Plans for an All-School Reunion for the Lake Mary Township District 24/460 "Oak Grove" School are under way.
As many as eight grades were taught by a single teacher in the one-room school located on Highway 29, a few miles south of Alexandria. It closed in 1970, the property was sold, and the building has since been razed.
The reunion is planned for Sunday afternoon, July 31, 2011, at the Forada Supper Club in Forada. Cost is $10 to cover food.
The school opened in 1869, serving area children for 100 years. Organizers hope many will attend the get-together, along with parents and others, to renew acquaintances and share memories. There was no running water or hot lunch. Students walked or were driven to school by parents. Two outhouses stood in the rear. School taxes were kept low.
Attendance peaked in the late 50s as administrators across the country struggled with the baby-boom surge. A second, part-time teacher was added for additional classes in the tiny stone-lined basement. The completion of Jefferson High School in 1962 and subsequent adjustments allowed for the eventual consolidation and closing of Oak Grove, along with all other such country schools in the state.
Reunion planners hope alumni will bring photos, mementos and memories of their country school days.
For more information, or to join a committee, contact Dorothy (Marquette) Hlinsky at 320-763-7402."
The only thing that flushed was Duane's face
By Stan Rolfsrud
As I prepared the press release for our upcoming reunion, it was hard not to embellish it. Recently a letter-to-the-editor appeared in the local newspaper, the Alexandria Echo/Press. In it a student, hoping to promote a school bond issue, lamented the deteriorated condition of Jefferson High School, referring to it as a “curmbling crypt.”
Goodness, I thought. Do the toilets flush? Are the bathrooms heated? Well ok then, young feller, just shut up and go back to class. Why, I remember the day. . .
As many as eight grades were taught by a single teacher in the one-room school located on Highway 29, a few miles south of Alexandria. It closed in 1970, the property was sold, and the building has since been razed.
The reunion is planned for Sunday afternoon, July 31, 2011, at the Forada Supper Club in Forada. Cost is $10 to cover food.
The school opened in 1869, serving area children for 100 years. Organizers hope many will attend the get-together, along with parents and others, to renew acquaintances and share memories. There was no running water or hot lunch. Students walked or were driven to school by parents. Two outhouses stood in the rear. School taxes were kept low.
Attendance peaked in the late 50s as administrators across the country struggled with the baby-boom surge. A second, part-time teacher was added for additional classes in the tiny stone-lined basement. The completion of Jefferson High School in 1962 and subsequent adjustments allowed for the eventual consolidation and closing of Oak Grove, along with all other such country schools in the state.
Reunion planners hope alumni will bring photos, mementos and memories of their country school days.
For more information, or to join a committee, contact Dorothy (Marquette) Hlinsky at 320-763-7402."
The only thing that flushed was Duane's face
By Stan Rolfsrud
As I prepared the press release for our upcoming reunion, it was hard not to embellish it. Recently a letter-to-the-editor appeared in the local newspaper, the Alexandria Echo/Press. In it a student, hoping to promote a school bond issue, lamented the deteriorated condition of Jefferson High School, referring to it as a “curmbling crypt.”
Goodness, I thought. Do the toilets flush? Are the bathrooms heated? Well ok then, young feller, just shut up and go back to class. Why, I remember the day. . .
I suppose it was about 1953. It’s hard to remember exactly. I do remember that eight grades worth of country kids had just spilled outside for recess and were getting a game organized when the most peculiar thing happened: the bell rang. Surprised, we obediently headed back to our one-room schoolhouse. “Just the boys, just the boys” somebody shouted. This was really odd and unprecedented.
All the males from District 24 quickly and silently assembled before Mrs. Barsness, baffled by this curious interruption.
About 20 yards behind the schoolhouse there were two small outhouses, their corners conveniently serving as first base and third base. On the third base line was the boys biffy. A ball hit over its roof was a foul. Anything bouncing off the wall was in play. Inside was a classic two-holer with a special added device that allowed the boys to remain standing. This clever handcrafted item sped the process of relieving the male student body and drastically reduced demand for the two sitting positions. It was simple. A bread-pan deep trough with a sheet-metal backboard was hung against the inside wall. This drained into an opening cut through the side of the bench built over the abyss, where a fantastic icicle formed during winter months. About three feet wide, it was just enough for two small boys to stand side-by-side before it, true Brothers of the Trough. No one ever called it a urinal.
The outhouse was swept out daily and paper changed as necessary by a schoolmate assigned to the role by the duly-elected student body president. Remarkably, there was very little, if any, grafitti. There were a number of reasons for this. 1) It was forbidden and we were a timid and obedient lot; 2) everyone knew everyone else’s handwriting and were prone to tattle; 3) you spent as little time as possible in there.
