School Days

CHAPTER NINE

This week we will be given a view of a one-room schoolhouse complete with teacher and students. Lois Ann, daughter of John Milligan & Eleanor Ann (Ralston) Wickerham is around nine to ten years old. The timeline is circa 1859-60.

In 1848, the Covenanters opened their first college in America at Northwood in Logan County, Ohio. Many of the old order sold out and moved near the college that they might educate their children within the church. The Adams County group of Covenanters became so small that in 1856, both the Palestine church and the old brick closed their doors.

Then, in 1858, the Associate Reformed and new Light Covenanter Synods united. Hopewell became United Presbyterian, the name of the merged churches. Those remaining of the old brick church and Palestine lined up either with the United Presbyterian, Gaileyites or Steelites.

In 1859, Rev. Steele accepted a call to a Steelite church elsewhere. Rev. Fisher Fulton became his replacement. When word was passed around that the new Steelite preacher was also to be the pedagogue for The Ridge school the term of 1859-1860, it created much interest, especially among the Gaileyites.

It just did not seem quite right; they could not go to hear Rev. Fulton preach, yet their children would be taught by him. It had got around too, that Rev. Fulton was terribly strict and very crotchety.

Lois Ann and Candace, the small Wickerham girls, like other Gaileyite children were becoming aware of the situation from bits of conversation overheard here and there. Small minds naturally pictured the preacher they must not hear preach as undesirable. These rumors made him fearsome to most Gaileyite children – but not to Lois Ann.

Lois Ann had attended only one session in the old log schoolhouse. She had been just five years old, and with other very small children often took naps on the long bench at the back of the room. One day she had awakened from her nap and lay wildly looking about the room until her eyes rested on a moving object overhead. She screamed! “There’s a big snake! as she pointed to a huge reptile hanging from the rafters above her head. Mercifully, it was killed by some unremembered savior and when stretched out, touched both ends of the rail. That black monster and the old log school had ever after been associated together in her mind.

Lois Ann was not afraid of people even though both home and school were ruled with the “rod of correction.” It was only under great provocation that she forgot caution and her glib tongue got her into trouble. Little and frail as she was, she felt no quaking fear of the new teacher. Her present fear was of having to go back to the old log schoolhouse. She had been so happy in the new frame building, sealed throughout and no place for snakes to get inside. She loved the location too; though it was built in one of the loneliest spots of The Ridge, it was also one of the most beautiful valley spots.

The school overlooked the pretty little winding stream of Georges Creek on the east. A seldom traveled wagon road ran along the foot of the school ground, parallel with the creek. A few feet over the fence a small spring-fed branch met the creek at a right angle. A crude water gate kept back debris from obstructing the road when the branch ran high.

In dry weather, this gate reduced the flow of water across the road to a mere trickle, but there was always a little fresh pool where teachers allowed the small children to play. Older ones played along the creek until it was running high enough to be dangerous.

Deeply wooded hills and hollows rose and fell in all directions. A picturesque footbridge held up by sturdy abutments made of flat limestone rock from the creek bed spanned the creek a little below the school ground.

The pupils from Simmons Ridge (today’s Dotson Rd) crossed this bridge to come to school. Lois Ann had many friends among the non-Gaileyites.

A deep dark hollow which soon became known as “Ghost Hollow” divided the hill. Those from the east end of The Ridge descended from the other side of Ghost Hollow and those from the west end came down the other side. This school was named Lower Georges’ Creek.

When the term opened, Lois Ann discovered that the report of the teacher’s strictness was true. Even in that day, some thought the rod of correction was often applied because of the short temper of the one in authority, rather than to obey scripture.

Rev. Fulton’s small sons, Robert and William, were among the pupils. Robert was only a little older than Lois Ann. It could have been strategy with Lois Ann when she first began to be extra nice to Robert, but soon it was just because he was the first little boy, she liked a whole lot.

It was a warm Friday in February and the school term was almost over. Lois and Robert were sitting on the bank above the water gate pool waiting for the bell to ring. On the palm of Robert’s hand lay a little dried daisy from Lois Ann’s spelling book. “She loves me – she loves me not,” he said as one by one he discarded the petals till two were left. Ah, it was coming out wrong. With a sly glance at Lois Ann he said, “She loves me,” and pulled off the last two together just as the bell rang.

Treading on air, Lois Ann ran with Robert to the schoolhouse. For him, she believed she could even be a Steelite.

Morning devotions were over, and work for the day was taken up by the nearly sixty pupils. Friday restlessness was unusually apparent today. For the warm spring-like day made studying more irksome. Rev. Fulton never allowed a pupil to wistfully gaze out of a window. If all went well through morning lessons, the entire afternoons on

Fridays would be given over to spell downs, rapid calculation, and a “medley,” or class reading.

If in the teacher’s estimation the pupils had not applied themselves diligently to their studies, lessons would be conducted until last recess. If any general infringement on rules took place, culprits not only received corporal punishment but all old enough to read would have to memorize poems during the after-recess period.

All had gone well this day until the arithmetic period near noon. Pupils were busily working problems on their slates before class time. The teacher was writing on the blackboard, but only momentarily kept his back turned for obvious reasons.

Just before the teacher’s back was turned, Martha had “snapped” and received permission to get a drink. She was taking her seat with cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of water to wash her slate – a practice considered a bit crude by the more refined – when Candace Wickerham clasped her cheeks with her hands. The water shot out of Martha’s mouth as from a water gun, striking Maggie McCullough squarely in the back of the neck. The splash generously sprinkled Ida Lovett and Sarah McCullough. Maggie screamed and unsuppressed giggles followed. The teacher turned just in time to see the performance.

Candace was soundly spanked and, needless to say, there were regular lessons that day from noon to recess. After recess, all old enough learned poems. Most pupils accepted the punishment meekly, but Lois Ann was unusually perturbed. Why should all suffer for what her sister did? Besides, who could help to laugh?

Lois Ann out spelled many twice her age. Even Rev. Fulton complimented her on never losing track of her own lines when all read together from their readers, each reading a different selection. Not everyone could keep to his own lines, and it sounded more like jibber-jabber sometimes than a medley.

Lifting her eyes from her poem, Lois Ann sat gazing defiantly out of the window toward the creek road. All of a sudden, the teacher’s ruler came down thumping the table loudly; “Lois Ann, get to your studies and quit looking at an old peddler wagon!” sternly ordered the teacher.

What had caused the teacher to think a peddler wagon was passing, Lois Ann did not know, but being falsely accused, she flared right back; “There is no old peddler wagon there!” One swift look by the teacher confirmed her denial.

The slight frustration of being wrong on one point no doubt saved her from the rod of correction, but not from a sound scolding for talking back and for looking out of the window. From this escaped punishment she felt no elation when on the way home Robert said, “Lois Ann, I don’t like you anymore, for you sassed my father.”

Ida Lovett, one of the little girls sprayed with water was this Columnist’s great-grandmother. Ida married William Conkle. She had 5 daughters and 1 son. She died in 1933 and is buried in the Tranquility cemetery.

Written circa late 1950s and early 1960s by Lena McCoy Mathews (1893-1988) and transcribed for The Defender by Joyce Wilson. Look for more history in future issues of The People’s Defender.