Lakeshore Public School-What Were You Like In The School Yard?

THE OLD COAL CHUTE AT LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL -

WHAT WERE YOU LIKE IN THE SCHOOL YARD

     IT WAS A FOGGY  MORNING, OVER ON THE BOG, ACROSS FROM OUR HOME IN GRAVENHURST. AS I BEGAN WRITING ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD, LIVING IN BURLINGTON, ONTARIO, IT WAS WEATHER-APPROPRIATE. I WENT TO SCHOOL ON MANY MORNINGS IN SUBSTANTIAL FOG, AND IT WAS PART OF YOUR DAY, TO HEAR A DISTANT FOG HORN, FROM SOME PASSING SHIP OUT ON THE LAKE. I THINK THE FOG MADE MY CHILDHOOD SEEM FAR MORE MYSTERIOUS THAN IT ACTUALLY WAS, BECAUSE WHEN I TALK OR WRITE ABOUT IT TODAY, THESE CONDITIONS ALWAYS SEEP INTO THE DESCRIPTION. I HAVE TO DIG DEEP, TO RECALL WHAT IT WAS LIKE, LIVING IN BURLINGTON, AS IT WAS QUITE A FEW DECADES AGO. I MEASURE IT ALL BY THE SEASONS HERE IN MUSKOKA, AND WHEN WE FIRST ARRIVED HERE, THE DIFFERENCES WERE BRUTAL. I DON'T REMEMBER MANY FORTY BELOW DAYS IN BURLINGTON. BUT IN RETROSPECT, IT'S NOT LIKE I HAD TO WEAR A BEACON, OR CARRY A PORTABLE FOG HORN. I ALWAYS RUN CONDITIONS TOGETHER, BECAUSE CLIMBING UP TORRANCE HILL, ON AN AUTUMN DAY, YOU WOULD GET THE STRANGEST CONFLUENCE OF MIST AND SMOKE FROM BURNING LEAVES. THE MIST SMELLED A TAD FISHY, AND THE YARD FIRES WERE ALLURING IN A NOSTALGIC WAY……YET I WAS ONLY A KID. HOW DID I KNOW ABOUT NOSTALGIA? MY MOTHER TOLD ME I HAD AN OLD SOUL, SO POSSIBLY IT WAS THE REMEMBRANCE FROM A PAST EXISTENCE. AS FOR SMOKE FROM BURNING LEAVES, AND COINCIDENTAL FOG, I'M STILL MADLY ATTRACTED TO BOTH.

     I WAS SO AMAZED TO RECEIVE A PHOTOGRAPH, FROM MY NEW BURLINGTON CORRESPONDENT, TRACY MCKELVEY, THAT SHE HAD TAKEN OF THE CURRENT LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL. THE SAME ONE I ATTENDED AS A STUDENT IN THE EARLY 1960'S. IT WAS QUITE OLD THEN. I MUST ADMIT FEELING, FOR THOSE FEW MOMENTS, A LITTLE WOBBLY KNEED ABOUT SEEING THE PLACE, ADMITTEDLY THAT ONCE SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME. FIRST, AS A GRADE ONE STUDENT. I WAS A CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR. I HAD TWO HORRIBLE WEEKS, TO START OFF WITH, THAT FIRST YEAR, AND WANTED TO COME HOME ALMOST AS SOON AS I GOT INTO THE CLASSROOM. I PROBABLY DID A "RUNNER" THREE OF FOUR TIMES, UNTIL EVENTUALLY, WELL, I FOUND GIRLS! NO KIDDING. RIGHT UNTIL THE END OF UNIVERSITY, THE GIRLS IN CLASS GOT ME THROUGH THE RIGORS OF EDUCATION. WHEN I FOUND A FRIENDLY FACE, A SMILE OF WELCOME, FROM THE GIRL IN THE DESK BESIDE, I'D HAVE STAYED AT SCHOOL RIGHT THROUGH THE WEEKEND, IF THAT HAD BEEN THE PROTOCOL. I DIDN'T ENJOY THE BUSINESS PART OF SCHOOL QUITE AS SUCH. I WANTED TO LEARN, JUST NOT INDOORS. SO HAVING INTEREST IN THE YOUNG LADIES OF THE CLASS, GAVE ME THE REASON TO SHOW UP PROMPTLY EVERYDAY, BRUSH MY TEETH TWO MINUTES LONGER, EACH MORNING, AND TO GROOM MYSELF ACCORDINGLY. MERLE COULDN'T BELIEVE THE CHANGE IN HER SON, FROM ONE WHO LOOKED LIKE HE HAD JUST COME IN FROM THE OUTBACK, TO A DAPPER YOUNG FELLOW, WHO ACTUALLY LOOKED FORWARD TO GETTING AN EDUCATION. SO IT SHOULD NOT BE OF ANY SURPRISE THAT THE GIRL I EVENTUALLY MARRIED, WAS A CLASSMATE IN HIGH SCHOOL, WHO BECAME A TEACHER. I'M STILL BRINGING THE TEACHER AN APPLE EVERY DAY. I'M IN HER CLASS. SHE FEELS COMPELLED TO TEACH ME WHAT I APPARENTLY MISSED IN REGULAR CLASSES…… AND INSISTS I SHOULD KNOW FOR POSTERITY. FOR A KID WHO STARTED OFF HIS EDUCATIONAL JAG, HATING SCHOOL, I KIND OF MARRIED IT IN THE END.

