raising Kids

Sometime during the day of April 30, 1968, in dawned on me that the next day, May 1, was the day I was to report to the military. That was, of course, before the events outlined in the previous story. So the welcome waves of relief that passed over me as I thought about it were great. I wasn’t totally in the clear with the draft but I’ll tell more about that later.

I don’t remember a lot of what happened that day except that it was warm. Late that Tuesday night Becky and I decided to go for a ride in our convertible. We enjoyed being outside and the fresh air. Maybe it was the fresh air that did it?

When we got back to 305 North Jackson it was after 11 PM. I was tired and headed for bed. Our baby was due in five days and Becky was quite uncomfortable. Sometime after midnight, Becky woke me up. She said she thought her water had broken and that the baby would be coming soon.

I was instantly wide-awake! We went to the Henry County hospital about 2 AM. I need to say here that this all happened before prenatal classes and the fathers getting to go into the delivery room. The latter was happening in some places but Dr. Rankin said it wasn’t an option in this hospital. In retrospect that was a good thing!

When we reached the hospital Becky and I were sent up stairs to the maternity ward. There in the reception area at the top of the elevator the nurse took Becky and instructed me to go down stairs and fill out some forms. Downstairs they really only wanted to know one thing. Who is going to pay for this? My Dad had already said he would take care of it sort of as a gift to us and the new baby, so that problem was solved when I put his name down. I think the hospital bill was around $160. Dad used to joke that Angie was his because he paid for her. The doctor bill for the birth and the previous nine or so months of office visits was close to $400. We paid that as we went along so it wasn’t so bad.

When I had finished at the registration desk I went back up to the maternity floor. Not sure what I was supposed to do I waited in the reception area near the elevator. The hospital seemed to be almost empty. Occasionally, I would see a nurse pass. I kept trying to get their attention because I wasn’t sure if I was to wait there or go to Becky’s room?

It was standing by the elevator that I first heard it. It was the most agonizing groan of pain I had ever heard and it went on for what seemed like minutes. It subsided and then started up again in a few minutes. I was horrified! I was sure it was Becky and I was powerless to help.

Finally, a passing nurse said, “What are you doing here?” and she led me into a room where Becky was. I told Becky I had heard her and she said, “That’s wasn’t me!” It was someone down the hall whose baby was coming breach. I was incredibly relieved!

Becky and the baby weren’t making much progress. Sometime around 5 AM the doctor decided that Becky was exhausted and needed to rest to get some strength. He gave her some medication to let her sleep and said they would induce the baby later that day.

Becky slept until that afternoon. In the meantime I called Becky’s parents and my parents. I went home briefly to shave and pick up some things and retuned to the hospital. When Becky woke the nurse gave Becky a pill to hold under her tongue. The contractions began soon after that.

Somewhere around 2:30 in the afternoon Angela Sue Ross was born. I stood outside the viewing glass as Dr. Couchman, the assisting physician carried her into an adjoining room where she weighed her. Angie was covered with some gunk and her head was pointed. I was shocked. The doctor turned her over in her hands and examined her like she was a toy doll. She looked at me from behind the glass, smiled and gave me a thumbs up.

Dr. Rankin came out of the birthing room. He said everything was fine and Becky was doing well and would be out soon. I was afraid to ask about the pointed head thing but decided if it was bad someone would say something. Becky later explained the reason for the pointed head to me.

That day I was convinced I was the luckiest man alive. In one short year I had graduated from high school, enrolled in junior college, married the girl of my dreams, avoided being drafted, and became a parent. The birth of a child, of course, pales the other four but they were all very significant positive events for me.

After we had taken Angie home we often got up in the middle of the night just to stare at her in her crib and marvel at our good fortune.

By the way, I still think I am the luckiest guy alive.

The Draft

The Vietnam War was raging in 1967 but I had a deferment (II-S) because I was enrolled as a full time student in college. The war was very unpopular by this time but there seemed to be no way out. (Sound familiar?) Many others and I were just hoping it would end before we had to go. My cousin Terry was enrolled part time in Burlington Community College. Part time students were considered eligible for the draft but Terry had an I-H deferment because of his weight.

Each county had a quota each month and the local draft board determined who would go. Darlene Taylor, at the local draft board office, checked on every deferred person regularly to see if their status changed. If you dropped a class and dropped below the full time status the college was required to report it to draft board. They kept close tabs on II-S students and even knew our grades and who was likely to flunk out.

