My First Day at Skipwith, Virginia
(There Really is Such a Place)
Screen 1 of 7"Fuh gosh sakes, boy, you don' think you can han'1 that school, do yuh?" Mr. Ellington looked down at me from behind his plow, as he spoke.
"Well, yes sir, I think I can," I replied to this tall and rugged Virginia farmer, who was also a trustee of the Skipwith School District. He seemed almost amused by our conversation, or perhaps he was just glad to have a break from his plowing on this hot September morning. At least, the horse hitched to the plow seemed to be enjoying this brief rest.
"Why do you ask me that?" I continued. "Is there anything wrong at Oaks School?"
"Wrong:" he exclaimed. "Ev'ry thing's wrong ovah tha-uh. They run off two--naw, I b'lieve 'twas three--teachuhs las' ye-uh. Some uh them boys in thad school ah bigger'n you. How ol' ah you anyway?" The way he towered over me as he asked that last question made me feel even smaller and younger than I actually was. At the moment, I did not realize that I was standing in one of the deep furrows his plow had just made, while he was standing on higher ground with one foot on the plow share. That higher position, along with his stalwart frame of more than six feet, made it necessary for me to look up at him somewhat awkwardly at a rather steep angle. I think he rather enjoyed the situation, as he showed both his horse and me just who was boss by jerking the reins which had been tied around his neck when he was plowing.
"I'm nineteen, sir. I'll be twenty next month. What's wrong over at Oaks School?" I asked. "Why did they run the teachers away?" Getting only a slight shrug of the shoulders from him in answer, I changed the subject.
"How far is the school from here--too far to walk?" Then rushing on without a pause, I also asked. "Do you know where I can get a place to room and board?"
"Hold on, slow up, jes' one question at uh time," he drawled as only rural Virginians can do. I could tell he was very dubious about this new teacher. It seemed he had already made up his mind that another disastrous year was in store for Oaks School. When I learned a few days later that his son had been one of the chief trouble makers the year before, I understood why he was so concerned.
"W'y don' yuh jes walk on ovah to thuh school an' take a look aroun'," he suggested. "yuh'll see what ah mean. It's jes a lil morn two mile down tha' dirt road--thuh one to thuh lef'," he added, giving directions with a small stick he had been chewing on. "An' on yuh way yuh jes' maht wannt stop by thuh Brame fahm. Thuh Brames maht letchuh bo'd with 'em--thad is if'n yuh decide tuh stay aroun.' afta yuh done seen thuh school.." This wry comment and Mr. Ellington's mischievous smile increased my uneasiness, but I managed to thank him before turning and slowly walking away.
What a welcome to Virginia! What shock and disappointment after riding almost four hundred very tiresome miles on a 1929 model Greyhound bus. Public buses in those days were not air conditioned. Neither did they have reclining seats or rest rooms. So the ride from Bowling Green, Kentucky to Mecklenburg County in south central Virginia was not a comfortable one.
As I walked along the dusty road, I wondered if I was really ready to take on the responsibility as "principal" and teacher of all subjects in grades four through seven in this two-room rural school. I was after all only nineteen--and rather small for my age, perhaps five feet seven and a scant one hundred twenty-five pounds.
Just that summer (1931) I had completed the first two years of college work at Western Kentucky State Teachers College, but I had never held any regular, full-time jobs. While attending elementary and secondary schools in Bowling Green, I had worked at many part-time and temporary jobs, in the afternoons, during summers and on holidays--first as a water boy on construction jobs, then as a common laborer digging ditches with a pick and shovel, and for several years cutting grass on the hilly college campus with a hand-pushed mower. I also had a paper route, which I covered on foot each afternoon, delivering the Times-Journal (nicknamed "The Daily Disappointment" by its carriers), to about a hundred customers each paying 10 cents a week. I also sold Christmas trees and lawn sprinklers to supplement our family's very meager income. Later while in college I played trumpet in a dance band to help pay for my room, board, and tuition.
But none of these various jobs, I thought, would be of any help to me now in carrying out the responsibilities of a school "principal." To my surprise, however, I later learned that what I had experienced in those early depression years jobs did indeed have some helpful carryover, not only into teaching but also for my later temporary careers as professional actor, band director, and as securities salesman.
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