Chapter 2 The Note in the Oven - Kindergarten

1950 - 1951


     My educational career at Greenfield Village began with a pre-school tea on the day before school started. I know this because there were two photos of it in the Herald…and a pretty fancy tea it must have been. Look at the boys in jackets, the floral centerpiece, the glass and china. Finding these photos sparked a vague memory of being nervous about such a gathering, attending and making a friend named Lucy. Andy, another classmate, says she actually remembers the event, which is mightily impressive. Here are Andy’s words: “I remember a sit-down with paper and crayons and we could draw. My mother was there. I drew a house that was all black, no other color, and my mother commented on it being all black. I told her that it was the only crayon I could get my hands on.”

  Ann Arbor House was home to both kindergarten and first grade for a few years in the early 1950’s. The pretty little white house sat on top of a hill and the children entered from opposite ends of the building. First-graders entered through the front door which faced the street. On the back of the house was the door to the kindergarten basement classroom, cut into the side of the hill. Today that door is covered up with sod. Both grades shared a playground and athletic field for recess.

  The shared recess time is important because I have vivid memories of pretending to be a first-grader. When their bell rang ending playtime, they were trained to run up the hill to the front door and file inside. For reasons that today are obscure and undoubtedly flawed, that same bell also galvanized me to call out to my classmates “I’m in first grade!” and run up the hill after them. I would then pass right by their door and run back down the other side. It’s embarrassing to think how much I enjoyed this exercise.

  My absolutely favorite activity, though, was the sand table. If you were particularly short, you climbed up on a stool to reach the finely filtered, beautiful white sand complete with enthralling sandbox toys. I remember vying with the other Betsy in my class for space to play. Once in great frustration I simply climbed into the center of the table so I could reach enough sand. That’s what I wrote in 2008. A few months later, I unearthed what I had written about this same episode when I was in sixth grade: “I was quite small so whenever we were playing in the sandbox, I jumped in the middle and stole all the sand.” Memory is a funny thing – I’m not sure which story is correct. But I was the smallest kid in the class. And I did like the sand.

  In one corner of the room were twenty small chairs and a blackboard which I will forever associate with the first song we were taught. The tune and the words were neither pretty nor instructive but I can still sing them today: “Apple tree, apple tree, send a big one down for me.”

     Weaving on real looms was a special pleasure. There were enough looms for each child and they were stored on shelves in one corner of the room and brought out weekly. Greenfield Village was positively obsessed with weaving and I have devoted an entire chapter to the subject later in my memoir.

  Our teacher was young and kind – Miss Turner. One day she asked me to take a written message upstairs to the first-grade teacher. I had noticed that other children had been asked to perform this important task and I was honored to have been chosen on this particular day. But as soon as I was handed the envelope, I panicked. Suddenly the old steps, worn down by thousands of footsteps before me, loomed large and foreboding in front of me.

     I thought about what I’d have to do. I’d have to mount the steps – alone. At the top of the steps, I’d have to open the door to the kitchen – alone. I would wend my way through the house to reach the first-grade rooms. In my imagination, I would confidently sail into their classroom ignoring the twenty pairs of older eyes all staring at me, and politely hand the teacher the note. The more I imagined all those people looking at me, the more I realized that I had to avoid that nightmare scenario. I made it as far as the antique kitchen when my eyes spotted a black iron oven built into the brick wall. Its heavy door opened easily. I simply left the note in the oven. Whether or not the envelope was important and whether or not its non-delivery caused any repercussions between the two teachers I’ll never know. I do know that I still feel guilty about the note in the oven.

I took this photo through the window in 2011. Today a phone is in the oven and the iron door is gone.

We spent all day at school and perhaps most five-year-olds still napped. My mother told me I gave up napping at age two. Nonetheless we were all herded up two flights of stairs for naptime. The first flight led to the kitchen; the second set of steps was tiny and ended in the small darkened second floor of this house. Here I had to endure a torturous hour of lying still on a cot. It might have been 40 minutes; it felt like two hours. I remember staring at the wall, window and ceiling and hating every second. It amazed me then and still does that some children actually fell asleep.

