T-Bucket

T-Bucket
Location
Austin, Texas, U.S. A.
Birthday
January 27
Bio
I'm a freelance writer living a quiet life on the outskirts of Austin.

Editor’s Pick
JANUARY 2, 2009 12:53PM

T-Bucket's Memories of a Happy Poor Boy... pt. 2

Rate: 50 Flag

  Every year they took class pictures at the school. They didn’t take individual pictures, they took a group picture while we all sat up straight in our desks in the classroom. I had a royal blue, v-neck sweater that I wore on ‘picture day’ from first through fifth grade.

  "Terrence, It’s pitchuh day, put ya’ pitchuh sweatuh on .”  

    If I wanted to know what grade a class picture was from, I’d just look at the length of my sweater’s sleeves in the photo. I wore that sweater anytime Momma thought there might be a camera about, it didn’t matter if it was 110 degrees in August.

  At school, lunch was a quarter and an extra milk was 2 cents (3 cents for chocolate).You picked up your lunch at a window, and went back to class to eat it at your desk. That was a dollar a day for Momma to get us lunch (if we wanted extra milk, we had to buy it). Momma got Chaunce  and me jobs as ‘cartboys’, because cartboys got a free lunch of whatever was left in the kitchen after everybody ate. We pushed a cart with a water basin and two holes with trash cans inside down the hall, and stopped, sporadically, while kids brought their dirty lunch trays out to us in the hall to be collected. Silverware in the basin, milk cartons and napkins in the first hole, then they’d hand you their slimy tray and you’d bang it against the wall of the third hole to knock off any leftovers, then stack them at the end. We were proud of how fast we could collect them, and we got to see every girl in school, once a day.  I quivered and looked down everytime Madelyn Saunders handed me her tray.

    Afterwards, we’d hose the ‘muck and misses’ off our carts out back of the kitchen. When the head kitchen lady said they were clean enough, we could eat. They’d let us go back to the leftover trays, and get all we wanted. It was ice cold, yet bountiful. Sometimes there was whole racks of corny dogs or batter bread. We sat on the back dock of the kitchen, soaking wet from hosing our carts, laughing with heavenly joy as we ate 'til our bellies hurt. Sometimes we’d fart or burp due to our excesses, and then laugh so hard we’d lose our breath, cry, and grimace in a mix of pain and pleasure. I'm smiling, watery eyed at the memory.Those were the days! Chaunce took to hiding stuff out by the dumpster, then snagging it after school to take home. Lunch was one of my biggest motivators not to skip school;that, and my daily transaction with the breathtaking, Madelyn.

   In the summer before sixth grade, word got out that they were shutting down our elementary school and our junior/senior high, Douglass, too. Some kind of Federal thing, they said. We were all going to get bussed over to better schools on the fancy side of town. We all knew what that meant. 

  “They’s closin’ it ‘cause the damn buildin’s crumblin’, and they can’t get no good teachuh over here, anyways”, Momma was sure. 

   “They want a bettah football team, is all“, Unc’ Bennie was sure, too.

   Momma made me wear my picture sweater on the first day of sixth grade. I had never seen my friends so dressed up. It was like we were going off to church or something, and most had never even been on a bus. There was an aura of nervous, fearful, curious, excitement that filled the bus, and everyone on the bus had their ‘picture day’ clothes on. Most all  of us took our lunch on the first day, because we knew we might not like ‘fancy school’ food or how much it might cost. Unc’ Bennie said they put mayonnaise on everything. I sat behind Ms. Madelyn Saunders on the ride over, and gloried at the beauty of her full afro with the pink 'pick' stuck in the back . As I ogled the nape of her slender neck, Chaunce nudged me, smiled, and made 'kissy faces' at me. Was I that obviously moon-eyed?

