Posted by Ultradog MN on July 07, 2022 at 09:22:46 from (172.58.83.32):
Mrs. Gustufson was the teacher at the 1 room country school for my 2nd through 5th grades. She was a kindly old woman and a really good teacher though abit of a disciplarian, as I suppose all teachers were in those days. Of course I wasn't her best student and and had a way of vexing her at times. I recieved my just rewards of course - by sitting on a stool at the front of the room or writing 'I will not cut up in class' 200 times on the chalkboard. Even her by hand a couple of times. I wasn't a mean or bad kid but I had this quirk of being fast on the draw with a quip, quote or pun that made everyone laugh - including her, though she usually gritted her teeth so you couldn't tell she thought it was funny. Of course you can't have that kind of distraction in school and after 3 1/2 years of me she finally wrote a letter to my parents. It was strange that day because Dad, who always came home after we did, was there when we got home. I gave him the letter and he read it quickly. Then he screamed at me and said to get in the pickup. We roared off to the school about half a mile away and Mrs. G's car was still there. When we burst into the school she had been correcting papers and lookedat us a little afraid and confused. Dad didn't keep her guessing for long tho and instantly went into a screaming rant about what a bad, unruly child I was and this is the way to teach me to behave. Then he took off his belt and proceeded to give me a whooping. Mrs. G. was appalled and shocked and afraid of it all. She said, 'No Mr. L Please don't do this. He doesn't deserve this'. When he didn't stop she burst into tears and kept repeating, 'No Mr L. No Please! This is not the way.' By that time I had become just an object he used to show her he was the boss and he kept ranting and whooping me. Finally she started across the room to the phone on the wall and said she would call the sheriff if he did not stop. He paused and gave her a cruel sneer. And gave me a couple more licks. Then it was over. She came back and looked at me closelyas my wails subsided to sobs. Her eyes were darker than their normal hazel green and they had a smokey, bewildered but compassionate look inthem. Then Dad and I left as abruptly as we'd entered. The following morning she took me aside and asked how I was and did he whoop me any more. I told her I was fine and no he didn't whoop me. Just more yelling, a few slaps and a boot in the rear a few times but that was normal and I was okay. She said she was sorry it had happened and would never write another letter but I had to promise not to cut up any more. Of course I promised.... Promises are cheap and easy for a 10 year old. Butof course that quirk I mentioned before would sometimes show up and I'd pull off a funny but she wouldnt say much about it. She would look at mecuriously tho and a smokey shade would cloudthose hazel greens and that made me realize there was more to it all than getting a quick laugh out of the class and I would think of that day and feel bad for what I had done. And I tried to learn to be better. She retired at the end of that year. Not because of me or anything I did but because she was old and it was time for her to go. I never saw her again after she left teaching. There was 6th grade then Jr. and Sr. High and then 4 years in the Navy to finish. But I always felt bad for what happened that afternoon and after the Navy I tried to look her up. Wanted to tell her I was sorry. Dad's wrath was a normal part ofmy growing upand I felt ashamedfor her to have seen it. But she had passed away a couple of years before. I don't know why I felt like writing this today. And less do I know why I'm posting it here. It was justasmall thing that happened a long, long time ago that doesn't matter now. Catharsis maybe. Of course I am gratefulthat she didn't have to witness how those early whippings turned into increasingly severe beatings as I went through my teens. But I'm still sorryshe had to see what she did. And I would still apologize to her for that day if I could. Only now, it would not be just for my own doings. But also for those of my father.
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Today's Featured Article - Old Time Threshing - by Anthony West. A lovely harvest evening late September 1947, I was a school boy, like all school boys I loved harvest time. The golden corn ripens well and early, the stoking, stacking,.... the drawing in with the tractors and trailers and a few buck rakes thrown in, and possibly a heavy horse. It would be a great day for the collies and the terrier dogs, rats and mice would be at the bottom of the stacks so the dogs, would have a busy time hunting and killing, all the corn was gathered and ricked in what we c
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