Living in Southeastern Kentucky during the 1950’s and ‘60’s has given me a lot of first-hand, daily life experience to draw from when I’m writing my western historicals. It wasn’t until the late 1960’s and early ‘70’s that real progress began to filter into the Appalachian Mountains and, until then, many things remained pretty much the same as they were back in the 1800’s. Since a couple of people have expressed an interest, over the next several weeks I will attempt to share some of my experiences with you. Even though not directly connected to the Old West, I hope you might find it useful in some way.
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The first school I attended was called Bennett’s Branch. It stood atop a high ridge that was known locally (although you'd never find it on any map) as the Tollie Hill. It was called that because Tollie Sasser, the teacher at Bennett's Branch, and his family lived in the only house midway up the hill. Coming from my grandmother's farm, in the opposite direction, the walk to school was only about a quarter of a mile, if we took the shortcut through the woods.
To give you some background, here’s a picture taken circa 1943 or '44, when my mom and dad were students. I’ve drawn arrows to them. Mom is the little blonde holding onto her best friend and dad is the cute fella with the dark hair. This old photo is one of my treasures, but there were a lot of people not in the shot, including my aunts and uncles. It’s a shame, too, because—as far as I know—this was the only class picture that was ever taken at Bennett’s Branch.
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| Click on photos to enlarge. |
At the time of this photo, the school was actually two separate buildings. Tollie Sasser (that’s him standing on the far left) taught the upper grades (5-8) in the stone building you see here, and the lady standing on the extreme right taught the lower grades (1-4) in a separate one-room log building. The log building, which was built in 1935, was the original school.
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| Our desks looked like this. |
By the time I started school, the log building was long gone and so was the lady teacher. The stone building was all that remained and Mr. Sasser was the only teacher with all eight grades lumped together in one room. The students in each grade were separated by rows of desks. Depending on the number of people in each grade, there might be two grades in a single row. The year we started, my cousin and I were the only students in 1st grade. Being the youngest and smallest, the older girls quickly took us under their wings. We were allowed to sit anywhere we wanted while the others were given their lessons. Most of the time, we shared a desk with the older girls, who drew paper dolls and made drinking cups out of notebook paper for us. When it was time for our lessons, we sat right up in front of Mr. Sasser’s desk, all eyes and ears and eager to be the smartest. We were quick learners. I think it was because we had the advantage of hearing the other students' lessons throughout the day. By the time we moved up to the next grade level, we already knew the material.
Like all the buildings and households in the area, the school had no indoor plumbing or running water. Thinking about it now, I'm not even sure if it had electricity back then. A lot of light came through those big, tall windows in the southern exposure. (note to self- ask mom) But back to the water...when you walked in the door, the first thing you encountered, standing in the left hand corner, was a small wooden table holding a water bucket. There was also a wash pan. When someone used the wash pan, they were expected to carry it outside and dump the water when they were finished. Mr. Sasser drew the first bucket of water from the well every day. After that, it was up to the older boys to keep the bucket replenished. A communal dipper hung from a nail above the bucket, but most of us used the aforementioned paper cups made from notebook paper when we wanted a drink. Even back then, we must have had some vague notion about cooties. :)
At dinnertime (we’d never heard the word lunch; the noon meal was dinner and the evening meal was supper), we all rushed to the cloakroom, grabbed our pails and ran outside. The cloakroom was a long, wide closet equipped with hooks for coats and shelves for storage. It ran along the front of the building and was situated immediately to the right when you entered the door. Outside, we sat on the ground and ate our dinner. It was like having a picnic every day. After that, we played (usually marbles, kickball, jump rope, or bob jacks) until Mr. Sasser told us it was time to go in again. If the weather was bad, we ate at our desks and used playtime for spelling or adding contests