In February of 1968 I received an Order to Report for Physical Examination. I didn’t realize it at the time but this letter is the first step of being drafted into the armed services. Other friends had gone for physicals so the only thing that really bothered me about it was being gone overnight and away from Becky.

The army physicals for Iowa were given in Des Moines. We all rode up in a bus one afternoon and checked into a barracks when we arrived. We were informed that we were in fact in the military while were there. I was bummed that they didn’t serve us supper or breakfast the next morning because of the tests. The physical itself was uneventful except they made me go through the colorblind test several times and finally determined that I wasn’t faking and I was actually colorblind. I asked the guy if that disqualified me from service and he said, “No, you would make a good sniper!”

On a gloomy day in late March while I was working at Glanzman’s Printing, Becky came in crying and holding an envelope. It was an Order to Report for Induction. I had been drafted. I was baffled because I was a full time student and didn’t understand what was happening but there it was. I was ordered to report for duty on May 1, 1968. The problem was amplified by the fact that our baby was due to be born on May 5.

I took the letter and went to talk to Darlene Taylor at the draft board office. She was stern and had no sympathy for me. She said I had been dully drafted by the board and there was nothing either of us could do about it. I protested and said I was deferred because I was a full time student and showed her my II-S draft card. She said I wasn’t a full time student so that didn’t matter. We argued loudly back and forth, but I made no progress.

Finally, she opened my file and pulled out a document from Burlington Community College. “Here!” she said. “Is the proof you are a part time student!” and she slammed the paper on the table in front of me. She pointed to phrase “part time” on the page.

I was speechless as I looked at the page. Then my eyes drifted to the top where it said “Name Terry D. Ross.” I could only point and finally stammered. “That’s not me!” Darlene was hysterical! Now she was the one who was upset. The county had met their quota with me and now she couldn’t send me, or Terry either because of his deferment.

My emotions that day had been on a rollercoaster. When I went home and told Becky of our change of fortune she almost didn’t believe me. We were so relieved!

On the day I was to report for duty, May 1, 1968, the greatest thing happened in my life. It has been equaled but never surpassed. It was the birth of our daughter, Angie. But that is another story.

Just Getting Started

Ok, enough about my high school years for now. I’ll tell about my high school initiation, parties at the cabin, the serious car accident, and trips to New London, driving the loop, and all kinds of other stuff another time.

A lot happened in the year after graduation! I certainly can’t do it justice in one piece so expect two or three. Up to now I have written about National Aquatic School. That happened the summer after graduation.

That summer I bought a white Dodge Dart convertible. It was a cool car! It had push button drive and a red interior. I loved that car and the girls did, too. Of course, by then I was a one-girl guy so it didn’t do me any good along those lines. But, after driving my parents uninspiring Studebaker it was nice to have a car that impressed. My Dad thought it was a little too flashy and expensive. He was probably right on both counts.

I enrolled at Burlington Junior College that summer and knew I would need a car to get back and forth. My Dad thought I could car pool with others. I probably could have but it just wasn’t very exciting for me.

The summer of 1967 was the summer Becky and I decided to get married. It was a huge decision. The wedding wasn’t until October 28 so we had plenty of time to get ready. I was 19 years old but still had to have my mother come and sign with me to get a marriage license. Becky, at 18, didn’t have to have her parents sign. I still haven’t figured that out almost 40 years later?

I wasn’t much into the preparation but Becky was. She took care of all of the arrangements. We were married in the Methodist Church in Winfield and honeymooned at the Holiday Inn in Burlington, Iowa. Probably not the most romantic place but we went there because I had to go to class on Monday morning.

When we returned to Mt. Pleasant we had to stay at my parents house for about a week before our apartment was ready. That wasn’t the best arrangement for all involved either but we all got through it.

We moved into 305 North Jackson with a bed and two dressers, a kitchen table with three chairs, some appliances we got as wedding gifts. The apartment had a kitchen stove and a refrigerator. It had a huge old oil burning heating stove in the living room.

Billy Jackson showed up about suppertime the first night we were there. He couldn’t seem to take the hint that we were about to have dinner or he was hoping we would feed him, too. I think we finally did. It wasn’t the cozy dinner Becky had planned.

Becky worked at Lauser’s craft and paint store. I went to school and worked part-time for Glanzman’s Printing Company. I made a dollar an hour and worked about 12 hours week. Becky made about forty dollars a week. Needless to say we didn’t have much money. We probably could have collected food stamps but never seriously considered anything like that. From time to time our parents did help us out with food or furniture and since my parents owned the duplex apartment we didn’t have to pay rent. We lived in that place the first four years of our marriage.