  “Sometimes after lunch we fed the fish at the covered bridge. Only a few of us went at a time.” I wrote these words about my kindergarten experience when I was 12, but I still remember the fun of the fish rushing to eat the bread crumbs. I wonder if the fish have returned to the ponds under the bridge…

Chapter 3- We Met Santa in the Woods in 1950 and 1951

Chapter 3    1950 & 1951

     The magic of Santa Claus is forever captured in the memories of those of us fortunate enough to have met Santa in the Woods. Imagine an evening hayride through an enchanted forest to a toy-filled cabin in the snowy woods. The visit began with your parents driving you only a few miles from home to a woodsy area you’d never seen before. Then we drove down a narrow lane. I couldn’t really imagine what the hayride would be like and just being outside at night was a good kind of scary. We arrived at… well, I didn’t know where we were. I was a little bit awed by the surroundings.

     The next thing I remember is the hayride. It was cold and snowy and I think there were sleigh bells. We were riding on top of a hay-strewn flatbed with just my classmates and a driver who didn’t turn around and didn’t speak. He seemed to be bundled in warm clothing and he kept the two strong horses rhythmically plodding through the black night. Our eyes must have been huge as we tried to see through the dark forest to the lights of the Workshop. We were so excited – the long, long ride would bring us to Santa Claus!

     Looking back – could it really be nearly sixty years ago? – I realize once again that memories are sometimes faulty. Would we have been put on a hayride without adult supervision, most likely several sets of parents? I think not. Was the driver as huge and ominous as I remember? Unlikely. And the “long, long ride” must have been less than a mile. I guess I was rather frightened but happy.

     Once we arrived I see from the photos that we were greeted by Santa. I don’t actually remember him – only the anticipation of seeing him. I do remember that the cabin was full of wonderful and amazing toys, none of them wrapped. I remember feeling very small in the crowded cabin and awed by the array of choices. I don’t really know how we were matched with our gifts from Santa. I’m sure there were no fights over the toys – only joy. I came home with a stuffed animal, a green elephant with white ears. I must have loved it a lot because it didn’t survive to my adulthood, as some of my less-loved ones did.

     When we were first-graders, the wonders of that beautiful night were repeated. Our hayride and cabin were different from the year before but the magic was the same. We rode in a wagon pulled by a tractor instead of a flatbed and horses, which for this horse-loving little girl was a little disappointing. Luckily my parents had prepared me for the change so I was not surprised. And the tractor was really fun. We were so fortunate that it was another lovely and snowy evening. Santa in the Woods was just as thrilling an experience as the first year but without the anxiety. 

     Years later I learned that this Greenfield Village tradition was made possible in 1950 and 1951 by our parents who quickly organized to arrange and pay for the Santa in the Woods event to continue when Mrs. Ford died in 1950. The tradition had been started by Mr. and Mrs. Ford who were very fond of children and derived great pleasure from arranging for the youngest children attending the Village schools to visit Santa in his Workshop. The workshop was a little cabin conveniently located on the Ford Estate.
The year Mrs. Ford died, her brother Roy Bryant and his wife Katharine hosted “Santa in the Woods” on their estate just west of Fair Lane. The photos show a cute little white clapboard house with a matching picket fence and a very rustic cabin interior. The Bryant’s had several grandchildren attending the Village Schools so they were probably happy to help ensure that the tradition continued.

     After that one year at the Bryant’s, Santa’s Workshop returned to Fair Lane. Clara Ford’s estate must have been settled for our 1951 visit because parts of her doll collection were offered as toys that year. I know I came home with a wonderful doll labeled from Mrs. Ford’s collection. Actually, I assume it was wonderful. I imagine I would have enjoyed it more had I been allowed to play with it. My mother carefully placed it high on a shelf in her closet where it remained until I was 47-years-old.

     In any case, visiting Santa in the Woods was a magical evening both years and I’m very grateful to the Ford’s, the Bryant’s, the parents’ committee and indeed to everyone who contributed to give us such lifelong wonderful memories.

Chapter 4 - The Automatic Lock -- First Grade

1951-1952

Robert Frost House in 2014

(We had 1st grade here)

     Here we are again in Ann Arbor House in Greenfield Village (year 2 if you're counting) but this year we were the Big Kids on the First Floor. I was really proud to be counted among the first-graders, having so admired them when I was only five. The fact that we had less than half the space we’d had in kindergarten did not figure into my prideful calculations. I was just pleased to be counted among the older students.

     The first room on your right as you entered the front door was used for group activities such as musical instruments. I was especially enamored of the tambourine which made all kinds of wonderful sounds. Of course there were other musical choices such as the triangle, jingle bells, finger cymbals, wood block, hand cymbals and drums. But none were as versatile as the tambourine. Don’t you just love the sound your fist makes when you bang on the tambourine’s drum and the shimmering sounds of the small shaking metal strips that follow? I do. It’s very satisfying.

