Janet's Blog

When I was in the fourth grade at East Ward School in Fairbury, my teacher's name--by some coincidence that would only become apparent to me decades later--was named Mrs. Bauer. She was a good teacher, patient and kind. Her classroom was invariably calm. My classmates worked hard and generally did everything Mrs. Bauer required. (As I look at the photo below, I can't help but think that the overall class character was heavily influenced by the overwhelming number of girls in the class.) After all these years, I'm surprised that I remember the names of 90% of the kids in this photo. I'm standing in the middle row, second from the left. I was a good student. I loved to read, and arithmetic was always easy for me. I remember how Mrs. Bauer would assign our daily arithmetic assignments, always giving us ample time to complete the work in class. That year, long division was the newest, hardest thing we had to learn, but I caught on quickly. Not everyone did. Mrs. Bauer direc...

The fall after Mom graduated from Bloomfield High School, she got her first teaching job at a one room school in Knox County. She taught there for two years in the early 1950s, marrying my dad in December of the second year, and joining him on his army base when the school year ended in May. When I was in Junior High, Mom started back to college to get her teaching degree, finally graduating while I was in college. As I was going through some of Mom and Dad’s old photos and documents recently, I found a couple of stories—the rough drafts, really—that Mom had written for one of her college classes. Now, as schools all across Nebraska are starting in the week to come, I think it is fitting for me to include the following story in my blog. So, here is Mom’s autobiographical story about a young, resourceful, one room school teacher who had to deal with a scary situation.  The young teacher struggled up the hill with the wastebaskets of trash, grumbling to herself. “It’s been a month no...

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...

I received an unexpected package in the mail today, from my sister, Laura, who forwarded me her granddaughter, Emma's, school Geography project. Emma lives with her family in south-central Nebraska. Her fifth grade teacher has directed her students to mail a journal to a friend or relative, with instructions to write about the area where they live, and then dispatch the journal on to someone else. By mid-April, when the journal is supposed to be returned to the school, each student should have journal entries from several people all over the country. In addition, each writer is asked to mail a postcard to the school at the same time they mail the journal to the next person, so all of the students can see where all of their journals are going. This sounds like a good way to get young students excited about Geography. After I finished writing the letter for Emma's journal, I realized that many of my blog readers might enjoy reading it, too. I've touched on some of the content...

I was a diligent student, but not an exceptional one, when I was in the fifth and sixth grades at Central School. I was a good speller, but not good enough to qualify for the county spelling bee. All of the fifth and sixth graders took a spelling test in our classrooms to determine who would represent each of the six classes, and I was not the best one in my class in either fifth or sixth grade. However, I was the alternate in my sixth grade class, and the best speller’s family decided to take a vacation that spring, right at the time of the county spelling bee, so I got to go after all. My teacher gave me a book that contained lists of spelling words for me to practice. There were so many lists! I didn’t study too hard until the morning of the event, which began a little later than school started, giving me some extra time to prepare, but I didn’t have time to study all of the lists in that intimidating book. I dressed carefully in last year’s light green and pink Easter Dress, since ...

I was reading an article the other day about a mom in England who let her young daughter ride her horse to school one morning. The mom rode along, too, on her own horse, and led her daughter's pony home afterwards. The main issue with this was the fact that the school children all gathered around the pony, just outside the school gates, to pet the horses. When one entitled eight-year-old insisted that she wanted to ride the other girl's pony, the horses' owner let her know that it wouldn't be safe for her to do that, since she had no helmet or prior experience. Upon hearing that response, the girl's equally entitled mother pitched a fit, insisting that her daughter be allowed to ride and, when that failed, she complained to the school authorities that horses should not be ridden to school unless everyone (especially her darling daughter) was also allowed to ride. I guess that riding horses to school has become a novelty. I've ridden horses since before I could w...

Fifty Years used to seem like a long time. But now that it's been 50 years since I graduated from Fairbury High School, I can honestly say that 50 years is just a short period of time, only five brief decades. My classmates and I may have aged noticeably on the outside, but inside, we're pretty much the same as we always were--same basic values, work ethic, and philosophies. I hope, though, that we've gained much wisdom from our life experiences, as well as more empathy for others than teenagers usually exhibit.  I was pleased to be able to attend my 50th class reunion recently, and catch up with about 50 of my high school classmates. It was so interesting to hear about their lives and families. And, as one classmate stated, we heard hardly any conversation about health or politics. I know that our political views range from one extreme to the other, and I'm sure that many of us have faced various health challenges over the years, but those things faded to the backgroun...