High School V

My senior year of high school went quickly. I took the ACT tests in the fall and it was determined that I really wasn’t college material. Community College or vocational schools were options as well as enlisting in the armed forces. That latter meant most likely a tour of duty in Viet Nam so I wasn’t too excited about that. Failure to enroll in some kind of school meant the draft was inevitable. Undaunted I applied at the University of Iowa and Iowa Wesleyan and was rejected by both. My years of a casual school approach to learning were now narrowing my options.

Burlington Community College was my choice. (It was renamed as Southeastern Community College while I was there.) That settled, I continued my pattern of enjoying high school but not doing much work.

I did take an elective from Roger Williams that year. The sole purpose of the course was to speed up your reading. They used a machine called a tachistascope that projected the text on the wall and gradually did it faster and faster. It worked I got so I could read very fast. I have retained that skill at least to some degree to this day, however if you don’t use it much you lose a lot of it.

My senior year in my regular English class with Roger Williams was the first time someone suggested I might be colorblind. The assignment was that we were to find an interesting piece of text to read aloud to the class. We were to paste a copy of the piece on colored paper that reflected the mood. I picked a blue piece of paper because it was a sad story. When I said that to the class they burst out laughing because the colored paper I had chosen was purple. That was an embarrassing and even humiliating experience! Someone said, “You’re a senior in high school and you don’t know your colors!” Mr. Williams just said, “You must be colorblind!” and we went on.

My class tied its first football game that year and lost the last two games of the season. Up until that time we had won every game from 7th grade on. It wasn’t the way we had hoped to end our football careers. I suffered what I now know was a concussion in the tie game with Fairfield and remember little of it. It was surreal the day after the game to watch myself on the video and have the coach yell at me. I didn’t start the next game for the first time in my career but was back in the starting position before the game was over.

I did have an offer to play football at Iowa Wesleyan. That lasted only until they looked at my ACT scores and then it was quickly withdrawn. I was way too small anyway and would have been way out of my class. Eventually, I will get to my days at Iowa Wesleyan and my experiences as a collegiate athlete.

High School IV

My junior year in high school was an up and down year for me. A serious ankle sprain marred a successful football season. It was the year I met Becky officially at a basketball game and I was fairly successful in school.

I was the long snapper on the varsity football team. During the Ft. Madison game I was injured. I watched it over and over again on the videotape but couldn’t really figure out why it happened. I had snapped the ball for a punt and ran down the field and made a great tackle on the star running back and in the process forced him to fumble. After the play the video shows me sitting on the ground rocking back and forth in pain.

I was on crutches for three weeks but still played in football games. Dr. Rankin came to the dressing room before each game and taped my ankle so heavily that it was like I had a cast on. I was helped onto the field to hike for each punt and extra point. Our opponents were aware of my injury and tried to tee off on me a few times but most of the time the guards on each side of me kept me safe. The injury, however, has plagued me the rest of my life.

After football season I didn’t go out for wrestling because of the lingering ankle injury. That gave me more time, which was not always a good thing. Idle time for a boy my age led to hanging out at the Princess Café and smoking cigarettes. I took great care not to get caught smoking by anyone from the school or anyone who might tell my parents. I was never caught. Too bad I didn’t because it might have caused me to quit sooner.

Academically, my junior year was not so bad except for chemistry. I had Roy Oliver as a teacher and it was kind of tough. I did enjoy the labs but needed all the help I could get in the classroom part of the course. Fortunately a friend took mercy upon me and often helped me with the homework. I think I failed the tests but my lab reports and homework were good enough to carry through with at least a C in the course.

We all had to do the dreaded research paper that year in English. To this day I am not sure what that entire exercise is all about but nevertheless everybody did it. It wasn’t really research but the rewriting of someone else’s work. The methodology of the whole process was something that was used in no other place than the school research paper.

I think I had U.S. History with Ron Statler that year, too. I enjoyed the class and Mr. Statler was a good teacher although he almost never left his seat at his desk in the front center of the classroom. I later did my school administrator practicum with Mr. Statler when I finished up my master’s degree. At that time he was principal at the junior high.

After meeting Becky in February that year I was hopelessly in love and spent all of my spare time in Winfield or on a date with her. We went to movies, dances, and even a few parties. The parties were pretty tame compared to the parties kids seem to be having now. We went to Winfield’s prom and then Mt. Pleasant’s together.