   We didn’t buy our new school's class  pictures, because they were individual pictures sold in packages. The least expensive package was $3! Momma said they didn't get the lighting right and we all looked like "piccaninnys", and she wouldn't pay a nickel for them. I thought it was the best picture I had taken to date; I know it was really the $3.  Momma lined us boys up in front of the willow tree out front and took our school picture that year. Chaunce and I wore the  exact same turtleneck shirt with a fake dickie, but with the colors reversed. Mine was orange with a blue dickie, his was blue with a orange dickie. They had come in a sack of three from the Gibson’s downtown. These would be our fancy shirts later in junior high. As a rite of passage, Doodoo had to wear my picture sweater. It was 110 degrees in August.

  To this day, I have that photo of us in front of the willow, and often wonder, "Whatever happened to Madelyn Saunders?"

(might as well read 'part 1' ,if you haven't, or part 3 while you're here)

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I can just see you in that blue sweater in the Texas heat. I had a few of the same outfits.

So whatever happened to Madelyn Saunders anyway? And do they even make dickies anymore? And how was lunch at the new fancy school? I can totally see you eating lunch after work at the first school.

As before I completely appreciate your posts, a glimpse of history and a feeling of simplicity missing in our new-fangled world.
Thanks, enjoy your Wii :)
OMG, those were the days when people dressed their children up for picture day. Now, most kids put on a t-shirt and jeans and call themselves "dressed". Whatever happened to people dressing up for stuff? I guess it's just a thing of the past.

I'd love to hear stories about your new school.
That's where I'm going next. My first white friend, Willy B.
I swear you and I grew up in the same house. We have photos of my younger brother wearing girl's clothes. Being the 4th child after 3 girls, he had to wear girls hand-me downs.

Loved this story!

Have you ever had anything published?
This touched me even more than Part 1, even though I could directly relate more to 1. Can't wait for Part 3. Would you like yet another white friend? :)
Hugs
T.,
there are one or two girls from sixth grade who i still wonder about too!
T, I love your stories, I love the generosity of your soul. I hope this means we're going to get your whole autobiography in chapters
Oh boy....keep em coming....

LOVE.
This was great. I loved your "cartboy" story.

When my mom "retired" she went to work as a "cafeteria lady" in the high school. That school didn't know what hit it. (Maybe I'll post someday on that) but my point is: If she would have been one of your cafeteria ladies, you would have been able to feed your entire family on the food she'd have smuggled out for you.

Your mom was brilliant to get you and your brother that job---and you are honoring her well with these childhood remembrances.
T- I like. like like..... this is great!!!! Tell us all, brother. I do like.
AMEN.
Mission is doing well tonight. Only one accident today. I am pleased.
Google that woman, T-Bucket!
pretend: funny you should mention that...hard to find women with all y'all taking the man's name. I never understood that tradition.
Loved this one too-- we want more!

Taking a man's name is all about becoming his property (for real in the US until the 20th century). I don't know why anyone does it anymore.
I could have gone either way but I was damned tired of 24 years of saying Dorsee with two "E"s. I thought Dillon would be easier but then figured out that people like to add an "I" as in Dillion. Criminy.
Wonderful that you still have that photo. Having such tangible emblems of the past is very precious.

Your writing is very evocative. Its a long time since I thought of school lunches, school pictures, sweaters with dickies, and you bring it all back. I am eager to hear more. I hope it is the beginning of a full autobiography--which should be published as a book.
i love hearing your stories from your childhood.
Although we grew up in two totally different time periods. I can remember we still did some of the same things that happened to you.
Our aunt watched us for the summer while my mom worked and we were locked outside till right before it was time to go home.
We had loads of fun though and so many memories from all those times.
Kids today, they just won't have any of those things to talk about..
although my son will have " that time we raised chickens in the upstairs bathroom" LOL! but that's another story ;)
This can't be the end, is it? Damn. Your writing has a nice flow to it Mr. B. You look like a pretty big fella. Sounds like that sweater was getting kind of tight is those later years. Loved the lunch part of the story. I can see how that would keep you going to school.
And dickies. I totally forgot about dickies. Who thought up those things.
One thing that never grows old for us guys, is fart jokes. I know I still laugh. I hope you do too.
All you gotta do is scrunch up them sleeves to still look cool.
"Terrence, It’s pitchuh day, put ya’ pitchuh sweatuh on .”
I hear my N'awlins grandma in that sentence. I miss her.

