Dear editor:

None of us can deny the fact that the local economy has certainly seen better times. I work in the mortgage industry and have seen far too many people out of work, struggling to meet their house payments, watched fortunate employed people’s home values decrease due to the foreclosures abound.  Not many can honestly afford to have their taxes raised to give more funding to the schools, even if they wanted to. And we sure don’t want to send more people to the unemployment line. Big dilemma, what do we do?

Everywhere we turn there are budget challenges. I won’t pretend to have the answers.

I do, however, have an opinion about sending a letter home with students informing parents about closing Eastside School. I am not convinced that was handled as well as it could have been. My child would have been alarmed and me too.

I know we have to do something. I know that whatever is decided is not going to please everyone. Its just, well, Eastside School. My elementary alma mater. So – for whatever its worth – my 50-something-year-old recollection of the good ole days at Eastside from 1959 through 1966…

I was in kindergarten with Miss Funk when Hawaii became a state. Not to be confused with Mrs. Funk, who worked there too. Mom made cupcakes for my birthday and the milk machine took a nickel. We had a bathroom in our room, which was very cool.

In first grade,  Miss or Mrs. Hoover – not sure – taught us the hula for Christmas. Meli kalikemaka… I was in love with a boy in the “advanced readers group.” We sat Indian-style on the floor together and held hands. We could order books from the weekly reader. I took ballet lessons. First position. No one could glide like Margie Drolet.

In second grade, Miss Micinski’s class – we lined our boots out in the hall against the wall. Girls were starting to wear the new fad – “shoe boots.” Mom and Dad said they cost too much – so we got white rubber ones from West’s Variety. One of the girls threw up in class and they asked me to go help her. Yikes! We had a real tornado and had to sit in the hall with our heads down. This was the year of the Palm Sunday tornados. I was a Brownie and had a Brownie knife – imagine that today…

Mrs. Smith’s third grade. Amazing how much clearer the chalkboard was with my first pair of glasses. Our classroom was by the dizzy stairs. They passed out letters about Camp Wakeshma for the summer. Mrs. Smith told my mom I had good penmanship.(Whatever happened to that?) This was the first year I was not sick on picture day.

Fourth grade. Mrs. Cain. I still see her Sundays at church. This year we now are on second floor, and change rooms for some of the classes. Nov. 22, 1963, 2:45 in the afternoon, right in the middle of science class – Hester Scott, principal, came on the intercom and dismissed school. President Kennedy was shot. Also, we chased two new boys on the playground and would grab their FOP hats – school girl crushes, you know. Yankees hat and that’s all I am saying.

There are lead remnants in my hand where a pencil was jabbed in Miss Forler’s fifth grade class. Bob Good yelled the word “fart” and had to sit in the hall. I did a report on the state of Nebraska because I like way the name sounded. Terry Edquist told us about his family’s trip to Yellowstone National Park. Miss Keeler had the French doors to her room and we always felt that the “good” kids were in her class.  Sometimes she would sit in the extra lab area in her room and then kids would pass notes and talk.

We went to the penny candy store before and after school. We had jack tournaments on the playground. No one could beat Barb Mullins.  We wore shorts under our skirts so we could hang upside down on the monkey bars at recess. We waited in line outside the door to be let in. We had a school spelling bee. I came in third place and misspelled the word “Uruguay.”

In sixth grade – Mr. Remus – I experienced two passages of life. One, I had to be excused to go to the school nurse for “female” things and of course the entire class knew. The other – I was chewing my pen and the ink all spilled in my mouth in front of everyone. The music teacher bent over and the Kleenex fell out of her bra. The “choir” sang “Once in Love with Amy.” We played the flutophone. I was a “safety” in the stairs and wore the badge on my arm. We wrote fake names and sat them on our desk for the sub in Mr. Zeff’s class. Mine was Violet Cluster.

I remember the Iowa tests, Spanish in the library, the maps that pulled down from the chalkboard, the design of the tile in the hallways.   The way the windows opened, the desks, the pencil sharpeners. The bell. Going to the gym for special things, and bakesales. It seems like just yesterday and yet it really was a long time ago. But you know – it all played a very important part of my life. Life does change as time goes on and buildings do get old. Could we just make really sure this is the right thing to do?

Praying for all of us,

Michelle Hensler Stauffer
Niles