     When it comes to writing a biography, it helps a lot if you can, at times, lighten up a bit, from the sentimental stuff that mists-up the old eyes. If you're are interested in writing a personal history, yourself, at some point, today's reminiscence of school days at Lakeshore Public, will undoubtedly bring back memories for you. Not because you attended the same school, or sat in front of me (did I pull your hair, and if I did, I'm sorry), but from the characterizations of situations, discipline and classmates. At the end of this chapter of biography, I think you will probably wish to re-visit your old school, and reacquaint with chums, that made the experience so interesting, challenging, and in the end, quite rewarding. Even though I had later school years. that were bully-full, and I've got lots of recollections of getting clobbered at recesses, I had too many positive moments, with great pals, to ever let the negatives outweigh the truly wonderful experiences of being a school kid, in a neat, responsive, historic school, like Lakeshore Public. So as you're reading along here, let yourself slip back in time, and for every kid I introduce to you, I'm willing to bet, there will be a parallel student and circumstance that you can relate. So if you get a few laughs at poor George's expense, well that's history for you. It's all there. The good, bad and the ugly. In George's case, I represent two out of the three. In his personal biography, the bully got it in the end. If you're feeling really inspired, start writing your own memories down. Your family will thank you, one day, for capturing something special, they had never known of you……..maybe the reality, they can't imagine you were ever…….ever,  a charter member, of the order of "the rapscallion." A scalawag, a rascal, a trouble-maker. Even if some called you a "goody two shoes," only you know, how wrong they were, to deny your more mischievous side. So here's my recollection of the school yard prank, that got us all busted down to private.

     Ray Green and I were like mafia "wise guys." We knew our ranking in the school yard, and which tough customers to avoid, and who was king of the mountain on any particular day. This was important. We seemed to be able to navigate sensibly, through the quagmire of bullies, and their belching hubris, to always appear supportive of the very next Tony Soprano. It was a survival skill I learned at Lakeshore Public School, in Burlington, in my early years of education. While it was important to make the grade in the classroom, it was of vital importance to survive recess. How tough were these kids? Well, during my years there, I heard a number of instances, where some youngster, who had experienced the misadventure of getting hurt in an accident, away from the school, got beaten-up when they finally returned to class. Apparently because of "Elmer The Safety Elephant," and all that it represented to a truly safe school. I've explained this in previous blogs, but the Ontario education, policing initiative, was to foster safety at home and school. Each school got points for every day the "Elmer the Safety Elephant Flag," flew in the breeze from a front lawn pole, next to one with the Canadian flag. When a school kid was injured in a home or play accident (not sports), or unfortunately hit by a car, the school would have to take good old Elmer down. Previous to this, there would be the credit bestowed upon the entire school, that Elmer had been flying "300 days without an accident," or some increasing number that was supposed to, by this accomplishment, make us operationally safer out in the community. It presumed, you see, that kids were hit by cars or trucks because of their error in judgement. Heaven forbid a motorist made the mistake, broke a traffic rule, and hit a kid crossing at a stop sign.

     We used to hear announcements about this all the time. How great it was that Elmer was still flying after almost a year of "safe" home and school days. So when the principle had to report that Elmer was on its way to the ground, because a kid had been hit by a car, the night before, well sir, it was as if someone had spit a huge gob at the school letters. Although I didn't see it, when the lad came back to school, after recovering from his injuries, it was like a mob-hit had been ordered. The safety freaks did catch him, at one point, and I heard they beat him bad, before a teacher could pull him free. I always wondered if that would have constituted the flag having to be dropped once again. I never liked Elmer after this. But I didn't go out and purposely get hit by a car, either, just to get even with the Board of Education that thought a safety goon-squad was a good idea…….because from what I knew then, getting hit by a car was short and sweet. The school yard bullies could hold a grudge for a whole school year.

