My Teachers: Fourth Grade

The five windows shown in the center on the second floor here of the now-derelict Alexander Elementary School building housed Mrs. Davis’s 4th-5th combo class for the 1985-1986 school year. The windows are broken and the floors are falling in now. But back then, radiators pinged, swish-and-spit was swished and spat, and boys were chastised for jumping up and touching the American flags in classrooms when they were on their way to the restroom, which could only be reached by going through other classes.

The fall of 1985 brought a change or two to my family. My sister, having recently graduated high school at Chase High, entered her freshman year at female-only Peace College (now William Peace University and coed). And I continued at Alexander Elementary for fourth grade, now heading into the main building and upstairs for the first time with Mrs. Clara Davis and a fourth-fifth combo class.

From Mrs. Davis, who taught 20 years at Alexander (I found this out on social media recently from something her daughter posted), I got my first go-out-in-the-hall order. I’ll just go ahead and get that out there. I’m pretty sure I was talking too much (as I am wont to do occasionally) and thereby being noisy or disruptive, and that’s why I got sent out to the top of the stairway. There’ll be more on that later.

We were Mrs. Davis’s next-to-last class before retirement. I know this because I remember her being at the school the next year when I was in Mr. Henson’s fifth-grade class, but by the time sixth grade rolled around for me, another teacher, a Mrs. Saunders, occupied her space. Mrs. Davis was thereby sixtyish when we had her, which jives with my memory of her appearance and manner, and also harmonizes with the picture I have of her from my third-grade yearbook (which I’ll post next week in Mr. Henson’s entry, as the upper-grade teachers were all photographed together).

One interesting thing that happened during our fourth-grade year (and the fifth-graders’ fifth-grade year, of course) was that Mrs. Davis had to take a leave of absence for a while. It was something to do with her husband’s health, but I don’t remember what, or even if I ever knew specifics.

That calls to mind one day in class when Mr. McCluney, the principal, called Mrs. Davis on the intercom. Every room at Alexander, including the library and cafeteria, both of which occupied two rooms, had an intercom speaker box mounted high on the wall, and the gym had two.

Here’s Mr. (later Dr.) Roger McCluney in his office. The intercom controls, with the microphone with its long cable perched on top, are visible to the upper right. Also notable is the computer monitor visible here on his desk, in the mid-eighties. A typewriter is also in the background, and my buddy Sean tells me today he remembers Mr. McCluney had a ColecoVision game system in there as well, and Sean once saw him playing Donkey Kong during some rare down time. How cool is that?

The intercom system had the capability, naturally, of broadcasting spoken announcements schoolwide, to every speaker box in every room. It also, however, was able to broadcast and receive a two-way conversation in each classroom, isolating and using only that speaker box (which obviously held a microphone as well).

We were sitting in class in Mrs. Davis’s room one day when the speaker sounded. “Mrs. Davis?” Mr. McCluney called out.

“Yes?” was Mrs. Davis’s reply.

Usually what would immediately follow an exchange like this was that some student was needed somewhere, or maybe a teacher was requested to help with something, or something such as that. I don’t know who else in that class remembers this particular instance, but this one wasn’t at all like those. Mr. McCluney, after the “Yes” response, continued with this:

“Mrs. Davis, your husband called. He’s lost his hat.”

Again, like being surprised to see Mrs. Harrill, my first grade teacher’s aide, dishing out country ham and chicken pot pie at Washburn Community Club, this was a curious glimpse into the personal life of a teacher, and I remember it well. Mrs. Davis told us she’d be right back, and then presumably went down to the office to tell her husband exactly where he could locate his hat, or at least where she thought he might have left it. We’ll never know, but that’s my assumption.

And I’ve always thought about that situation as being particularly kind of Mr. McCluney, by the way. You know, he didn’t have to do that, to call into our room like that about a husband and a hat. He could have told Mr. Davis that he’d tell Mrs. Davis when he could. He might then have forgotten. Or worse, he could have berated him for interrupting the school day about something trivial.

But he didn’t. Isn’t it interesting how we can be kind in little ways like that?

I mentioned that Mrs. Davis took a leave of absence during the year. I don’t remember exactly how long it was. It was at least a few weeks, and maybe a few months. It was a while. While she was gone, Mrs. Cindy Beason (now Calvert) came to be our interim teacher.

Mrs. Beason took over quite well, and we didn’t miss anything that I know of. One thing I do remember is she sent three or four of us fourth-grade boys (We in the fourth-grade contingent of Mrs. Davis’s combo class were all boys; all the girls in the fourth grade were downstairs in Mrs. Ruppe’s fourth-grade class for some reason) over to the library for some reason or other. I suppose we were to find out something and bring our newfound knowledge to the class, or something along those lines.

