Stories for the October 27, 2020 Feedback Session
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3 Comments
Norma Beasley
Those Were the Days
It was a segregated one-story, two-room brick building built in 1938 in the art deco style. As a second grader, around age seven, I attended Second Ward Grade School in a suburb of Morgantown, West Virginia called Greenmont. Here I met and began lifelong friendships. The school sat on a small hill overlooking a grassy terraced “lawn” with a staircase of cement steps leading to the entrance of the school. The staircase was separated by a cement plateau which held a flagpole that sat in a grass covered circle. The playground held seesaws, swings, and monkey bars. A dirt road ran through this part of the community. Sometimes the school acted as a community center for the multi-ethnic families in the area.
Here, I learned to read Jim and Judy and Tags and Twinkle as I sat at my wooden cast iron desk. The top of the oak or pine desktop sloped toward me with a round hole in its top right corner. This hole was known as an inkwell. Horizontally across its top, was an ink slot that held pencils or ink penholders. The desk surface was defaced with scratches, graffiti, stains, and carved initials. Under the desktop was a cubbyhole for my books and papers. I must have made thousands of round O’s and up and down strokes on my writing paper on that desk. I now know those exercises to be the Zaner-Bloser handwriting method.
The most beautiful part of my desk was the black, ornate cast iron scroll patterns that formed the legs of the desk and supported the seat in front of me. The legs were bolted to narrow wooden beams or rails that aligned several desks in a row. I often tripped over the rail trying to sit down. Although the seats could fold upright like modern day theatre seats, they couldn’t be raised or lowered to accommodate growing legs.
I still communicate with some of my friends from the second grade. The grade school is now a part of the Greenmont Historic District and was listed in the National Register of Historic places in 1992. First lady Eleanor Roosevelt attended the school’s dedication in 1940. It closed in 1955 following the integration of schools mandated by the supreme court of the United States.
Sharon Rhyce
I just love your description of the school and the desk! I can visualize the desk top with all the components you described on it. Those were the days! I see the notebook paper, tilted to a right slant and rows upon row of O’s. Not just any old O’s, those O’s were special as they were “Zaner Bloser O’s!”
beckymcg19
TO Etya and Vern. Sorry this is a little long. Review what you have time for. Thanks.
Cohen
Summer of 2011 found my youngest son, Jeremy, in Noblesville, Indiana, with his dog, Cohen. Jeremy worked close enough to his apartment to let Cohen out during lunch, and each evening Jeremy took a mile run with Cohen to get Jeremy and Cohen’s energy out. A local pet store sold Cohen to Jeremy as a pure-bred black Labrador retriever, but when the puppy’s paws grew beyond a standard Lab, Jeremy took Cohen to the vet. It turned out Cohen was part-mastiff and part-Lab. He needed those large paws because Cohen ultimately stood four feet tall, 125 pounds of pure muscle.
Two years later, Jeremy found a new and better job in New York City and enjoyed all aspects of the move, except that he could not take Cohen. The maximum dog weight accepted in a New York City rental was sixty-five pounds. Jeremy searched for someone to take Cohen, but his size proved to be a significant problem. I agreed to keep Cohen while Jeremy continued to look for a home. I already owned a ten-pound Papillion, Eve, who ruled our house. When Cohen showed up, he licked Eve and bowed to her authority.
The house settled into a groove of me walking Cohen in the morning and evening, while Eve went outside whenever it suited her. We learned Cohen loved to chase tennis balls and swim in our pool. Combining the tennis ball and the pool became nirvana for him, but I still needed to walk him. Cohen and I worked on his constant pull on the leash because he found it hard to match his pace to mine. I also tried to teach him to sit, stay, shake paws, and lie down. After weeks of training, he managed to learn to ‘sit’. Cohen never responded to another command. He is a lovable dog, but not the smartest puppy from his litter.
To maintain control of Cohen, my hand was placed through the loop at the end of his leash. I wrapped the leash around my hand a second time. This grip gave me a secure hold. One afternoon I took Cohen for a walk through our neighborhood as usual. Halfway through, he saw a squirrel and took off after it. My hand remained wrapped up in the leash, and I could not keep up with him. I tripped and landed face down on the sidewalk. Cohen continued to run. He pulled me down the sidewalk, passed two houses while I yelled, “Sit, sit, sit.”. The squirrel ran up a tree, and Cohen finally stopped, staring up the tree, looking for the squirrel. Neighbors who witnessed the scene came over to help me up. While some were concerned, most of them were laughing.
“Hey, Miss Becky. That was just like a cartoon.”
“Yep, from a Scooby-Doo episode.”
“Wow, that dog dragged you a long way.”
“Sorry for laughing, but that was awesome,” said my next-door, seven-year-old neighbor.
I tried to remain calm, but the pain soared as various body parts sent my brain messages. Road rash ran down the inside of my left arm. Skin showed through my shirt and pants. My left knee appeared to have doubled in size. And the toes of my tennis shoes were holey.
With the help of a neighbor, I wobbled into an upright position. Cohen looked at me and lowered his head; Cohen knew he had done something wrong and moved to my side. Then he finally sat down. I used him as a cane and limped home. I spent a week on the couch, with ice on my knee and Neosporin on my arm. My punishment for not handling a leash correctly. I grounded Cohen. No walks for him for two weeks.