High School III

My sophomore year of high school was a great year for me! Our sophomore football team went 8-0 for the season and we were on cloud nine. We thought we were studs and, I expect, were pretty obnoxious. I went out for intramural wrestling that year and was successful even against some of the juniors and seniors. I lost to a senior in the end of the season tournament. The following year Mt. Pleasant started competitive wrestling.

Mrs. Clark was my English teacher. She had a rather large bosom and often wore a top that showed some cleavage. I remember that she always had a hanky stuck in that cleavage. She would use it occasionally to wipe her forehead and then plunge it back in there. This, of course, didn’t go unnoticed by the boys in the classroom. Although I was afraid of Mrs. Clark she was kind to me. My oral language skills carried me in that class.

I had Mrs. Lawrence as my biology teacher. I was somewhat interested in biology but really didn’t put forth much effort in that class. That was something I have always regretted. I have a strong interest in the sciences and should have worked harder at it when I was in school. Mrs. Lawrence was kind of timid and students took advantage of that often. I regret that, too.

My advisor strongly advised me not to take geometry given all the trouble I had with algebra as a freshman. I took it anyway and did quite well. When my algebra teacher heard about it he came to visit me and asked me how I could be doing so well. I told him that it was just easy for me and made sense. I couldn’t say the same for algebra. I think I hurt his feelings. He left the district the next year.

I had Latin II my sophomore year and we read Caesar’s war commentaries. Caesar had a five-year command in Cispine Gaul and Illyricum, the Roman provinces of northern Italy and the lands along the Adriatic coast. He saw this as a great opportunity to expand Rome's empire and we read about every detail, in Latin. It was kind of interesting but I grew bored with it about halfway though the year. I survived the class largely because the focus was on using the language and not studying it.

That year I took drivers education. I already had my license but Dad said we could get a discount on our car insurance if I took it so I did. Kent Acheson taught it and I did well. While driving with him once I did get stuck in the mud and he wasn’t very happy with me cause he had to get out and push me out.

That year I also took typing. I don’t remember what grade I got in that class but can say to this day that it was the most obviously useful class I have had in my entire academic career. I use the skills I learned often and find them invaluable in my job.

High School II

My freshman year of high school I had Latin I, Algebra, English, and General Science. That was the normal load for most ninth graders. There might have been one more class but I don’t remember what it was. Perhaps it was driver’s education. I was signed up for physical education but only attended the class twice in my four years of high school. In those days athletes didn’t have to go to physical education class.

My Latin teacher was Bernice Huffman. I took Latin because I thought I wanted to go to college and everyone told me that I should take Latin. We spent most of our time conjugating verbs. I don’t know why but we practiced that over and over. I found myself doing it in my sleep. School Latin is a rule driven language. The thought must have been that if you learn the rules you learn the language.

Living languages like English are in flux and don’t match up well to rules. They are always taking on new forms and dropping old ones. That is what makes them more functional. A language that doesn’t change is dead. I am always amused at the amateur grammarians who go around correcting everyone else. True grammarians, and I have known a few; know the futility of such pursuits. It is the language of the people and not vice versa.

Anyway, I did average work in Latin class. Miss Huffman moved me to a desk near her desk and went out of her way to be sure I was successful. I guess Latin has been useful to me but I did find it a little confusing when I took Spanish later on.

Dale Mundt was my algebra teacher. I was pretty much clueless in algebra. I just didn’t see any practical application for it and couldn’t get very interested. Mr. Mundt promised that he wouldn’t fail anyone who tried. His measure of that was if you came in once each quarter and asked for help. I did just that and scraped by in that class. At the end of the year he did highly recommend that I not take geometry my sophmore year. I did. More about that when I write about that year.

In ninth grade my English class was mostly drill and practice of grammar. That was a shock for me after a very successful eighth grade English experience with Mrs. McDowell. In eighth grade we actually used the language and read and wrote a lot. I adjusted but did not like it nearly as well. My ninth grade teacher, Mrs. Traut, was a nice enough person but the class was a disappointment to me. The influence of my mother and teachers like Mrs. McDowell had convinced me that language learning was a fun and engaging experience. I guess they spoiled me and I didn’t like it when it turned into work.

My Science teacher was Kent Atchison. He was young, owned a Corvette and was a pilot. Everyone, especially the girls, liked him. I loved the class and did well. One evening Mr. Atchison gave me a plane ride to Des Moines and back. He had to go for some reason and I went along. Round trip was less than 3 hours. It was pretty cool!

