This old town

I remember my very first day of sixth grade with great detail. It was not only the first day of a new school year, but it was also the first day in a new school and a different town. I walked in that classroom like I owned it. I didn’t know anybody except for one boy who I had been in the second-grade with at a school in the country. I was glad to see a familiar face.

The teacher, Mrs. Gay welcomed me and introduced me to the rest of the class. I felt at home. I felt complete peace. I had no earthly idea that day would be the start of something that would continue throughout my life. I, along with my classmates, became instant friends. Even now, all these years later, those friendships continue to flourish.

I have long since known that what we shared was special. I have also known that it was not accidental, not happenstance. It was providential. It was orchestrated by the hand of God himself. It wasn’t just my classmates; it was their parents and the whole community who em-braced me right from the start.

My mother had gone to this school system as a child, and she wanted me and my brother to go there as well. It was in a neighboring county, although nothing was ever said about the fact we were from another county. My granny lived in a small community in this county and drove a school bus. So, for many years, my parents took me to granny’s house, and I rode the bus.

Those friendships that were forged on that fateful day, so long ago, only grew stronger with the passage of time. We all became inseparable even at such a young age. We were supposedly the smart kids, I’m not sure why I was there, but nonetheless, there I was. We were, I think, basically good kids, but we somehow seemed to find ourselves in some type of mischief.

Rest assured, that I did my best to not be influenced by my newfound friends. Or maybe, just maybe, it was I who was a bad influence. Our principal, Mr. David Adams was a fine man. As good a principal as he was, he was not gifted in the art of swinging a paddle. I was never worried when I got sent to his office for punishment. He’d give me three love licks and then we’d talk about fishing. However, that arrangement was not meant to last.

The teachers knew the score and would send me and my friends to visit the heavy hitters. You see, we had two male teachers who were quite talented with swinging a wooden paddle. To this day, I remember the punishment that they doled out. It was certainly a learning experience and I learned well. I only received two paddlings from them. A few licks from each one of those men cured whatever problems I may have had.

After what seemed like an eternity, we went from those middle school days on into high school. Once there, we were greeted with a new set of teachers and there was a disciplinarian or two in that crowd as well. Our principal wasn’t any slouch with that paddle and the assistant principal was an older cousin with some big arms, so he certainly didn’t cut us any slack. We were mischievous, not mean hearted or evil spirited. I don’t think we ever did anything that was terrible.

Regardless of whatever our offense was, we were corrected, and we were better for it. They were good men, educators and educate us they did, in more ways than one. They reinforced what we had been taught at home. They would also promptly call my home, my parents, about whatever mischief I had gotten into. I would get another set of licks upon my arrival back home. There are many stories to be told about those men and my group of friends. In the final analysis though, we had great respect for those men and all they did to make us better human beings.

With the myriad of stories that could be recounted, one of my favorites happened when we were on our way out. Out the door. It was graduation time. We were filled with excitement! However, true to form, we planned a little something to happen during our graduation cere-mony that nobody expected.

We had gotten a new principal that year and he had informed us early on in the school year that he would not tolerate any mischief. Well guess what, he tolerated a fair amount. That speech, of course, fell on deaf ears. He reiterated his words again prior to graduation. We were to be on our best behavior, there would be no exceptions.

There was inadvertently some poor planning on the school’s part for the evening’s event. The graduation was to be held on the football field with the stage and the chairs facing the home side. Guess who was in the last row of chairs sitting in the last chair? What were they thinking? As my name was called and I made my way onto the stage and my diploma had been handed to me, it seemed that all was well. The valedictorian, one of my best friends, looked at me and said…Run Scotty. And run I did! I got a standing ovation and our new principal did some running as well. He tried to run me down. It was too late. I gripped that diploma tightly in my hand and looked at him laughing.

A few days ago, a song popped into my head. My emotions ran away with me. It took me back to those days long ago. My friend, the one I had gone to school with in the second grade, wrote and recorded the song. As my mind was flooded with memories, my heart was filled with thankfulness. “The railroad runs, but they tore the coal chute down….Hotel Estelle burned down and gone….in this old town”.