School Memories

 

School Memories

 

Kindergarten was at Burbank Boulevard Elementary School in North Hollywood.  I got scratched in the eye by the teacher.  I do not have any real recollection of the event other than hearing about it.   I have no idea of the teacher’s name or anything else about the experience.   I do not recall any of my fellow Kindergarteners.  We moved, maybe because of that incident.

First grade was at Coldwater Canyon Avenue School in North Hollywood.  I vaguely remember walking to school with Kenny Ashkenazi.  The school was several blocks from our house, and I believe my mom and Kenny’s mom Mariam, walked us to and from school each day.  Both moms had bright red hair.  I have no idea of the name of the teacher or anything else about the school.  We moved after the school year. 

Second grade was at Ethel Street School in North Hollywood.  This was the “new” Ethel Street School as the old school became a school for the developmentally disabled.  Ethel Street School, therefore, was not actually on Ethel Street, but a mile way.  I have no memory of the second-grade teacher or the class.

Second, third, fourth and fifth grades were all at Ethel Street School.  I remember the name of my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Newman.  I must have really liked her.  She is the one who had my poem printed in the LA Times.  I remember that I had my first male teacher in fourth grade but do not recall his name.  Nor do I remember my fifth-grade teacher.    

The story with fifth grade is that my adult cousin Leon married one of his many wives in the Summer before fifth grade.  Leon had met Barbara, who became his wife, when he attended a school open house, in place of my parents, while I was in fourth grade.  Barbara was the fifth-grade teacher   Los Angeles City Schools had a rule that your teacher could not be a relative.  All my friends were in Barbara’s class while I was put in another class.  I do not recall that teacher’s name, just that I was upset not being with my friends.  I recall the marriage lasted about as long as the nine-months I was in fifth grade. 

Another often told story while I attended Ethel Street School was using my prized Mercury Dime Collection to win goldfish at the school carnival.  While I do not remember much about the classes and teachers, I do remember the annual field trips to the LA Times printing press, Olvera Street, and the Shrine Auditorium to watch the Merry Widow.  Seems it was the same field trip every year.  I ended up with several letterpress type keys, one with the Ten Commandments, one with the Gettysburg Address, and one with the Preamble to the Constitution on the small typehead.  I had them for many years but have lost track of them.  They may still be in one of my boxes.  I had many friends in the neighborhood; two very good friends that I kept in contact with for many years after we moved.  I’ve tried to find them on Facebook and other means but with no success.  I was in Little League and Cub Scouts and went to YMCA camp while at Ethel Street School.

My sixth grade was at Chase Street School in Sepulveda.  I do not remember that teacher’s name either.  I do remember it was a difficult year for me moving to yet another school, my fourth and final elementary school.  I got into a fight with someone over my bicycle.  I do not recall the incident to any degree but do remember that someone came up and apologized at my 10^th high school reunion, some twenty years later.  He said he had lived with the incident all those years.  I thought it rather strange as I either did not remember it or suppressed it.  The other memory is fainting from the top row of the bleachers during a school performance.  I did not get hurt so I must have fallen forward into people.  I took dance classes at the recreation center across the street.  I remember learning the cha-cha and foxtrot.  Some thirty or forty years later, one of my dance partners still remembered the class and dancing with me.  I did not remember her as much as she remembered me.  I wonder if I was that bad of a dancer or just socially awkward?  All I know is that I must have made some kind of impression. 

Junior High School in Los Angeles was three years:  seventh, eight, and ninth grades.  I went to Francisco Sepulveda Junior High School in Sepulveda, now called North Hills.  When I went to the school, the school and the neighborhood was all white and middle class.  The name changed from Sepulveda to North Hills in 1991 because Sepulveda was associated with gangs and crimes.  Times do change.    

I remember the name of the band teacher, Mr. Johnson.  We had a pretty good band and the teacher made records of the performances and I still have those records.  I do have memories from the three years, but other than Mr. Johnson, have no recollection of any of the teacher’s names.  If I were to look them up in the yearbooks, it might not jar my memory.    I had some good friends from junior high school.  My best friend, Jerry, died a couple years ago.  I had not seen him in many years. 

 I remember getting swats for bad discipline, the approved discipline technique at the time.  One was from the garden teacher for calling soil, “dirt”.  I must have said it in a rather snarly fashion to end up with a swat.  I also remember having to remember the name of all the bones in the body and being able to spell them correctly.  I must have been doing poorly in the class and threatened with being left behind on a field trip.  I remember phalanges to this day.  I think I aced the next several tests and was able to go on the field trip.  

I remember making a shoeshine box in woodshop and proudly presenting it to my dad who displayed it for many years.   I remember a father-son night.  We had lots of fun.  Somehow, I remember my dad mentioning how much older he was than the other dads.  I never noticed it until that time.  We were playing a father-son baseball game and he had more trouble moving around the bases.  I think it was from breaking both legs some fifteen years earlier and having nothing to do with his age.  Anyway, I know he was very conscious of it.   

Finally, I remember having my tennis shoes swing into the front spokes of my bicycle which caused it to abruptly stop and for me to fly over the handlebars and end up with a brain concussion in the hospital.  It also damaged some teeth.  I particularly remember it now more than previous years.  Susan has been calling me Jethro because of my missing tooth.  The tooth survived years with a root canal but finally had to be pulled a couple years back.  Hopefully I will forget the whole thing once I get a crown in the next month or so and will no longer be Jethro!