I present you with all this detail to prepare you for The Big Incident.
Mrs. Barsness, the iron-hand of District 24, got right to the point. A first grader had tattled that someone had, um, peed on the boys bench, she said, and we were going to sit right there until the guilty one had confessed. This was anarchy and she would have none of it.
The dozen or so suspects sat together in stunned silence before her, trying to imagine just who had the temerity for such a lawless, obscene act.
Eventually it became clear that our teacher had not personally inspected the crime scene, but had relied solely on the testimony of an inexperienced first-grader, who was now isolated and probably frightened by the cataclysm of events his complaint had triggered.
It took a wise elder in the eighth grade to solve this mystery. Duane Bartos had already attended town school for one year, before crowded conditions sent him back to the one-room school for one more year. He knew about many things. And teacher liked him, he was no “pet” but she relied on his maturity and world view from time to time and he knew it.
“Teacher,” he said in a respectful tone, “This is kind of embarrassing to say, but you know, but sometimes when you’re using it, the way the back of that thing is angled, you can get some spray sometimes and I don’t think anybody intentionally, but you can’t help it sometimes. . .”
Mrs. Barsness had heard enough. Relief came to her iron face. She knew she had backed herself into a corner and now Duane had given her a way out. Yes, maybe the bench was indeed moist, but nobody had done it on purpose, she decided. A win-win.
Without further ado, she dismissed the assembly and we went back to our playground. I don’t remember who, if anyone, explained the situation to the girls or if they would understand it anyway. I do remember inspecting the premises in question and agreeing with other boys that there was nothing particularly unusual about the day’s conditions. What was the big deal?
It was clearly time for our first grader to just man up.
All the males from District 24 quickly and silently assembled before Mrs. Barsness, baffled by this curious interruption.
About 20 yards behind the schoolhouse there were two small outhouses, their corners conveniently serving as first base and third base. On the third base line was the boys biffy. A ball hit over its roof was a foul. Anything bouncing off the wall was in play. Inside was a classic two-holer with a special added device that allowed the boys to remain standing. This clever handcrafted item sped the process of relieving the male student body and drastically reduced demand for the two sitting positions. It was simple. A bread-pan deep trough with a sheet-metal backboard was hung against the inside wall. This drained into an opening cut through the side of the bench built over the abyss, where a fantastic icicle formed during winter months. About three feet wide, it was just enough for two small boys to stand side-by-side before it, true Brothers of the Trough. No one ever called it a urinal.
The outhouse was swept out daily and paper changed as necessary by a schoolmate assigned to the role by the duly-elected student body president. Remarkably, there was very little, if any, grafitti. There were a number of reasons for this. 1) It was forbidden and we were a timid and obedient lot; 2) everyone knew everyone else’s handwriting and were prone to tattle; 3) you spent as little time as possible in there.
I present you with all this detail to prepare you for The Big Incident.
Mrs. Barsness, the iron-hand of District 24, got right to the point. A first grader had tattled that someone had, um, peed on the boys bench, she said, and we were going to sit right there until the guilty one had confessed. This was anarchy and she would have none of it.
The dozen or so suspects sat together in stunned silence before her, trying to imagine just who had the temerity for such a lawless, obscene act.
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| Diane, Sonja, Duane. |
Eventually it became clear that our teacher had not personally inspected the crime scene, but had relied solely on the testimony of an inexperienced first-grader, who was now isolated and probably frightened by the cataclysm of events his complaint had triggered.
It took a wise elder in the eighth grade to solve this mystery. Duane Bartos had already attended town school for one year, before crowded conditions sent him back to the one-room school for one more year. He knew about many things. And teacher liked him, he was no “pet” but she relied on his maturity and world view from time to time and he knew it.
“Teacher,” he said in a respectful tone, “This is kind of embarrassing to say, but you know, but sometimes when you’re using it, the way the back of that thing is angled, you can get some spray sometimes and I don’t think anybody intentionally, but you can’t help it sometimes. . .”
Mrs. Barsness had heard enough. Relief came to her iron face. She knew she had backed herself into a corner and now Duane had given her a way out. Yes, maybe the bench was indeed moist, but nobody had done it on purpose, she decided. A win-win.
Without further ado, she dismissed the assembly and we went back to our playground. I don’t remember who, if anyone, explained the situation to the girls or if they would understand it anyway. I do remember inspecting the premises in question and agreeing with other boys that there was nothing particularly unusual about the day’s conditions. What was the big deal?
It was clearly time for our first grader to just man up.