Robert Frost House

    The back room on the right was our classroom. It had small wooden desks neatly lined up in rows. That room had a bathroom in the far corner.

Robert Frost House 2012

    I remember the bathroom in particular because its door automatically locked when closed – it had been a house, not a school. This was fine while in use but was a problem if shut afterwards as no one else could use the bathroom. Luckily the windows of Ann Arbor House were low to the ground and in those days it was possible to reach that unlocked window from the outside. It was also fortunate that there were kids who enjoyed being sent outside to unlock the bathroom door. My name may have topped the list of “kids who like to unlock the door.” In retrospect, I can’t imagine what they were thinking to have a bathroom door with an automatic-lock in a first-grade classroom.

     My academic memories are not without trials. We learned to read with Dick, Jane, Sally and Spot. I enjoyed the process and looked forward to each new page of their adventures with anticipation. Would Spot chase his ball into a wardrobe and fall down a hole? No wait, that was years later and it wasn’t Spot who did that. The desks had hinged vertical slots for papers and books. It’s where we kept our Dick-and-Jane workbooks. Now what could happen if you had your daily milk break on top of the desks? Yes, it happened to me. I accidentally spilled my milk into this “well” which caused all the pages of my workbook to stick together. I was so shy and embarrassed that I spent weeks living in fear of my teacher discovering that I hadn’t been keeping up in the workbook. It even occurred to me as an adult to wonder why Mrs. McAllen didn’t notice the problem. However my memory of an entire year of lost learning evaporated a few years ago when I came across the old workbook – only three pages were stuck together.

     My other academic problem was not being able to see the pages in my workbook because my hair fell into my eyes. I kept losing the bobby pins which held it back. Mrs. McAllen started bringing in bobby pins from home for me. That was a strong memory and I was wondering if it was true when I found my only school picture, which is from First Grade. The bobby pins are clearly holding back my bangs. My mother must have decided to let my hair grow long because the following year I wore braids without bangs. In this case, I can see that my memory was undoubtedly accurate.

Robert Frost House

(My class spent 2 1/2 years in this building)

2014

Chapter 5 - The Gash in the Floor -- Second Grade

1952-1953

McGuffey Schoolhouse in 2014

(We had 2nd grade here in the 1950's)

Inside McGuffey School in 2014

      I loved the McGuffey School at Greenfield Village, a log cabin, and was very fond of the teacher, Mrs. Doremus. The year we spent there was one of my happiest. The log cabin was cozy and comfortable and the school projects fun. Mrs. Doremus was unusually short, a bit plump and had graying hair in a slightly untidy bun. Her size and manner seemed a perfect fit for the McGuffey School.

McGuffey School in 2011 -- Bathrooms were in the little building on the left

     We entered the cabin through the back door and filed downstairs to the basement where we hung our coats. Once Gary and Roger were tossing their woolen caps at each other when one of them got stuck above the florescent light bulb in the ceiling. We were back in our seats when smoke made us aware that a fire had started. I can’t recall what happened next. That's the really hard part about memories -- you can't make yourself remember the whole story. However, we know it all ended happily as the little log cabin still exists and still enchants visitors today.

     The "Best-Recess-Ever" Award goes to whoever decided to move the Ford children’s playhouse to the McGuffey School at Greenfield Village. Here’s what I wrote about it when I was in sixth grade: “I remember the big doll-house that four people used to play in during recess. In this house there were two rooms, a kitchen containing a sink with running water, and a living room with a sewing machine that worked.” The privilege of playing in the children’s play house was rotated with two boys and two girls assigned for a week at a time. We all loved that little house which had originally been built by the Ford’s for their grandchildren. Today it is back on the Henry Ford Estate.

      The best academic memory is about spelling. The winner of the weekly spelling bee had the supreme pleasure of wearing a silver dollar on a ribbon around his neck all week. It was a perfect prize and I longed to win. However, we had a boy who excelled in spelling, Gary, and he rarely lost the contest. Second prize was a half-dollar. I remember wearing it with great pride.

     William Holmes McGuffey had been an educator whose writings and textbooks were much admired by Mr. Ford; thus we memorized several McGuffey works. I can still recite the rhyming Ten Commandments from McGuffey’s Second Eclectic Reader.

