Memories Are Made of This

My original plan was to write a memoir titled, "My First Kiss Missed". It was a story about attending first and second grade in a little two-roomed schoolhouse. Marty Murray had informed me that when recess rolled around, he intended to kiss me, and I intended to let him.

However, during that mornings' session, it began to rain. The rain had stopped by recess, but my teacher, Mrs. Pugh, told me I would have to stay inside because I had no boots to wear on the muddy playground.

Staying inside would have been highly preferable to what actually transpired. After all the other children had donned their boots and galoshes and gone out to play, Mrs. Pugh looked around in the cloakroom and found a pair of boy's galoshes. They were much too big for my feet, but she insisted I wear them anyway and go outside for some fresh air.

I was completely humiliated. I didn't want anyone, especially Marty Murray, to see me wearing boy's galoshes! As soon as I stepped outside, I rushed behind the schoolhouse to hide.

I was eventually discovered in my hiding place by Marty. Determined to continue to hide my shame, I ran away, those big galoshes clip clap clumping with every step. Determined to get his kiss, Marty followed. He chased me around that little schoolhouse for the remainder of the recess. But, he never got his kiss. I suppose his wife, Pat, gets all those kisses now.

I decided to write to our little towns' local historian, Martha Churchill, and see if I could get a picture of the school to add to the story. Instead, I got an excited reply: she had very little information on my little two-room schoolhouse, known as the Mooreville School. Instead of giving me information, she asked me for memories. I gave her the Marty Murray/missed kiss story, a list of classmates that I could remember their names and a detailed description of the schoolhouse, as I could remember it. Then I recommended that she call my sister's mother-in-law.

My sister's mother-in-law has lived all of her 80 years in the same community of Mooreville. She was born in Mooreville. A joke among the my brother-in-law and my family when reminiscing is, "Lee, do you remember___(fill in any name)___? Oh wait, you're related to them."

I had a late night reply from Ms. Churchill that my sister's mother-in-law had turned out to be a wonderful resource, that she had attended Kindergarten at the Mooreville School and had a picture of her class in front of the schoolhouse. She is going to take the picture to Ms. Churchill. She was very excited to be getting a 75-year-old photograph of the schoolhouse and a class. She said not only did she have a picture of her class; she knew the names of all the students.

I learned so many interesting things about our little town while digging for resources. Why didn't they teach us that stuff in school? It would have given us so much more school spirit and pride in our community. It is a lesson I intend to take back to the local school when I get home. I mean, we had Ford Lake! Duh, let me see...a Detroit suburb...Ford Lake was not just named after him, Henry Ford created the lake. Why didn't they teach us that in school?

I stumbled on obituaries; I could not find my brothers. However, I found Mrs. Warren, another sister's mother-in-law. Also, I found a classmate that all these years I thought drowned in the lake. The dam electrocuted him. What a surprising find that was.

I found a newspaper article about my brothers' class reunion. None of the pictures that had accompanied the paper version was online but the identity of the posers was there as if the photo was too. My brothers' name was among them. He went to that reunion just before he died. I took down the columnists name and I am going to try to find an e-mail address for her and ask for that photograph. If I can't find it, I'll snail mail the paper and ask for that newspaper.

What I have learned most during the writing of this memoir, is that research of my memories can be just as precious as the memories themselves.

*Note: I also learned that the proper spelling of galoshes is not golashes.

References:

Personal memories.

Milan Area Historical Society, http://www.marthachurchill.com/more.htm

Timeline, History of Milan, MI, http://www.marthachurchill.com/mi-hist-time.htm

E-mails from Martha Churchill dated, Oct. 25, 2007 and Oct. 30, 2007

Saline Reporter 20040115, OBITUARY, Obituaries http://milannews.com/stories/011504/B99ZJRC.htm

Saline Reporter 20041209, INSIDE, Milan High School Class of 1959 Reunion, By Margie Bovee, Staff Writer http://milannews.com/stories/120904/N011MSB.htm

Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Galoshes

E-mail from Marty Murray dated November 10, 2007