The road rash faded, and my knee returned to its normal size. The memory of the pain disappeared, and I began to walk Cohen again. We started back at ground zero, working on his constant pull on the leash. I knew if he took off on me, I would not be able to stop him. My grip on the leash was only a handhold of the loop at the end of the strap. This ensured it would slip off easily. I began looking for a dog walker. A few weeks later, I found the perfect woman, Racheal. I hired her to start the next Monday.
Saturday night around 11:00 p.m., Cohen begged at the front door. I put his leash on and told him we would only go out to the front yard and back inside. We walked to the end of our driveway. Cohen spotted another squirrel and took off, his every muscle pumping. I flew into the air and worked to slip the leash off my hand, but my brain did not register a critical fact. The minute I let go of the leash, flying would end, and crashing would begin.
My first sense was darkness. The second, a sticky, wet tongue slid across my face. Pain exploded in my head while dog breath seeped into my nose. My blurry vision meant I’d lost my glasses. I lay crumpled, right arm bent under my chest. A deep breath became impossible; my ribs screamed pain as loudly as my head. Next to join in-my left knee and the inability to move my leg. I wanted to yell for help, but all the lights were out. My neighbors had already gone to bed. I rolled onto my left side; my hand searched for my glasses. Fingers touched a mangled wireframe minus one lens. I wore them, but they did not help.
With great effort, I sat up. My stomach pushes hard to expel its contents – Oh no, I broke something, but what? My arm, my ribs, my knee, or my head? My stomach said all four.
“Cohen, come here and sit,” I said with hope. He crawled over and lay next to me.
“Thank you, Cohen, Now hold still. I’m going to lie on your back. Then you will stand up and carry me inside.” I draped myself along his backbone. My arms circled his neck, and my legs hung off his back end as if he had three tails.
“Stand.” Cohen stood and carried my weight as if it were nothing.
“Walk, slowly to the house.” Cohen walked. I held onto his neck. My left leg left to drag. My right leg tried to help by pushing us forward.
I felt like I’d run a marathon. We made it to the door with me throwing up only once along the way. I reached for the knob, aggravating my ribs, which sent spikes of pain across my chest. Crossing the threshold should have been the end. But back in the master bedroom, my husband lay in bed. Bruce had recently had surgery on his ankle, leaving him without the inability to walk at all. Cohen and I continued through the family room until we made it to the counter where my purse and phone sat. The handles for my bag hung over the countertop. I reached up and pulled the purse to the floor. Cohen lowered me to the floor while I called my daughter, Amanda. I stared at Cohen, wondering where he had been hiding all the sudden smartness?
Amanda drove me to the hospital and managed to usher me inside. The emergency room (ER) was packed full of hurting people. They all seemed to be yelling, making my head throb with each heartbeat. The Emergency Room (ER) doctor said, “You are banged up, but I don’t think it is all that bad.” I kept saying, “I hurt too much, in too many places for me just to be banged up.”
After a series of x-rays and an Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) of my brain, the ER doctor ate his words. “Becky, you have a concussion, but no bleeding in the brain.”
“Yay for me.”
“You have a broken rib, a broken elbow, and we will have to put your knee cap back in place.”
I learned nothing could be done for my rib. I was unable to take a deep breath for six weeks. A nurse put my arm in a sling and handed me a referral to an orthopedic doctor. Another doctor showed up to put my knee cap back in place, more pain to endure. With a pop and a groan, it was in place. The nurse added, “Go home and put ice on it. Walk carefully. Give it a few weeks to heal.”
As Amanda and I gathered all the instructions for home care and referrals to other doctors, a new doctor stopped by and said, “By the way, when we did the MRI of your brain, we found a small tumor in your left frontal lobe.”
“What kind of tumor?”
“We’re not sure. You need more testing, and here is a referral to a neurologist.”
By 3:00 a.m., my energy level had dipped so low, a walkout to the car seemed impossible. We couldn’t find a nurse to usher me out, but Amanda found an empty wheelchair. She put me in the wheelchair, got me into the car, and drove me home. She even managed to settle me in bed. What a sight we made. Bruce in bed with a cast on his ankle, me with a sling and ice on my knee. Bruce set the alarm to wake me in a couple of hours, worries from the concussion.
Cohen slinked to the side of the bed and licked my face. His eyes drooped as he bowed his head. I could not stay mad at him. “It’s okay big guy. I’m not mad at you anymore.” Cohen raised his eyes to meet mine. “I promise never to walk you again. I will throw balls in the back yard and swim in the pool, but walking is out of the question.”
Cohen agreed, grinned and, lay down by my bed. He kept watch over me as I drifted to sleep.
Racheal came the next day to walk Cohen, while Amanda came over to take care of Bruce and me. My ribs healed slowly while I wore a sling on my arm to let the elbow heal. Unfortunately, my elbow did not heal correctly, and later, I had to have surgery to fix it. The knee recovered the fastest, but now and then, it tends to slip out of place. A Dr. taught me how to pop it back in place. The Dr. also told me that it would get stuck one day and not go back into place without surgery.
After seeing a neurologist and another MRI, the tumor became a small benign tumor that I could have had since birth. Nothing to do but watch it to make sure it does not start to grow.
Racheal walked Cohen Monday – Friday for the next three years. During that time, Cohen never pulled her down the street or sent her flying. I was happy to pay her because she was much cheaper than another dog caused medical bill.