     I don't know what George's name was, but he was a nice kid. He wore thick glasses, and just enjoyed hanging around with a few kids in the school yard. He didn't have a lot of friends, and that put him at our disposal somewhat, because for the trace amount of "numbskull characteristic," we inherently possessed, George made a great third stooge. And you know what happens to three stooges, who are clumsy risk takers? The fact the principal ordered us to stay away from the coal chute, at the side of the school, was for rebels without a cause, reason enough to give it a whirl anyway. George wasn't a trouble maker, and I dare say, if a precise definition was required, he would be an "A" level pacifist. A lad headed for a Nobel Peace Prize one day. Until we got a hold of him. We screwed it all up for the poor kid. Somehow, we convinced George, that he could get into the school through the coal chute. That was our heating fuel back in those days. As it was winter, and Lakeshore Public was a substantial building, we probably went through a lot of coal. So there was still a pile at the opening of the chute. As I recall, the covering of the chute was missing. Opportunity presented. So who would want to go down a black hole, where there was not bottom visible, and no light at the end of the tunnel? Not us. But by golly, George would go where no other kid had dared to travel. I'm not saying if my footprint was on his head or not. He hung onto the sides, and we couldn't dislodge him, once he got into position to slide down. He backed down, but we were still gung-ho.

     While all the other boys (girls had recess on the other side of the building) were sliding on a length of ice they'd created with their boots, Ray, George and I, moved to get a closer look at the backdoor entrance to the school. I think we told George that at the bottom of the chute, was where teachers kept all the neat stuff they confiscated from kids, and that his retrieval of these items, like balls and yo-yos, would make him a school hero. I think he half believed us. So as we kept nudging him closer, and closer to the opening, the more evidence we were creating, (without knowing it) that would eventually incriminate us in the principal's office. Well, we couldn't get George through the chute, as we had hoped, but close enough you see, to have contaminated every part of our exterior apparel. Just as it was getting interesting, and George was bent over looking down the chute, the bell sounded the end of recess. We had only a few moments to get over to the line-up headed indoors. In this clever plan, we had forgotten to complete our due diligence. It would have been clear, on cursory investigation, coal dust is a beggar to clean off, without heavy duty scrubbing. When we arrived up the stairs, on the main floor, we had to run a gauntlet of teachers, watching for situations like this, and they must have got quite a laugh, when these three stooges showed up, as if they'd just been in a comedic explosion……all having black-faces. Every time we stepped on a layer of coal dust, it had puffed up like a spray, and it attached to our clothes and all exposed skin. We looked like three Al Jolsons, at post recess attendance. It was kind of redundant then, to ask where we were playing in the schoolyard. Geez, I don't know. It was my first time getting busted for insubordination, and trespassing. I thought about pinning it on my buddies. They were faster than me, because that's exactly what they tried to do.

     Poor George had it worse, because he had this fuzzy orange coat, with a hood, and it picked up every molecule of dust, and turned almost jet black by time we'd beat a hasty retreat from the chute area. As we were forbidden to be anywhere near that chute, we had violated school policy. While they didn't yank old Elmer down off the masthead, we were all hauled into the principal's office, and read the equivalent of the school "riot act." I had heard rumors of a leather strap, they employed for these kind of circumstances, so we all did what was appropriate at the time. We started crying before the desk drawer opened. We must have been quite a sight, because there was a lot of laughing going on, at our expense. I think we beat this rap, because we looked so funny, with tear tracks through the soot on our mugs, and looking very much like out of place coal miners. As we had reasonable track records, of being good students, overall, we got off pretty lightly. We were ordered, under a teacher's direction, to head to the washrooms, with rag and soap, to restore our student dignities. I think it took about an hour. A custodian took George's fake fur jacket, and could be seen outdoors, hitting it with an old hanger, to loosen the black from the orange. We felt pretty good by the end of the day. But I can't imagine what would have been the dire consequence, if George had actually made it down the chute. I think we just might have discovered, up close and personal, what leather smells like, after repeatedly hitting a fleshy hand.

