Chapter 1 - Conjuring up a Classroom

Introduction

     Close your eyes and think back to your grade school days. Conjure up just one image. What is it? For me it’s the visitors peeking into my school, tapping at the windows and calling to their friends to come see “a real classroom.”

     Greenfield Village was a popular field trip for school children and out-of-town visitors in the 1950’s. Well-trained tour guides led these groups through the Village during the school year -- they couldn't wander on their own except during the summer months. They moved from building to building entering the designated ones to learn about American history. Perhaps assuming our school building was next on their agenda, some visitors -- especially the children – would rush to peek in the windows of our historical one-roomed schoolhouse. Cupping their fingers around their eyes for a better view, in seconds their visions would clear and their minds would register what they were seeing. Then they would screech in surprise “There’s a REAL CLASSROOM in there!” This scenario was repeated several times a day. I never quite mastered the art of ignoring them; in fact I rather enjoyed being an object of interest by the strangers.

     I attended the Greenfield Village Schools in Dearborn, Michigan for seven years in the 1950’s, from kindergarten through sixth grade. The school was founded in 1929 by Henry Ford who believed children “learned by doing.” Although Mr. Ford had been dead for three years and Mrs. Ford died during my first month in school, the influence of the Ford family was felt throughout the history of the school which closed for good in 1969.

     It was a different kind of grade school, traditional in some ways, innovative in others. Our classes were held in historic buildings, and we traveled by foot throughout the village on a daily basis to go to gym, music, art, lunch and special programs. From kindergarten through fourth grade we had weaving classes on looms. In fifth and sixth grades we were taught pottery. Every year we had swimming class. A herd of sheep ran loose though the village and we needed to watch where we were stepping to avoid their droppings. There were peacocks near Miller School and Susie the Goat wandered freely for a year or two.

  There was a barn fire which killed some of my favorite carriage horses and I remember crying when I learned about it. The horses were buried down in the woods at the far end of the Village property and had to be reburied when their stomachs exploded from smoke fumes some days later. At least that is the horrific story that was told at the time and I have no reason to doubt it.

     Every grade had about ten boys and ten girls, and each class was generally held in a separate historical building. In the 1950’s kindergarten was in Ann Arbor House, first grade in Secretary House, second grade in McGuffey School, third grade in Town Hall, fourth grade in Clinton Inn, fifth grade in Miller School and sixth grade in Scotch Settlement School. However my class had two and a half years in Ann Arbor House, surely a record if anyone had kept such records. That’s because in 1950 and 1951, both kindergarten and first grade were held in Ann Arbor House and then for some unknown reason, we spent a few months of fourth grade in Ann Arbor House, too.

 Robert Frost House in recent years

(Ann Arbor House in the 1950's) 

     The McGuffey School House, a log cabin, was my favorite school building because of its warm comfy feeling and the good-natured loving teacher Mrs. Doremus. Our other classrooms were more formal – either the colonial-style rooms of Ann Arbor House and Town Hall or the stilted one-room traditional schools of Miller and Scotch Settlement.

      My earliest memory of the Henry Ford Museum predates kindergarten. It took place in January of 1950 and involved a special visit to the Henry Ford Museum with my family. I was four years old and the museum seemed enormous. When we reached the railroading section I couldn't help but notice the tracks upon which all the very big trains were resting. To my imaginative mind, the giant trains were moving back and forth on the tracks, posing a deadly threat. I stopped cold. Clearly not aware of the danger, the rest of my family calmly ambled across the tracks and continued on their tour. They didn't notice that I no longer accompanied them. Did I mention how big the engines were and that I was small for my age?

     I remember my terror and eventual tears as my family left me stranded on the wrong side of the tracks. Apparently all ended well as we had our family photo taken that day with old tintype studio equipment. Or maybe the photo was taken before my narrow escape. I can’t tell from the wary expression on my face.

      I scanned some of the photos in my memoir from old Heralds, the amazing books that recorded Mr. Ford’s schools from their early years until 1952. The Heralds were published monthly during the school year on the printing presses of the Edison Institute and bound into dark green hard-covered books once a year. The high school students served as the writers, photographers and printing press helpers. They were a great resource. I knew there was a good reason they've been gathering dust in our family home for decades.

     Looking back from the vantage point of the fifty years NOT spent attending the Greenfield Village Schools, I wouldn't call these my favorite years. There are unpleasant memories I either skipped altogether as I was writing or that I wrote up and edited out. What follows are the things I want to remember. Going back to that one image we conjure up of our grade school days, I remember one other thing about those roving bands of tourists tapping at our windows – I remember feeling lucky and special. In those people’s eyes I belonged in this place, this living history museum. And deep inside I smiled.