Growing up Colored
Chapter 1 - Remington Grade School
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Photo/Coutesy Fauquier African-American Historical Society Remington Grade School - Circa 1955. | |
I take pride in being able to say to my spoiledchildren, "Now, when I was your age, we had to walk a mile through thesnow and sleet just to get to school every day". It gave me a sense ofhaving had to ?rough it? as a child growing up in Remington, Virginia. Therewas no bus and there were no parents driving up to drop us off in front ofthe school when I began my education in the first grade in September 1959 (There was no Kintergarden or pre-school either). But as I say this, I must also say that I view those days as someof the best times I can recall. Even before I was old enough to attend school,I was making history there. My sister and I entered a dance contest when shewas seven and in the second grade and I was five and hadn?t yet started school.We did ?The Bird land?, swinging and swaying and delighting the crowd. We wonthat contest, but we never danced again in competition. The next year I startedthe first grade and so, the adventure began?
In winter months, one of the older boys would have to arriveat school 30 minutes early in order to build a fire in the wood stove that satin the corner of the one-room building. Then he or someone else would have tograb the water bucket from the lunchroom, which was a room about eight feetwide and thirty feet long, and which was separated from the large classroom bya wall. That person had to take his bucket, go outside, cross under the barbedwire fence and go into Mr. James Davis's hay field to get water from thespring that ran through his property, so we could have fresh drinking water forthe day. Winter also meant that we could drag our sleds along behind us as wewent to school. That's up the dirt road, thru the field that separated Mr.Bowen's farm from Mrs. Clara's house, through Mr. Penn's cow pasture, whichmeant having to dodge manure piles every two or three feet. And then on thruCousin Anne's beautiful front yard, which we had cut a path right through themiddle from over abundance of use and then along a path that, when traveled atnight, looked like it was made from a scene straight out of the tale of IcabodCrane and Sleepy Hollow. That path opened up into Mr. Sammy's junkyard and thenon to the road that lead past the 400 pound hog that was too huge to moveitself off the road, to the path at the top of the hill and into theschoolyard. The schoolyard was big enough for a softball diamond, two huge swingsets that would be outlawed if they were constructed today sat in front of twoouthouses, one marked ?Boys?, the other ?Girls?. But bringing our sleds toschool with us was a short lived amenity because one day as Johnny Ballengerwas sleigh riding from the top of the hill, he didn't get out of the way intime and ran smack into a large rock at the bottom of the hill and busted hishead wide open. From that day forward, no more sleds were allowed at school. Wehad a similar problem when we started bringing our B-B guns to school, someonelet it be known that we were up in the woods playing ?war? and that privilegewas quickly abated.
Did I mention that this was aone-room school, with grades from one through seven being taught by a singleteacher? Mr. T.J. Berry was that schoolteacher. My first year started out withjust my cousin Annie Ruth and me, but then Donnie Carter joined us in class,after about a week.? So, it was thethree of us in first grade. Donnie and his cousin Sonny had to milk cows everymorning before school, so they came in smelling of cows, barns, butter and hay.
I can remember that the first dayof school most years would mean a visit from Mrs. Gentry, who worked for theschool board, but I never quite knew in what capacity. If you can imagine athin, black, silver-haired, old lady librarian-type, then you can imagine Mrs.Gentry. She stopped by to keep us mindful of how fortunate we were. Shereminded us that the white folks at the school board were nice enough to giveus the hand-me-down books from the year before from the white school over inRemington and on occasion, they'd even let us have their second- hand desks,once they'd gotten fed-up with all the names and initials etched on them. Asshe told us about the generosity of the school board, she'd also remind us totake good care of this new equipment so that they could see how much weappreciated it and might then decide to give us more things next year. As shespoke, I spent that time trying to scrape off the chewing gum from under my"new" desk and wondering who it had belonged to.
Walking home from school was the high point of each day, younever knew what to expect. You could always depend on an argument among thegirls and if you were really lucky a "cat-fight" would break out. Theguys got an abundance of joy when that happened. But most days, the walk homewas filled with horseplay, teasing, roughhousing and the occasional fistfight.Speaking of fistfights, Ali and Frazier not withstanding, I witnessed one ofthe greatest fights known to man right there in the schoolyard between Steven"Donnie" Carter and Donald Mason. There's no doubt about it, Donniewas a trouble maker, he?d start a fight every chance he?d get, I know that wefought at least once a week for the duration of elementary school years. Butthose fights did not come close to matching what took place when we were in thethird grade. Donald was two grades ahead of us, but we all had recess togetherand although I don't know what started the fight, I'll never forget how itended.
The day started off as it normally did and I have no realrecollection as to what brought on this particular fight. All I know is that itwas the morning recess and the two boys began the fight just as so many otherfights had started since time began? ?What?chu gon? do?? one said. ?What?CHUgon? do?? echoed his adversary. ?I?ll show you what I?m gon? do? then theyraised their fists and began moving around in a circle opposite each other.Every now and then a punch would be swung, but it really didn?t look like theyhad their hearts in it, no one was pressing the fight. Then, out of the blue,Donnie threw a straight right hand and landed it flush on Donald?s nose. Andthen, even before it had been fully developed for TV, everything started movingin slow motion. A hush went over the gathered crowd. Donnie was poised to throwyet another punch and Donald was still standing with his dukes up, when justthen, Donald closed his eyes and started falling forward as though Paul Bunyonhimself had felled him with his Axe. Ever so slowly he tumbled forward andthere he ended up in a crumbled pile on the ground, he was out cold. As theworld returned to real-time normal speed, someone let out a yelp and at thesame time, some of us rushed to see about Donald, while others gathered aroundDonnie, patting him on the back in congratulations and rehashing the punchedthat was heard round the world. Donald was okay, and though there was never acall for a rematch, I always wondered if it was a fluke or could he have doneit again. I know from my own personal experience that Donnie Carter packed aheck of a wallop, but even that knowledge didn?t stop he nor I from having ourown weekly fistfight during recess.
Chapter 2 -
It Takes aVillage