thanks T, I love your stories.
I remember dickies...what a funny memory. I loved the second part to your story and please write some more about what life was like at the fancy school. And please, can you scan the photo and share it with us? Your Momma sounds amazing. Your post is amazing. Thank you.
I'm not a fan of photos or illustrations. I feel it takes away the personal picture you can form in your mind. The lack of photos ,also, in my humble opinion, allows the writer to paint as much or as little of the scene as he/she feels you might need , and allow you to paint the rest to suit your vision. Maybe, by my odd thinking, that 'll make it more evocative to you, since portions of the literary 'picture' were designed by the reader without corrupting the essence of what the writer is trying to convey. Does that make any sense? Kind of like when you go see a movie , and the main character in it doesn't fit the picture you painted in your mind when you read the book. That's why books are typically better than the movies, because the reader 'gets' to write the backgrounds and paint a picture of the character they want .
Besides, I don't look good in orange.
I see your point. I'd rather remember something the way I remember it, rather than the way the picture says it happened.
T-bucket, I will reluctantly concede to your point, so well made it was. And you're right...the imagination is a powerful thing so I will leave it up to mine to conjure up the image of the "picture sweater" and the orange and blue dickies under the willow tree.
hi t,
love this post.:) please keep writing here. and if you have your own personla blog, i want the link.:)
mary
T, what a complete and nuanced picture you do paint here. Your mama sounds like my grandma who wouldn't pay the few cents for milk at "snack time" and sent me instead with an insulated bottle. And for school pictures, my grandpa stood me up next to the mail box each day on the first day of school while we waited for the bus to come and took my picture. When he passed away, there was an album that had 12 photos of me on the first day of school.

Your memories and your way of writing them are more precious than gold. Thank you for sharing the wealth.
Thanks T for sharing. It brings back some heavy memories for me too my friend.

Peace,
Greg
Ah, picture day. A series of outfits just flashed through my mind - the Picture Day Outfit was an important part of my school year.

This is really beautiful writing, clear and true like a bell ringing on a cold day: "Most all of of us took our lunch on the first day, because we knew we might not like ‘fancy school’ food or how much it might cost. Unc’ Bennie said they put mayonnaise on everything. I sat behind Ms. Madelyn Saunders on the ride over, and gloried at the beauty of her full afro with the pink 'pick' stuck in the back ."
Ah, dickies. I haven't even heard that word in years. Your writing is so clear and vivid, rich with texture and emotion.

School pictures, indeed. I have one where my mother forgot to dress me up on a sub-zero winter day. Teacher put me and the other girl who came in rags in front to punish us. If I ever get brave enough, I'll scan it and post it. Until then, thanks for this. rated
Wonderful personal history.......this is the flesh on the bones I have "learned" from books. Thank you! I will look forward to the next chapter with anticipation. Lalalouche
In awe of the beautiful flow of memory,
the exactness like dew, still damp and sweet
the life in words live here, in your pen.
Good God Man!
Again,
please.
Wonderful post! You paint a great picture! Love the "laughing with heavenly joy." Guess you don't like mayonnaise!
I could picture and feel all of it: you growing up before my eyes in writing, handling the cart, sitting on the bus, feeling that goo goo eyed love. Smooth. Just smooth. Rated.
I love the way your share your memories. They inevitably bring up my own memories, and seem to really touch a chord with readers. Dickies! Haha! And handing down clothes. There's one purple turtleneck, with a circle zipper, that my brother and most boy cousins wore in their school pictures in the 70s. and:
"Momma lined us boys up under the willow tree out front and took our school picture that year." I took first day of school photos of my four kids every year. Their expressions of excitement and/or dread bring me back to those hurried mornings every time.
It's hard to be cool in a dickie...literally and figuratively. Somehow I think you managed it anyway.

You are such a treat.
Only thing that could enhance this post and Part I would be a couple of priceless pictures.

