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Remembering school in Wilmot

In addition to being a dulcimer maker, Carl Ward is a storyteller and shares the following story of growing up in Wilmot community in the 1930s:

I was born in the community of Barkers Creek. In 1934, my father sold our homestead and bought another one in the community of Wilmot. The main reason for the move was that the new farm had a much more modern house and was a bit more removed from the main road. In essence, a better place to rear a young family.

My parents were extremely interested in community, school and church affairs. As a result of these attitudes they produced the most college students of any family in the whole community. In fact, I was the second person from the community to ever graduate from college. I say all this to indicate how strongly an education was respected in our home. In short, we went to school if we were able to walk. Being sick in bed was the only excuse not to walk the one mile to school every day. Since the total school population walked to school, there was no such thing as a "snow day" or other bad weather absence.

Schools were difficult to operate in the thirties. This region was basically agrarian and students took care of farm problems first and school second. School opened in our district in late July and closed in March. This was the "eight month" system; it has since been replaced with longer school years. Schools were governed by state boards, county boards and local committees. The local committee held most of the power. Each year there was always a big problem surrounding the selection of teaching personnel. The two teachers who taught grades one through four were never hard to get or retain - even with the prevailing low pay scale.

The problem came in finding a strong teacher to teach grades five through seven. These grades contained the perennial failures and drop outs. Many were in their late teens, undisciplined and with little or no respect for any form of authority. This later position also functioned as principal and paid a bit more than the other two slots.

Practical jokes were the daily routine of many students. Textbooks were thrown in class, fights broke out daily and, of course, learning sometimes took a backseat to discipline.

The year I enrolled in the first grade was a very rough one. The first principal quit during the first few weeks and the committee set out to find a "hard-nosed" man who could handle things. They found a former professor who was living in semi-retirement in a nearby village. They conned him into taking the job with the understanding that he could use whatever methods needed to get things under control. He took the job and commuted daily in his "T" Model Ford.

He did, indeed, clean up the discipline problem. He used fist, foot, belt and stick until everyone knew that he could handle himself as well as any student, or combination of students in the school. He was supported by alternating parental visits, especially the fathers. With all this power he soon had the school humming along in a very civilized manner. He also visited all families. As a rule, he stayed after hours to do his book work, write letters to parents and to properly prepare for the next dayıs classes. In short, he was both respected and feared!

He stayed one year but his influence lasted many years on down the road and the school - although not tamed completely - was able to function quite well with a physically and academically strong woman principal.

While the weather was still warm and the trees still green early September, I believe, the older students decided to take care of "the old Professor" in one big scheme designed to run him off as they had done all his predecessors.

The professor always went home by way of the same country lane. It crossed a creek near our house. There was no bridge, so all vehicles had to ford the stream. That is to say, they had to drive through the water.

The scheme consisted of wrecking the old man's car since they were afraid to confront him bodily. They planned well. They chose Friday afternoon for the stunt since he always worked a little later on Friday to keep the school records up to date. They brought some shovels with them on the way to school and hid them in the underbrush near the ford. My brother Cecil and I were too little to participate, so that afternoon we sat by and watched the whole operation.

First, the older boys dug a trench all the way along the edge of the ford. It was about two feet wide and two feet deep. Next they cut brush and covered the trench. Then they covered the brush with sand and we all hid in the bushes and waited.

After a while the old "T" Model came chugging down the hill and slowly entered the creek. Then the two front wheels dropped into the trench and the kingpin sheared off the front carriage assembly! The car body continued into the creek minus its front wheels! The professor hit the water "raising cain" and we all headed home as fast as we could run!

A nearby blacksmith helped the professor jack the car up and then installed a temporary pin for him. The professor was able to get home- somewhat later than usual and probably in a foul mood. He had determined every guilty party by Saturday night - excluding we younger observers - and came to school fully prepared Monday morning. The parents arrived about 9 a.m. and by l0 a.m. the whole crew of perpetrators had been thoroughly thrashed.

The parents went home and school resumed. We had no more episodes the entire year. Wilmot Elementary School had been tamed forever. It was never quite the same school or community after that episode.

The old school has been closed for many years, the victim of consolidation. Very few trains use the old railroad tracks and a modern paved road has long since replaced the narrow country lane of my childhood days. The community has grown and modernized and there is little remaining of the old homesteads of the thirties.

It seems that most of the old "original" families have died out or moved on to other locations. Our family was one of those who chose to move as the thirties came to a close. The years have flown by and I have lived in many exciting places all over the world, but Wilmot is the place I always remember when I think of home.

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