The Gash in the Floor (a true story): 

     Once upon a time a little 7-year-old girl ('twas I) walked up to the little stand next to the teacher’s desk to sharpen her pencil. The pencil sharpener was nailed to a lovely block of oak or maple wood that, fractional inch by fractional inch, had slowly left its secure location and made its way to rest precariously at the rim. Each child's sharpening action had moved the block of wood closer to the edge. Little did the girl know that her simple act of inserting the pencil would result in permanent damage. Yes, her action of sharpening her pencil brought down the entire block of wood and gouged out a hole in the antique flooring which seemed enormous at the time. Imagine my surprise when I entered McGuffey’s Schoolhouse 45 years later and discovered the gash was still there! It's not obvious and smaller than I remembered, but it remains. I show it to my grandchildren with a strange sort of pride.

The gash is on the left -- it's hard to get a good photo of it. (2011)

The gash in 2014

2014

     When you think about it, isn’t it amazing that this log cabin is still standing today having been so fully used by more than 40 years of daily classes? If I alone can remember two stories about normal school activities, hat-throwing and pencil-sharpening, that resulted in damage to the building in the one year I was there, think of how many stories are not told. I’m very glad the building is still in existence (not so much the gouge).

Musings on McGuffey:      In 1934 Mr. Ford brought McGuffey’s birthplace from Pennsylvania to Greenfield Village along with the logs from the McGuffey family barn. He used the logs to build a wonderful schoolhouse which he placed near the birthplace. The Ackley Covered Bridge is nearby, and it too has McGuffey connections. It originally spanned a creek only seven miles from the McGuffey farm in Pennsylvania.

     Now let’s think this through: McGuffey was an academic; he taught in colleges. I can’t help but wonder why Mr. Ford built a log-cabin school house and called it McGuffey School. Yes, the logs had been part of the barn on the farm where young William was born, BUT the family moved to Ohio when William was only two years old. On the other hand, a log-cabin school does beautifully symbolize the education of pioneer children and millions did learn to read from the McGuffey Readers on the mid-1800’s frontier. Why did Mr. Ford build the McGuffey log cabin? I think Mr. Ford simply liked log cabins. I do too.

Chapter 6 - Flash Gordon Met the Cisco Kid -- 3rd grade

1953 - 1954

Town Hall in 2014

(We had 3rd grade here in the 1950's)

      The highlight of third grade at Greenfield Village was the day the boys wrestled a goat down the back steps into the basement of Town Hall, which was our school that year. " Susie" was a free-roaming goat with one horn painted red and the other one green. My memory doesn't extend to how long Susie spent in the basement, what she did there and what punishments the boys were awarded for accomplishing this feat. I only remember that it happened and I imagine that I was both aghast and amused at the time.

     One of the pleasures of leafing through the old Heralds is finding photos which call out for a certain amount of skepticism. For example, there was a happy photo of boys and girls holding hands gaily skipping down the front steps of Town Hall in 1947 which does not resemble in any way my experience of attending school in Town Hall six years later. A closer look reveals that the children are not smiling. I strongly suspect that this is an example of a 1947 “photo opportunity”. It was taken six months after Mr. Ford’s death and there may have been some uncertainty about the school’s future. Perhaps Mrs. Ford was the intended target of this idyllic picture, a demonstration of why the school must be kept in operation. Or maybe not.

      We entered Town Hall through an outside cement staircase at the back of the building. It led to the basement where we left our coats and boots, where Susie the Goat was wrestled down the stairs and where we kept the weaving looms. In warm weather we may have used the front door but the chances that we ever merrily skipped outside hand-in-hand, boy-girl, well, the chances that happened were nil.

     My only academic memories of 3^rd grade are (1) learning to count to ten in Spanish and (2) being bored out-of-my-mind by geography. I think it might have been world geography and with my love of travel today, I would have thought that my child-self would have loved it. However I only remember that we were to memorize which countries produced which products (rice, rubber, titanium?) and it meant nothing to me. Leaf-collecting, matching trees with leaves, was far more interesting. We did that quite a few years in the Village – I still remember where the chestnut trees were – but I don’t know if third grade was a leaf-collecting year.

     Recess often involved the entire class in exciting adventures recreating a TV show called “Flash Gordon” who was a spaceman. The most popular kids played the lead parts but all of us were included. I remember the playtime fondly but I also remember that I was at distinct disadvantage. I would be assigned a role to act out but I never watched the actual TV show. I tried my best by adapting plots from my TV shows to a spaceman scenario. My TV shows were the Westerns – Hop-a-Long Cassidy, Gene Autry, the Cisco Kid and my favorite, the Lone Ranger.

A note about Town Hall: Mr. Ford wanted a town hall on the village green facing the village chapel. Given only a few months to do so, Frank Cutler designed and built it in time for the 1929 dedication. It represents the early 19^th century Greek revival style of architecture and reflects an amazing amount of determination and skill.