     I wasn't really a bully. I came to be a victim, many times in later years. But at Lakeshore Public, I was happiest being a "wise guy" in reserve. I'd kind of go with the flow, and if a bully needed me to offer a little praise, I was good to go. I remained an unlikely pacifist. It seemed I was good at public relations, and talking my way out of scraps. I was a mouth beggar, at times, and sometimes the guy I was calling "stupid head" could run faster than me. Now here was the affliction that made me defensive, as a kid. My problem, like Elmer the Safety Elephant, was that I had his ears. For years I was known as having Elmer or better still, "Dumbo," ears. My mother Merle, used to tell me, it was because I'd slept with them folded over, as a baby, and they had simply grown outward, instead of close to the skull. "Pretty windy out Teddy; are you going to fly away," they'd direct my way, at recess, or "Can you fly with those suckers?" Up until High School, when they finally became a little less outward bound, I had to live with "Hey, big ears….., fly over here," and "Geez, where did you buy those wings."  So one Saturday, when George and I were chumming around, and happened to have taken a visit to the school yard, I finally let loose without warning. I don't remember how he worded it, but he suggested that getting our ball off the roof, shouldn't be any problem for a guy like me…..with huge, floppy, Bluenose, wind-catching ears. So without warning, or any time to protect himself, I drove the kid hard, with a fist to the stomach. I think it was something I'd learned from Alan Ladd, in his portrayal of "Shane" in the movie…..although, I soon found myself feeling anything but "Shane-like," as my friend doubled over in pain. I know this was the first time I had ever hit anyone, with a serious intent. It was probably circa Grade Three. I felt like crap, immediately after hitting George. And no matter how much I begged him to forgive me, and how sorry I was to have hit him with that kind of ill-intent, my friendship with George had ended. We never hung-out together after this nasty incident, and even Ray, the moderator, couldn't bring us back together. A perpetual good sport, and kind kid, my action had ruined a perfectly good friendship. As I watched him heading out of the school yard, still partly doubled over, I pondered you know, if God had been watching…..as my mother always warned. If he was, I quite expected the lightning bolt from heaven, and frankly, I wouldn't have been all that surprised. Maybe a little relieved. I knew you see, I would pay for this act of violence for the rest of my life. The fact that I'm writing this today, attests to the fact I was pretty much right on that count. I'm still apologizing to George, in my mind, almost a half century after the crime. I feel better confessing this, as you might appreciate.

     Generally, I was a gentle guy before, and after this, I became a hardcore pacifist. I even took blows from other bullies without retaliating. I think my resignation toward bullies in the future, was more in the spirit of Shane, because it was only after a pretty severe beating, that I would finally employ the fist, I had once used to double-up poor George. I should note, that I was never seriously bullied at either Lakeshore Public School, or during my several years at Mountain Gardens Public School, also in Burlington. Moving to Bracebridge was tough for a lot of reasons. Small town schools were tougher, in those days, and a number of city friends warned my parents about the urban to rural adjustments, "Teddy" would have to make. Let's just say, there were a lot fewer "Georges," and a lot more fist-wielding country kids, who were very territorial, and very suspicious of the new kids on the block.

     The teachers I remember from those days, included Mrs. Stilwell, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Bielby, and Principal Schantz. Outside of scanning through the old student lists to find my name, they would only have remembered me as the "black face kid," or, that odd looking boy with the "Dumbo Ears."

     One incident that did impact me quite profoundly, occurred during the lunch break, or so I believe. I didn't see the accident myself. I think Elmer the Safety Elephant did. The flag pole was close by, and he was likely flapping in the wind…..yea, like my ears. The school yard, at this time, didn't have much in the way of resources. I don't remember if we had swings, but compared to playgrounds today, it was a tad spartan. So in the winter, the older kids found a way, of creating an ice-strip by packing down an area of snow, and creating a sort of runway in front. They would work over many recesses, attempting to initially, slide on the hard-packed snow. Eventually, they would be able to slide over it enough, to create a fairly long length of black ice. It would have been about thirty feet long, by only several feet across. So the big thrill, was to get it to this level of perfected natural ice, and take a run at it, for a memorable and dangerous slide. You might find twenty or thirty kids lined up for the cheap thrill. It was generally in the same place, each winter, and the teachers on patrol passively tolerated our innocent fun. The problem, as it is for bored kids today, the sliding gig got stale quickly. As the slide was precariously close to a maple tree, or oak in that part of the yard (closest to the front of the school), a few kids got the idea, to jump while in the middle of the slide, and grasp an over-hanging tree limb, to swing from. I remember watching it, and thinking it was pretty neat, to be traveling ten to fifteen feet, at a break-neck speed, and then leaping to grab this overhanging branch. The kids got pretty good at it, but I was still too short to manage it, even with an exceptional leap in the air. (I know, I know, you're thinking about the ears, right).  Well, one day at lunch, after I'd come back to school, there was a lot of activity in this zone, and I'd seen an ambulance leaving the driveway. What I heard had happened, was that a kid had been whipping down that black length of ice, jumped for the branch, missed, fell flat on his back, and hit his head so hard on the ice, that his eye popped out of its socket. No kidding. It was just dangling there. Gross. What makes a kid go and stare at the sawdust layered on the blood, still laying on the ice. I had that stupid image in my mind for decades. It made me sick that day, like the twenty or thirty kids that had to go home ill, after the incident. The kid lived. He got his eye back in the socket. Elmer? Do you know, I can't remember what happened to the flag, on this occasion. I think it was already down because of the other kid's accident…..so maybe this kid got off easy…..other than the eye-popping incident.