All in all my entire freshman year was a good year. The varsity football team was undefeated, untied and unscored upon that year. A feat unheard of and to my knowledge never duplicated anywhere to this day. I got to play in a few of those games. It wasn’t because I was so good. It was because the team was so good and would get so far ahead that Coach Evans would let the freshman play. I remember for the Fairfield game Mt. Pleasant dressed over one hundred players and every one got in the game for at least one play.

Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum viditur (“Anything in Latin sounds profound”).

High School

I was in the Drama Club my freshman, sophomore and senior years of high school. I don’t know what happened my junior year? I think it was my sister Loretta’s influence that got me involved. I have always contended that drama folks were all kind of weird and, I guess, that accounts for me being one of them.

I was in the all high play my sophomore and senior years and in the musical my freshman and senior years. I was in a one act play my freshman year, the junior class play, the senior class play and the contest play my freshman, sophomore and senior years. When I look back at it that seems like a lot. I guess it was the ham in me wanting to express myself.

I remember the two musicals. One was “Little Abner” and the other was “Oklahoma.” Not being much of a singer I had bit parts in both. They were a lot of fun. I was in the contest play three times and we had great success. We earned 1s for at least two of them. The one I remember most was a scene from the “Crucible.” I was the sheriff and it was the scene where I came to get Sarah and Tituba and take them to jail. Jackie Tolson was Tituba and Jan Johnson was Sarah. That was my senior year. Tom Owen, who had the lead in the play also earned “All State Actor” for his role in the play.

Sometimes I would go from football practice to play practice. I played football all four years of high school and earned a varsity letter the last two years. The odd thing was that I was the starting center and the lightest guy on the starting team. My class didn’t lose a football game from seventh grade until the last two games we played. Why it came apart then I am not sure? I think injuries and fatigue must have taken over.

I was also in the Creative Writing Club, the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, the Letter Club, the Future Teachers of America, wrestling for three years and track for three years. An ankle injury in football ended participation the latter two. I also belonged to the Science Club on and off during my high school years.

The FTA (Future Teachers Of America) group was just kids who thought they might want to be teachers. Several of us actually ended up in education. I don’t remember much about the meetings but I think we did get to go on a field trip to Iowa Wesleyan College for a conference.

I loved school and being a part of all of it. I didn’t care much about studying and was skilled at avoiding it at all costs. It was all just one big social event for me and I took full advantage of that. I was a below average student and couldn’t have gotten into a respectable college after high school so I ended up in junior college and that was only because they had to take everybody.

The Swimming Pool III

One summer we were particularly annoyed by people who were sneaking in the pool at night and then vandalizing the place before they left. If they had just went swimming and then gone home it wouldn’t have been so bad. They left behind beer cans and bottles at the bottom of the pool. They left items of clothing that made you wonder what they wore home? I hated the cigarette butts that were left on the deck and in the water. We even found left over pizza and other kinds of food.

The intruders usually climbed over the fence near the west end of the pool. They could get over easy there near the filter room and diving board deck. The other spot they sometimes came in was the gate on the north side of the pool. It was a good spot because the cyclone fence there didn’t have sharp wire sticking above the top bar.

We tried several deterrents without much success. Terry Conrad had an Edmund’s Scientific catalogue. We bought waterproof fuse in the hopes of making bombs that would explode under water. We did and they did but there was no practical way to make them work if we weren’t there to light them. We tested our explosive devises in the pool and in the park. If a kid were to do something like that now he would be put in jail and forever labeled a terrorist.

I ordered a whole head ape mask out of the catalogue. My mother wasn’t happy about it and wondered why I would order such a “horrid’ thing. It was pretty creepy! I couldn’t sleep with it in my room and had to hide it in the garage and not think about it when I wanted to go to sleep.

Terry was the only one I shared the mask with. He agreed that it was really cool and creepy, too. We tried spooking people by driving around town with it on. That worked but it was hard to see out of it and drive at the same time. We tried hitchhiking with it on. That worked, too, but what we usually ended up doing was scaring ourselves more than anyone else.

Terry and I decided we would sleep overnight at the pool and try to scare anyone who tried to sneak in. I don’t know if you have ever tried to scare someone but sometimes you end up the one being scared. We hid in the basket room one night and when the intruders came into the pool area we got so excited we forgot what we were going to do. We were too scared to put on the mask and run out there so we waited for them to get into the water and then we turned on all of the lights.

There were about 6 naked people in the pool and boy were they mad! Four of them were guys, big guys and they started coming towards the bathhouse. We were terrified and started calling the police. That was the only thing that saved us. The mask just didn’t seem to be the right thing that time. The people made us turn the lights off while the girls got out of the water and they all got dressed and left over the fence long before the police arrived.