(Incidentally, there will be some writing done on the library at Alexander before we’re through with elementary school in this series. There was just something about that place for me. It was just different, in a very good way. And Mrs. Cindy Hines, our librarian, I’ll thank you again, but here’s a thank you until then.)

We were in the back room of the library doing whatever it was we were supposed to do. But it just so happened that the back room of the library offered a panoramic view from the second floor of the grounds outside the school. And it just so happened that Mr. Henson’s class was out there playing softball for recess, and he was duly umpiring behind the plate, and since boys will be boys, we completely forgot about our assignment for a moment and watched the game, making comments here and there.

The next thing I knew, there was Mrs. Beason, undoubtedly wondering what was taking us so long, standing there in the library with a stern look on her face. Sheepishly, we followed her back to our class. But honestly, I don’t remember her coming down too hard on us.

Eventually, the situation with Mrs. Davis’s husband subsided such that she was able to return, and I remember her sitting at her desk on her first day back with a big grin on her face.

I mentioned being sent by Mrs. Davis out in the hall. This didn’t only happen once, either. You know, in the interest of full disclosure and all. But being sent into the hall was part of an important lesson I learned later. I wrote this on Facebook about it back in 2015:

When I was in the 4th grade at Alexander Elementary, I got caught talking too much by Mrs. Clara Davis and was sent out in the hall. While I was out there waiting at the top of the stairs (our class was on the second floor), classes came and went, and I, for some reason, noticed one particular boy in a 5th-grade class that came by (whom I didn’t know) looking at me with what I perceived as a “What did you do?” look. Right then and there, I decided not to like him.

Later that day, I said as much to a guy I knew who was also in the class that came by, as we were waiting in the gym for the school bus to take us home. The fellow I knew answered “(Boy’s Name)? I like him! He’s a funny dude.” So I wondered.

Well, fast forward to the next year. The dude who I thought was staring and I were in the same class, a 5th-6th combo. And do you know what? The other guy on the bus was right--this dude was funny, cool, and I ended up liking him.

I have no idea where either one of those fellows is now, but the lesson of completely wrong first impressions and stupid snap judgments remains, thankfully. Be careful paying attention to that first thought about someone. It’s very likely mistaken. God bless and happy weekend.

I’ll never forget that. The boy didn’t make a face at me or anything, but he did look at me like he was wondering what I was doing out there. And I did end up liking him the next year, just like the other guy I told the situation about did. He was right and I was wrong.

Several things also happened in that class. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, and for years, I wondered why I was at home watching with my dad when it happened. Turns out that we were out of school for a severe cold snap that day.

Also, we as fourth-graders got to do our own bulletin board in the class. The title across the top was “Borrowed Words From Other Languages.” I specifically recall that, because the precut letters for that would all fit except for the last S. I was tasked with making that myself, drawing it on white construction paper, cutting out, and shoehorning it in the small space at the end on the light blue background.

We also as fourth-graders were in the North Carolina study curriculum I mentioned last week. We had to choose a place in the state, call for information, and tell about what we’d found out. A bulletin board in the class resulted from this as well. I chose Wilmington because I liked the beach. Seems about right.

Also, I don’t remember too much about this, but in the class there was a sort of metal rack that held things to read, and in that stuff was included some type of laminated folder thing with information and graphics on it. That folder intrigued me. It was about mysterious happenings and had both factual information and fictional things artistically presented on it.

It told of the Carroll A. Deering, a five-masted schooner that was found run aground, mysteriously without its crew, on North Carolina’s Diamond Shoals in 1921. But it also included a graphically-drawn comic of a fictional murder mystery. It was about a killer who dispatched with his victims using instruments that rhymed with their names. That’s all I remember, except for the last line, when the investigators had finally caught on: “We’d better find Mrs. Willow—she’s due to be smothered!”

I know it’s a long, long shot. But that folder is one of those things I really wish I could find a copy of.

(English teachers, I love you. I know that last sentence ended with a preposition. Forgive me.)

Well, this has been possibly the longest entry yet. I didn’t expect that, but for some reason when I sit down to write these, things just pour out. I get the feeling also that I could keep going and going. I could talk about the stories we wrote in there, the art we made with Mrs. Lentz, the art we made on our own, and our field trip to the Biltmore House. But attention spans only go so long, and I appreciate you reading. And, as always, I appreciate so much the efforts and dedication of every educator mentioned here. May God, the One Who makes ways in the wastelands, bless you.