Chapter 7 - The Big Fall -- Fourth Grade

1954 - 1955

     Our fourth grade began upstairs in the Clinton Inn and switched to the basement of Ann Arbor House for the rest of the year. I don’t know why. Shall we show another photo of Ann Arbor House? This will account for the half-year of the two and a half years spent in the little house, if you’re counting.

Robert Frost House in 2014

(We had half of 4th grade in the basement)

     My good friend Andy remembers that fourth grade began in Ann Arbor House and ended in the Clinton Inn, so perhaps that is the correct order. I’m sure it doesn’t matter and we agree that we spent the school year split between the two buildings and we don’t know why.

The Eagle Tavern in 2014

(We had half of 4th grade upstairs)

     We must have begun the school year by learning to add the words “under God” to our Pledge of Allegiance. The bill to amend was signed into law in June of 1954, so in September when school began this must have been one of our assignments. I don’t remember that it was fourth grade when this happened but I do remember the awkwardness of learning to add the two words to the Pledge of Allegiance.

     I was often sick with low-grade virus infections and missed school. The doctor wanted to take out my tonsils but said I was too anemic for the operation. He recommended that my parents take me to a warm climate to get healthy. The concept must have agreed with other family needs at the time because we took our first trip to Florida and met up with my grandparents. My grandfather was very ill and was recovering in the warm weather. It was the first airplane ride for my brother and me, and I remember being reassured by the cardboard poster in front of every seat. It showed hundreds of cartoon people and said “Millions have flown safely. You can too.” I kept my eyes on it every time the propeller airplane air-stream-bumped. Though there was a lot of homework, I could do it on the sunny beach and the whole Florida experience was very exciting. I collected lots of seashells and brought home a shark’s tooth for every classmate.

     Fourth grade was the year of my Big Fall off the ladder in the playground. I acquired a scar just below my lower lip and another inside my cheek but you can’t see that one. The playground behind Ann Arbor House included a ladder-type monkey bar. One of my routine moves was to climb on top of it, grab a rung with both hands and swing myself through to hang under the ladder. One day I began my routine move but forgot to use my hands, thus diving head-first into the dirt below. My child-memory was that I was put in a chair in Ann Arbor House basement with pints of dirt-covered blood pouring from my mouth while my teacher and the school principal calmly observed and discussed whether or not to call my mother. Believing my life blood was rapidly flowing out of my body, I distinctly remember thinking “Are you nuts?! CALL HOME!” But I couldn't talk because of the blood. Eventually, Principal Stroebel himself drove me home and I remember that his car became bloody which I’m sorry to report gave me some minor satisfaction since he had taken so long to make a decision. I’m embarrassed to report that when my mother took me to Dr. Runge’s office, I made such a fuss over his plan to put in a few stitches that both the doctor and my mother finally backed down. I was allowed to have the lifetime pleasure of a scar inside my cheek and below my outer lip rather than suffer the brief agony of stitches. In retrospect I think I made a fine decision.

      The sum total of my fourth grade academic memory is learning the times tables.

     The biggest surprise took place at the end-of-the-year picnic which was a lot of fun. Our parents came, and we played all kinds of racing games which I loved, including the three-legged race and a race jumping in a brown cloth potato sack. Miss Rodgers smiled while talking to my parents and made a positive comment about me. I didn’t know she could smile nor harbor a kind thought. (She was my least-favorite teacher.)

Chapter 8 - The Making of a True Patriot -- Fifth Grade

1955 - 1956

Miller School in 2014

     Fifth grade was my favorite academic year. We studied U.S. history and our teacher, Miss Peavey, made it fun. My classmate Andy remembers our teacher sending us outside into the fresh air on beautiful days to do our school work. She sat in the doorway of a nearby historical building enjoying the privilege. I don’t share that memory but I have spent many sunny days since fifth grade wishing myself outside while in school or work. Maybe that’s Miss Peavey’s legacy.

      Miller School had been attended by Henry Ford in its original location in east Dearborn. When Mr. Ford moved the building to Greenfield Village, he recreated the little waterway that had run in front of the school as well. In that waterway he had crafted a small wooden waterwheel, one of his early experiments. A replica stood rotting at one end of the moat when we were in school. Today any sign of the waterway and the waterwheel are gone but I remember playing in the dead-leaf-filled and slimy water during recess.

