From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

A few years ago, I was surprised to get a Christmas card from Gwen Turnquist, my first grade teacher in Glenwood, Minn. She had found me through Ruth Jessness Tweed, a fellow Glenwood teacher in the ‘50s. Ruth, a technology whiz kid at 84, who lived in Grand Forks, N.D., read my column in the Pope County Tribune online and called Gwen in St. Paul with news of her former pupil. The internet and Christmas cards have worked miracles at shrinking our world. Today, people who haven’t been in contact for years can connect with friends everywhere.

I can still picture my first grade teacher’s face. Though many years have faded the details, Miss Turnquist’s Christmas card brought back memories of the Mayberry life we kids enjoyed growing up in small town America. In those days teachers could hug kids and enjoy visits in our homes. We had Christmas programs honoring the Christ Child and sang “Away in A Manger” and “Silent Night.” We hadn’t heard about political correctness and knew very little of prejudice. In Glenwood we had little, if any, diversity, and that didn’t seem to bother us. Kids brought cookies and cupcake treats to school that their moms baked at home without stainless steel, sanitized kitchen counters. The school provided chocolate and white milk to wash down the treats at morning milk break time. And the cafeteria lunch ladies greeted us by name as they scooped real mashed potatoes and fish sticks on our plates each Friday.

Each year the school had a Christmas program in the big gymnasium for the community. A packed crowd sat in comfy, wooden seats just below the stage. Little girls dressed up in long white leggings, patent leather Mary Jane shoes, wool skirts and white blouses with sweaters. A few privileged girls wore taffeta skirts or velveteen dresses. However, most everyone was cautious about being too “showy.” Nobody wanted to get the reputation of having a “big head” or “stuck up.” Most of us were comfortable blending in with the crowd.

Students in every classroom memorized Christmas carols for the program. Some kids were chosen to have individual recitations to perform. Several experienced stage fright, forgot their lines and sat down sobbing with red faces. Kids in the first six grades sat cross-legged on the gym floor, which Swish, our friendly janitor, had polished by sweeping his long broom back and forth many times. That gym had another full house for Friday night basketball games, our winter entertainment. The only folks missing were a few ice fishermen. Whether our team won or lost, townspeople attended every school event. Most kids didn’t worry about self-esteem issues in those days.  The community was supportive of our efforts. 

No kid came to school dirty or with holes in their jeans. When our clothes became worn, with tears or holes, our Moms put them into a rag bag and used them for dusting or washing the floors. My classmates were dressed up: girls wore Sunday dresses with ribbons tying back their curls or braids; boys wore itchy wool pants with white shirts or sweaters. Some even wore ties. Elementary school kids would sit quietly, anxiously waiting to perform. Teachers in tiny wooden chairs cautioned their class to be careful walking on the gym floor so we didn’t scuff the maple floors with black streaks from our Sunday shoes. 

The “big kids” would sing from the folding bleachers rising above us. Glamorous high school girls would have their hair treated with frizzy permanents; some would set their hair in tightly twisted pin curls, resembling macaroni noodles, anchored with crossed bobby pins. Those beauties would suffer all night to get the curls they desired. My mom prided herself on my long pipe curls, which she wound in white rags the previous night, then sprung the curls from the rags and put a big white satin bow on top of my head.

Our music teacher, Mrs. Wells, would go from room to room with her record player, black ’78 records and music books on a rolling stand. Lady teachers always wore dresses or suits with jewelry. Some had their hair set and combed out weekly at a beauty parlor downtown. Only the phy-ed teachers wore pants; no other lady teachers wore pants back then. Most men teachers wore suits or sports coats and ties. A few coaches were a bit more relaxed in sweaters or shirt sleeves and slacks.

Each class would sing a favorite carol such as “Silent Night” and “Joy to the World.” No one was aware of “political correctness” at that time. It was no problem if we said Merry Christmas rather than Happy Holidays. We had no problem associating Christmas with Baby Jesus, the guiding star and angels as well as Santa Claus, his elves and reindeer. We adored Rudolph’s red nose! Most first graders, even older elementary kids, still believed in Santa Claus so we knew we’d better be good, or Santa wouldn’t bring those gifts we’d asked for in our letters to the North Pole. 

When it was time for us to perform, Miss Turnquist would rise from her chair, whisper “all rise,” and smile. She cautioned us to pay attention to the music director as she knew many of us would be looking for our parents in the crowded wooden seats reserved for townspeople. Blowing softly into her tiny pitch pipe, she would tune up the class, and we’d merrily sing, “Up on the housetop, reindeer pause/Out jumps good old Santa Claus/Down thru the chimney with lots of toys/All for the little ones, Christmas joys.”

Christmas is a season of anticipation. We look forward to the birth of the Christ Child and hope Santa Claus will slide down the chimney with his bag of gifts. I’m pleased that some churches and schools still have community Christmas programs where children perform in live nativity scenes, sing Christmas carols and light Advent wreaths. Little kids still believe that Santa knows who’s been naughty or nice…better make your bed, wipe the dishes, practice the piano and do your homework. What kid would want coal in his stocking?   

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.