Janet's Blog

My dad struggled a bit with school. He once told me that he had Rheumatic Fever as an eighth grader, missing two whole months at the one room, country school he and his siblings attended. He said he felt like he never caught up. Nevertheless, he graduated from Bloomfield High School in 1951.  Dad was a sophomore when he met my mom, an incoming freshman, and the two of them clicked immediately, despite their differences. She was an outgoing cheerleader who lived in town; he was a quiet farm boy. She excelled in school, while he had to work hard to pass some of his classes. She walked the few blocks to and from school everyday. Dad and his older brother, Lee, drove an unheated Jeep the ten miles to and from their isolated farmhouse. But in the winter, when the harsh, northeastern Nebraska weather made travel difficult, they boarded with an older woman in town, recalling, in later years, how she never gave them enough to eat. Like most teenage boys of that era, Dad took a shop class i...

To begin with, let me just say that Mr. Hill was one of the two or three teachers at Fairbury High School who scared me. The main reason I was scared of him was because he liked to put students on the spot, suddenly, without warning. I was still pretty shy at that point, so I was worried that I would be his next victim. For the most part, my concerns were unfounded, but it took decades until I was able to say that Mr. Hill was one of the best teachers I ever had. The building we called Fairbury High School still exists, living on as an upscale apartment building. Mr. Hill's class met in the southwest corner room on the third floor, on the far right side of this photo. Mr. Hill taught Senior Honors English. Students were assigned to his class based on grades and recommendations from other teachers. I knew most of my classmates quite well, since we had taken numerous other classes together since Junior High. Most of my best friends were in the same class, so that fact alone helped ca...