     Today’s Miller School is also lacking the set of wooden steps that we climbed up and down many times a day (see the photos), which surely must have been an awkward route. Also missing are the unfriendly peacocks in the yard beside the school. I still recall the pleasure of finding a lost peacock feather and bringing it home to treasure.

      Memory is a funny thing. We couldn’t have played Red Rover every day during fifth grade recess but we played it often. I really loved that game. The class is split into two long lines that hold hands facing each other and the entire line chants “Red Rover, Red Rover, let (child’s name) come over!” The child whose name is called then runs as fast as he or she can for the weakest hand-hold and tries to break through. If successful, it’s the other team’s turn to call. If you can’t break through, you have to go back. I loved charging through -- it was really great fun. Marbles, jacks and jump rope sound so dated today but honing my skills at these activities were among my favorite recesses.

      Miss Peavey had a reputation as a strict but fair teacher. She liked the ideas of an educator named Rudolf Steiner who believed that students have unlimited power to learn (he founded the Waldorf Schools) and she incorporated some of his ideas into her classroom. Years later I ran into Miss Peavey while taking my own three little children to visit Greenfield Village and was amazed to discover our shared admiration for Steiner.

      We had a wonderful discussion about educational philosophy and I was so impressed with this former teacher of mine. Miss Peavey liked to lecture about the ideals upon which our country was founded. “Freedom” and “responsibility” were her favorite words and many students quickly learned that either of those words pleased her. She would lecture for a few minutes and pause before ending her sentence. This was our cue to guess the word that would complete the thought. Eventually I saw that either “freedom” or “responsibility” was the missing word…and even if they weren't, Miss Peavey would say, “No, but that’s a good answer.” My little soul really responded to her assumption that I had a soul and it longed for both freedom and responsibility. I was (am) a true believer in Democracy.

It was perhaps no coincidence that Miss Peavey taught U.S. History and that I enjoyed it so much. We had several projects to reinforce the information and the one I liked best was the paper mural. It was really a gigantic roll of paper upon which we illustrated scenes of early American history, such as the Ride of Paul Revere. It was a community effort: All the students contributed – we were assigned different sections in small groups. I remember the paper on the floor, the pencil drawings and the coloring-in to finish each panel. Then they were hung mural-style above the baseboards around the room. I was able to draw some of the horses, my favorite subject.

      We were required to keep a two-hole notebook of our U.S. History assignments which included lots of handwriting with our own illustrations and much creativity. We had to write with a fountain pen. Before the wondrous invention of the cartridge pen, you had to pull a lever and siphon in the ink, a sometimes messy process. The new pen effectively ended the art of re-inking, and the permanent damage caused by spilled ink. I remember my joy in finding a turquoise color of blue ink in a cartridge that didn’t go with the dark blue ink elsewhere in my notebook, but it was worth the discord to enjoy that shade of turquoise. I can still see it in my mind. Actually, I might even still have it in my basement.

      Miller School is a short block away from the childhood home of Wilbur and Orville Wright which Mr. Ford moved from Dayton, Ohio. For three warm spring days, we acted out a short play inside the Wright house, each performance with a different cast. Miss Peavey had divided us into three groups so that everyone had an important part. There must have been three young Wilbur Wrights, three young Orville Wrights and so on. There was no room for an audience but some VIPs attended – including the principal. I played the part of Orville and Wilbur’s younger sister, Katharine (although in my memory, my name was Priscilla – memory is a funny thing). We dressed up in 19^th Century clothing, memorized lines and I loved it.

      Occasionally a representative from the Edison Institute asked to borrow students to use as models for their promotional photos, sometimes dressed in period clothing. So far I have found only one such photo. It was taken while we were in fifth grade to promote a beautiful old racing car, a 1913 (or so) Mercer Raceabout. My mother dated this photo to January, 1956. On the back it states “Courtesy of The Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn, Michigan”. The Mercer automobiles were produced in New Jersey from 1910 to 1925, and this model looks to be in the 1911 to 1914 period. It is no longer owned by The Henry Ford.

     In the photo, there are two boys and one girl (me). Each of the boys seem to have found an unusual feature to study on the hot rod. Bucky seems to be studying a piece of trim or a sidelight and Paul is clearly pretty interested in the wooden dashboard. On the other hand, I look like I’m entranced by a small section of painted metal. Or maybe there was an insect. Although today I appreciate their beauty, in those days I only wanted to see horses, not cars. So I can only laugh when I see this photo of me feigning interest.

