Have a great Father’s Day, whatever your personal role and experience might be. I ask you also to check out my post for June 12. It includes some learning recommendations on a critical issue facing all of us.
Onward: A short while ago my friend, Kathy, shared a small box of memorabilia kept by her mother, who, in the 1930s, was a country school teacher in what is now south suburban Minneapolis-St. Paul. Among other most interesting contents in the box was this single photo, ca 1915, at one of the numerous such country schools. I would guess this school accommodated grades one to eight (roughly ages six to 14).
Country School ca 1915
A particular piece of good fortune came with this photograph. On the back someone – probably the teacher – had identified all of the children by name. One of the youngest ones, who Kathy pointed out, was born in 1909.
There are 14 children in the photo (actually the arm of a 15th can be seen at left, but that isn’t quite enough!). Going by surnames, there were three from one family; two from each of five other families; and two singles – 8 families in all. The family names didn’t have any obvious possible connection.
The teacher was Miss Hynes. She didn’t share a surname with any of the kids, so she probably wasn’t from the township. She would have been hired by a local school board, with recommendation and advice from the County Superintendent of Schools. She would have had a very simple one year contract.
All of the kids were probably from nearby small farms. Those days a typical farm might be one-fourth of a section (640 acres, one mile on a side). Generally they would walk to school. Odds were that they were all the same nationality and same religion. In short, they mostly had something in common, and the older ones had probably spent their entire eight grades in the same one-room school.
I’m particularly intrigued by the bookshelf at the back of the room. It they were lucky, some of the books may have been a ‘library’. On the other hand, it could possibly be the storage place for the meager supply of school books on hand.
Behind the photographer would be the teacher’s desk, and the blackboard. Usually, most of the windows would be on the south exposure of the building, to gather sun, and help keep in the heat in colder days. There was a standard architecture for country schools. There was almost certainly no indoor toilet, or running water. It was one-room, with probably a small ante-room for hanging coats and such.
My mother went to, and both my parents taught in, these country schools. For Mom and Dad, their country school work years were about ten years from the late 1920s to the late 1930s. The individual school enrollment varied year to year. Higher grade kids could and did help lower graders. It there was a single student in a grade, and the student seemed to be doing fine, they’d simply be moved up into the next grade.
My Mom was one of these. She ended up graduating from high school before she was 17, and went. out to teach country school right away. Her first year ended at Christmas. There were several older boys in her first school, and they were bigger than she was, and not inclined to behave.
She ended up teaching elementary kids for 30 years.
One of Dads country school kids ended up getting married to Mom’s brother – they met at college. George and Jean both became school teachers.
There are, of course, endless and varied stories about school. Here’s one, with my response, from a 1979 column in the Minneapolis Star: School 1979 Mpla Star.
Out of these humble places came rocket scientists, prominent leaders in all sectors, etc., etc. The unifying element at all of them in this place called school was initiation into the world of relationships with others, then and still the real essential of living in a community, anywhere.
COMMENTS (more at the end):
from Fred: Very much liked the photo and accompanying words. It takes me back. My father attended a one-room school just east of Goodhue and pointed out its ruins to me.
from Rose: An interesting read. Thanks for sharing.
Attached is a picture from the country school I attended. I was in 4th grade in this picture so it was taken in the early 1950s. Three students are missing from the picture. I went through 8th grade. We had a County Superintendent and students in 8th grade (in Country Schools) had to take a county exam to graduate. I am still FB friends with my classmate. She remained in our hometown. We had three in our class which was the largest class.
This was in NE Iowa. The county historical society there did a report on all of the country schools in that area and published stories and pictures of all of the one-room school houses. Most of my teachers were older women who specialized in teaching at these schools. They went to “Normal schools” for teacher training so usually had a two-year degree.
from Larry J: Dick, Elaine went to Pleasant Valley country school north of Bemidji. The superintendent there said the country school teachers were the best he had.
from Valerie: Thank you for sharing this!
My mom taught in a country school in Pipestone county. She was the last teacher in her school before they combined and moved to a school building in Holland, MN.
POSTNOTE June 16: A retirement activity is endless sifting and sorting of the flotsam and jetsam of life. Most elders go through this. Two days ago I came across a note written by my daughter at my request, which I used the same day as part of a talk to teachers and administrators in the Anoka-Hennepin School District, hardly a country school district even then, May 4, 1999. The comments are about a teacher who made a difference in a fourth graders (Joni’s) life, and speak for themselves:
Joni May 4 1999. It is pertinent to note that the talk was given four days after I’d walked up Cross Hill above Columbine High School in the wake of the massacre, with granddaughter and her parents who lived perhaps a mile from the high school. This was a charged time in history.
At the end of Joni’s writing, which I read to the assembled teachers and administrators, I scrawled my takeaway from her comments, which I shared with the audience and are presented here unedited: “Every one of us is a Clem Gronfors to someone every year. Every one of us is also a home base teacher, connecting, but more subtly. We have no way of knowing, maybe forever, knowing who our life touched and all we know is that we did.”
That summer of 1999, I did a couple of workshops at the Education Minnesota Summer Leadership Conference at College of St. Benedict, and decided on an opening exercise. There were about 20 teachers in each session. I asked them to think back to their school years and note the first school employee who came to mind who made a positive difference in their life. Then, I said, pick out a word to describe that person.
The entire workshop ended up as the introduction – after participant feedback, there was virtually no time left. Only one person couldn’t think of anything positive to say, which is okay. I suppose the word got around – there were as many or more at the second session as at the first.
Clem is long deceased, but he made a difference.
Thank you, Joni.