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One day each week, the older girls used the extra time between lessons to give the toilet (also known as an outhouse, but we never called it that back then) a scrubbing down with the soap, brushes and buckets that were stored in the cloakroom. As I write this, I'm reminded of something in particular about that outhouse. Whenever one us girls had to "go," we always took another girl with us to stand guard outside the door. In case any of the boys ventured too close, the girl on guard could sound the alarm or warn the boy away. The problem was, the old toilet was built of rough lumber, which had warped from the weather, leaving gaps between the boards, and we girls were afraid the boys might see us sitting on the throne if they wandered too close. The latch on the door wasn’t all that great either, just a small piece of wood with a nail driven through it that you turned to hold the door closed. A tug on the door handle would drop the latch to the floor. Looking on the bright side, at least no one could lock themselves in. ;)
During the winter, Mr. Sasser arrived at school extra early every morning and built a fire in the big potbelly stove so the room would be warm when we got there. During those cold months, the boys took turns carrying in buckets of coal and keeping the fire fed. At dinnertime, we all sat around the stove while we ate. If we were lucky enough to have a moon pie (huge treat back in the day) in our lunch pail, we held it up to the heat and melted the icing so we could lick it off. I'm telling you, you haven’t lived until you’ve scorched your tongue on a hot moon pie. ;)
Mr. Sasser was a firm believer in daily exercise. If the weather was too cold or nasty to go outside, sometimes he’d go out and cut a long switch from a tree and we’d all line up inside the schoolhouse and take turns jumping over it. After each round, the switch was lifted a little higher. If you tripped, you were out of the game. When it was our turn, he always lowered the branch for my cousin and me because we were the smallest. Since we were given special treatment, we were usually declared the winners as well. Can you imagine kids these days being entertained by something like that. Sometimes, like when my electronics are giving me fits, I miss those simpler times.
Mr. Sasser was a firm believer in daily exercise. If the weather was too cold or nasty to go outside, sometimes he’d go out and cut a long switch from a tree and we’d all line up inside the schoolhouse and take turns jumping over it. After each round, the switch was lifted a little higher. If you tripped, you were out of the game. When it was our turn, he always lowered the branch for my cousin and me because we were the smallest. Since we were given special treatment, we were usually declared the winners as well. Can you imagine kids these days being entertained by something like that. Sometimes, like when my electronics are giving me fits, I miss those simpler times.
Many of the students of Bennett’s Branch--mostly those of my parents' generation--migrated north when they reached adulthood because that's where the jobs were. In those days, working the family farm was pretty much the only option if you stayed here. Before I started the fourth grade, my dad moved us to Ohio so he could earn a living as a welder. As you can imagine, this little country girl had to make quite an adjustment when we moved to the city, but I hardly missed a beat when I started school in a new place. Mr. Sasser had taught me the basics very well. Granted, there were no art classes at Bennett's Branch, no music, and no library. If I had continued there, would I have become an avid reader, or learned to play the piano and paint? Would I have pursued writing and publishing? There's no way of knowing, of course, but these questions have crossed my mind a time or two.
Before I go, I want to share another picture. This one was taken seventeen years ago. This is a view of the front of the school, and that’s me standing in the doorway. As you can see, the place is overgrown, the windows are all gone and the roof has collapsed. I wanted a picture of the old girl before she fell down completely, so hubby and I got in the car and drove over one day. The school is only about ten miles from our house. If you look closely, you can see the remnants of the tongue and groove walls behind me. That area at the front of the building where the windows are was the cloakroom. The stone step I’m standing on is where I sat and cried and refused to budge on my first day of school because I was terrified of going inside. (I thought it was like jail because it was built of stone, very similar to the jailhouse in town, but without the bars on the windows.:)
Since this picture was taken, the current owner of the property gutted the building and rebuilt it. I wish I could say it was restored, but it wasn’t. The cloakroom was not rebuilt, a new roof went on and the walls inside were covered with modern paneling. The room stands empty now, no desks, no stove, no water table. But once a year, the owner opens the building and many of the surviving former students gather there for a reunion. My mom and uncles go, but I can’t bring myself to go with them. Call me strange or overly sentimental but I’d rather remember the old school as it was when class was still in session.
Happy reading and writing! If you have questions, please don't hesitate to ask.
Devon