Chapter 9 - Ready to Say Goodbye -- Sixth Grade

1956-1957

Scotch Settlement School in 2014

Scotch Settlement School in 2014

     Miss E. Lucille Webster and Scotch Settlement School are almost synonymous in my mind. “Webby, ” as we called her when she couldn’t hear, was very strict. Our spelling words were marked wrong if the dot on the “i” was not directly overhead or if the cross bar on the “t” was crooked. We had to stand up to recite and go up to the blackboard in front of all the students to answer math problems. This was not so terribly different from our previous years; Miss Webster just seemed a bit more vigilant.

     Handwriting was apparently so vital to our sixth grade education that we were required to use old-fashioned inkwells and metal quill tip pens, dipping the tip in for more ink as our writing became thin and scratchy. It was easy to drip permanent ink on our papers. I learned that I was more tolerant of the splotches than my teacher was. We were required to keep several ink tips of varying widths and to use “blue black” ink. Andy remembers having to search several stores throughout sixth grade to find “blue black,” which was apparently not a popular ink color.

      Miss Webster placed dark green cardboard panels above the blackboards around the room with the ideal cursive letters formed in white so that we would have no excuse for a poorly formed letter. I believe it was the D’Nealian cursive style. She taught us that penmanship requires the use of your entire body and that you begin by placing your feet firmly on the floor. You sit straight but lean forward so that your arms and hands are a lovely extension of the entire act. It was interesting to me that my classmates and I formed our cursive lettering in the same D’Nealian style in our grade school years yet within months of sixth grade graduation, our individual cursive styles widely diverged. Today I’m quite embarrassed by my illegible script but tell myself that if necessary I can still produce a rough facsimile of Webby’s required cursive writing. Self-delusion is sometimes okay.

      I believe Miss Webster thought it her job to review everything we ever learned in school during our sixth grade year so that we would be ready for the new world of junior high in a public school where most of us were headed. So in addition to updating and reviewing our handwriting skills, she brought back the mathematics basics. We were positively drilled in basic addition so that we could add long lists of number quickly up in front of the class: “Two and six are eight and four are twelve and seven are nineteen and nine are twenty-eight and six are…” Quickly. Actually, I gained a great deal of confidence in my addition skills but really disliked the process.

      We studied Indonesia and probably other Asian countries and were put in study groups. I remember the islands of Sumatra and Java. We added two states to the Union this year, Alaska and Hawaii, and we learned about them. I remember being struck by the stark contrasts between the two. I was finally healthy enough to have my tonsils out and I remember receiving get-well notes as a class project while I was out. Toward the end of the school year we wrote our autobiography which is one project that gave me lots of pleasure. I still have it.

Sixth grade graduation was a big deal. The girls wore pastel dresses and the boys wore suit coats. It was the first time that I was allowed to wear nylon stockings and a garter belt and I was thrilled beyond words to be so mature.

      There was a special ceremony. We sang songs, recited poems and showed off our skills. We walked our parents through Scotch Settlement School to show off our oil paintings and autobiographies. They spoke to Miss Webster. Everybody smiled and spirits were high. I felt like I loved every one of my classmates dearly; all discord from earlier years forgotten. It was a great day.

      We were very happy to be leaving Greenfield Village behind even though I was a sentimental little kid. I was ready to move on. I believe that the Greenfield Village Schools prepared me well for the academics that were to follow and my understanding and appreciation of American history was surely inspired by my years in those historical buildings. We were given some unique opportunities to experience a part of America’s past and I’m grateful to my parents for having made the choice to send me to the Village. If I still don’t know one end of an automobile from another or the warp from the woof in a loom, I certainly can’t blame the Edison Institute for that. They did their best.

Chapter 10 - Counting Weathervanes from the Bus

1950 - 1957

The Bus Morning Drop-off Site - Clinton Inn

     How well I remember the waves of excitement and anxiety when I first spotted my school bus pulling up to its assigned stop! It was kindergarten. The buses were unknown territory and I remember that the bus picked me up right in front of my house. My brother was three years older and maybe has a more accurate memory of the event. He doesn’t share this memory so I’m not sure whether it happened, although it sure did in my mind. I can still feel the worry and anticipation as the bus appeared rounding the bend.

     Finding a photo of one of the old red, white and navy blue buses brought back some of those memories. We spent a lot of time on the bus which had its own little world inside. The spiffy new yellow school buses came later. There were four buses that picked up and delivered us and I identified with my bus number which was mostly Bus 2 or Bus 4. Each fall began a new route and it was exciting to start off the year by seeing new sights. During kindergarten we shared the buses with the Edison Institute high school and junior high students on the way home. It was crowded with the older kids required to stand all the way. I thought it was a bit scary.

