My Other High School

As I’ve said a few times, I spent most of sophomore year and a few weeks of junior year going to school in Atlanta, GA.

In early summer 1967, I took a trip to Atlanta to visit relatives. I remember riding a Trailways bus thru Philadelphia and Sweetwater and on down Highway 11, stopping at almost every town, no matter the size. I don’t remember where in Atlanta I was dropped off, but my cousins lived off Ponce de Leon avenue, in northeast Atlanta, very near a ballpark where a baseball team with the un-politically correct name of the Atlanta Crackers played. I doubt the field is still there.

This was my ‘country boy goes to the big city’ experience. I remember walking up to a grocery store, Piggly Wiggly I think, and stepping on the mat that automatically opened the door. I didn’t exactly jump when it opened, at least not physically, but I do remember a mental twitch as my head tried to figure out what my eyes were seeing.

I remember walking uptown and looking up at buildings that were much taller than any others I had seen, even in Knoxville! And I remember watching The Dirty Dozen at the Fox Theatre; a place that was awesome on the inside, with a Arabic motif that made the screen look like it was part of a huge mosque with minarets and date trees silhouetted against the curtains and different sized lights recessed into the ceiling, making it look like stars were twinkling. Arabian nights. I have used it as the measuring stick for every theatre or symphony hall I’ve been in since, and they all fall short.

Anyway, so later that year, after school started my Mom got word she could get a job in Atlanta, and after the pleasant experience earlier, I was all for it. This time we moved into a row house on Milledge Avenue. It was a working class neighborhood near Grant Park. From the street in front of the house you could see the stadium where the Braves played.

The school, Roosevelt High School, was a couple of miles away, a few blocks the other side of the park. Once through the park, we walked down a neighborhood street, and you had no idea you were near the school until the road curved and there it was -- a three story, ornate brick building. It even had a dome!

There are a few vivid memories. One of my classes was ROTC (rotzee) so I actually wore a uniform a couple of times a month. One of my teacher’s husband played on a minor league football team and on days she didn’t feel like teaching she showed game films from his games. And for at least one day a month, the cafeteria served catfish, cole slaw and hushpuppies. Loved it.  It's not there any longer.  The building is, but the school combined with another one and now the building is sectioned off into condos and is called The Roosevelt.  Heck, even our hold row house on Millidge Avenue goes for about $300,000, so I don't think it's a working class neighborhood anymore.

Things started becoming a little bit more routine by the time school was out and became boring. I didn’t have any friends that lived in the neighborhood I did so when there was no school I felt cooped up. By the time school started in ’68 my brother had decided to quit and was putting the same ideas in my head. I had been in touch with Wayne and Allen McNabb while I was down there and the subject came up of me moving back and staying with them. Their folks said it was fine, my Mom said it was fine, so I came back.

I still remember my first day back at good ol’ Loudon High. It felt great to walk in the door. I felt like I was back home.

Fair Day

I noticed on the News Sentinel website that the fair is in full swing. I noted before that we didn’t get as many days off as the kids do these days, but “Fair Day” was one that we did get. I have no idea why. Maybe they thought we might pick up something a little educational from one of the exhibits, or maybe the guys taking AG had something entered, or they just wanted to give us a day off. Whatever the reason, it was appreciated.

I only went to two of them, and senior year I had a date. My memories are really sketchy. I don’t think I could get to the fairgrounds now, assuming it’s in the same place, and I don’t remember anything really earthshaking about it. It was just your typical county fair with exhibits and rides and an arcade. I’m not sure what we could have won on that arcade, other than stuffed animals, but at least it wasn’t the little goldfish they entice kids with today. You know the ones in plastic bags that might live 2 hours after you get them home.

The only reason I remember I had a date senior year was because I was too stupid to take the pencils out of my shirt pocket before she and I went on the ride that would lift and then spin the chair head over heels. It had wire mesh enclosing it in case we slipped out of the seat, but this time all the mesh did was make the pencils bounce around on the inside (and off us) before they found a way out to barely miss someone on the ground.

I also noticed they no longer call it the Tennessee Valley A&I Fair. I don't remember exactly who, but one of the guys used to say the A&I stood for “a-holes and idiots”, but of course he was a little more blunt.

An Old Irritant

As I’ve said a couple of times, I have intentionally stayed away from negative things, especially when it comes to people. And even though this is not aimed at anyone in particular, it can definitely be construed as somewhat negative.

Something stayed with me after I left Loudon that took some time to sort out in my mind. In the end, I had to make a couple of conclusions. First and foremost, I had to accept my responsibilities in the issue, since it was useless to try and shift the blame anywhere. Nobody did anything -- at least not intentionally, and it certainly isn’t aimed at any student or group of students.

I fully understand, and accept, that I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. Anything I learn I have to put the effort into learning it. Therein lies my responsible to everything I am about to say. No matter who tries to teach me anything, if I am not interested in it or care enough about it to learn it, then it makes no difference how hard they try, I’m probably not going to learn it. I think that holds true for everybody. But maybe, just maybe, part of the key is in finding a way to help me light that fire, and that’s the rub here.

In grade school, all grades were broken up into the A, B and C groups. The A group was the kids who made high grades all the time. The B group was the kids who made good, but not exactly sparkling grades. The C group was everybody else. What started bothering me was when realized these groups also aligned kids socially as well, or at least in most cases it did. I don’t recall any of the more affluent kids being in the C group and few, if any, kids from a struggling family being the A group.

Somewhere, someone made a determination. This kid is going to college so gear everything to getting him or her ready to do this job or take over that position. This next kid is bright, but probably not going any further than a high school diploma. He or she might take a vocational type course somewhere to get a specialized career or maybe take over the family farm, but not much more than that. This last kid, just move him along, use a social promotion if you have to. With any luck, he might get his high school diploma, but chances are we won’t see him anymore once he turns 16.

So that’s it in a nutshell. By the time you reached high school you were already channeled and didn’t even know it. Preordination might be a debatable theological subject, but it’s alive and well in the situation I just described. You are what they want you to be. Are there exceptions? Absolutely! But I would wager that in the majority of cases, the kid and/or their parents made the difference. They had to break this mold.

Could I have made things better for myself by trying harder? You bet. Could someone else have tried a nudge or a push? Yes. With the exception of Miss Stallings, nobody in any grade ever asked me what I wanted to be. Nobody ever took the time to find out if there was anything I was actually interested in. I reached a point where I was marked as this or that type student, and I didn’t know enough to rock the boat.

Contrary to how it may sound, I made my peace with all this long ago, and accepted it. It is also the driving force behind my wanting better for my kids and trying to encourage them to be whatever they want to be. I would like to think I was helpful, but only they can tell you for sure.