     Our bus stop was a block away from our house and there were ten or twelve kids at our corner. We sometimes waited a long time and there were fights, both verbal and physical, before the bus arrived when we suddenly lined up and boarded in a most organized fashion.

     I remember singing on the bus and learning a lot of songs such as “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” and “Beer, Beer for good old EI.” These songs don’t seem real appropriate for young children, especially for teetotaler Henry Ford’s school, but they provided much needed entertainment. I still remember the words to “Beer, Beer for good old EI (Edison Institute),” which were sung to the tune of the Notre Dame Fight Song. “Beer, beer for good old EI, you bring the whiskey, I’ll bring the rye. Send a loyal freshman out and don’t let a single senior in. We never waiver, we never fall, we fill ‘er up on wood alcohol. What a loyal faculty we found on the bar room floor. Fill ‘er up again! Beer, beer for good old EI…”

     My happiest bus memories were sitting next to my best friend Janet and counting weather vanes to and from school. They were often on the garages alongside or behind the houses we passed and we liked the horse ones best. I still recall the joy of spotting a new weathervane that had been missed on previous rides.

     Each morning we were dropped off at the Clinton Inn which was the most convenient location to reach Martha-Mary Chapel for the daily service. Going home was a different story – we lined up in front of our individual school buildings by bus number and boarded there. It was on the homebound ride that we had to hold our breath while passing through the covered bridge. I vividly recall how hard it was to hold our breath for so long and that the silence made the sounds all the louder as our bus clattered over the large but fragile old boards. I think the breath-holding custom was intended to bring good luck. Perhaps the good luck was specifically aimed at the bus -- that its weight pounding upon the noisy ancient boards wouldn't cause the bridge to give way.

Chapter 11 - Poetry under Pressure -- Daily Chapel Services

1950 - 1957

     The buses dropped us at Clinton Inn and we trotted up to Martha-Mary Chapel to begin each school day with a student-led chapel service. With the exception of the organist, the service was entirely put on by the students. We sat, fidgeting quietly in the pews, with our teachers sitting in wooden chairs next to us, ready to pounce if our fidgeting made noise. Parents often attended, looking down on the service from the balcony. When Mr. Ford had been alive, he was often found enjoying the daily chapel services, sitting in the balcony.

Martha - Mary Chapel in 2014

     The program consisted of a student announcer introducing a program of hymn-singing, poetry recitals, readings, and musical performances. The service was taken very seriously. The student announcer ended with the words “This is your student announcer, [name],” my favorite line. All those who had to perform sat in the front, stage-like area, facing the audience. Sometimes an entire class was performing, and they would all sit up in that area.

     We were given individual assignments with lots of notice by Mrs. Needham, our music teacher who was in charge of the chapel services. Two or three times a year every student was required to recite a memorized poem, an inescapable ordeal. The poems increased in length in proportion to our age. We were given two or three weeks to prepare, which prolonged the agony. I can’t tell you the tears and the terror that accompanied my memorization ritual. I can still see the printed page in my mind, with my name handwritten in the upper right-hand corner, “Betsy C.” (There was a “Betsy L.” in my class). I spent hours staring at the page in a humiliating exercise in futility. I could recite the words to nearly every song I’d ever learned, but the idea of reciting a poem in front of the entire school filled me with horror and dread. One of my sons-in-law recently asked me what I recall about my actual performances. The answer is “nothing.” I only remember the dread. Funny, huh?

     We were occasionally assigned “readings” and I was fine with those – no memorization required. They were mostly book excerpts and were sometimes interesting. I yearned to be the student announcer, which was restricted to the older grades, and was an honor rarely accorded me. I would have gladly been the student announcer every morning.

     My musical skills never warranted solo performances, but I enjoyed those of the students who did sing solos or duets or played an instrument such as the auto harp.

      I can’t omit mention of the day our chapel service was broadcast live on television in color (a big deal) on October 25, 1955. It was the NBC Dave Garroway’s “Today Show” (a really, really big deal). We were in fifth grade. I remember all the extra practice in advance. It was cold the day of the performance, and there was a special bus schedule, to make sure we arrived about 6 a.m. for the 7 a.m. show –It was nerve-wracking for all of us, but very exciting. In searching the Benson Ford Research Center in 2008 for photos of the school buildings of my youth, I found several folders of schedules, letters and plans about this event, all carefully saved and archived. I found very few 1950's papers and photos of the academics.