Looking forward to Parts III, IV, V, etc...
This was wonderful. Any chance you might post a photo of your handome young self in that picture sweater ;0)
I'm not a fan of photos or illustrations. I feel it takes away the personal picture you can form in your mind. The lack of photos ,also, in my humble opinion, allows the writer to paint as much or as little of the scene as he/she feels you might need , and allow you to paint the rest to suit your vision. Maybe, by my odd thinking, that 'll make it more evocative to you, since portions of the literary 'picture' were designed by the reader without corrupting the essence of what the writer is trying to convey. Does that make any sense? Kind of like when you go see a movie , and the main character in it doesn't fit the picture you painted in your mind when you read the book. That's why books are typically better than the movies, because the reader 'gets' to write the backgrounds and paint a picture of the character they want .
Besides, I don't look good in orange.
T.,
i was just re-reading my comment here from yesterday and had a sudden horrible realization that it could be taken in a really wrong way. so for the record, what i meant to say was, there are girls from my OWN sixth-grade class from over thirty years ago who i still wonder about. it's NOT sixth graders in general who i wonder about, i'm not like that. and i guess i'll shut up now.
T Bucket - so nice to meet someone else who had to work in the kitchen to earn lunch. I imagine myself now as a 10 - 12years old girl standing on a stool scrubbing those big pans half my size and ALWAYS burned on the bottom.Or lifting those heavy trays of scalding hot dishes out of the big commercial dishwasher to be sorted. Maybe missing every lunch hour on the playground stunted my social skills , because I never know now what to say around people.But I do know how to work doing whatever is needed.
Nothing like sticking your hand into that monsterous can of lunch garbage to fish out a spoon to teach you that!
tbucket i love your stories. i love their content but i also just love the way you tell them. thank you.
This is a great post; vivid, colorful, humorous, and just a well written essay. As I was reading it--especially when you were talking about the quarter for lunch, and milk priced at two cents--it reminded me of Richard Wright's powerful biography "Black Boy", and his childhood in Mississippi. Thank you for posting this.
T-Bucket,
I read this and think I could close my eyes and listen to the narrative.

I love story tellers, those who go around the country and tell. You are a story teller from your writing. Story tellers do paint a picture in your mind, they tell the story, you create the vision in your mind.

Yes it is kind of like a movie, but in your head. Unlike an actor on the stage who assumes a roll, a character for which they flesh out for you to believe they are that person, you are watching that actor being someone else. A story teller puts you in the story, you become a part of the scene and it is in your head. No need for photos, you have it in your mind.

If you are not a teller, perhaps you should consider becoming one. You tell so well.
i am developing a totally inappropriate OS crush. wonderful!
(and if you google madelyn, this post pops up!)
What a wonderful story teller you are, such vivid, easy, true narative. This is why I made you my OS "friend!" Thanks for sharing your stories and talent.
rated
T bucket, your writing is out of this world. I can picture everything so clearly. The food trays, the leftovers, the hand me downs...so good! Rated junk1
Wonderful post, I could read your blogs all day long!

Reminded me of when they took pictures at my early schools. They used to get a photograph of the whole school, well over 100 boys and teachers, and to do this they had everyone on benches and used a camera that rotated by clockwork and took an image that was almost 3 feet wide. There was always some wise ass who would sit on the extreme right side, then when the camera had passed him, he would duck around the back, to reappear on the left in time for the camera to catch him again. Happened every year... I don't think they have these now... Good memories...
T-Bucket, your stories are wonderful! I'm a poor kid from the 70's but I just don't remember it as happily as you recall yours. I wonder why that is? Probably your mother...that was what I was missing. You really honor her with this writing--I love how frank and proud and matter-of-fact and unashamed she was, at least that is my reading of the post. Correct me if I've jumped to a wrong conclusion. Thanks again!
T,
" Sometimes we’d fart or burp due to our excesses, and then laugh so hard we’d lose our breath, cry, and grimace in a mix of pain and pleasure. I'm smiling, watery eyed at the memory."
I can feel this moment and now I am laughing so hard that I am farting. Home alone tonight and the dog is deaf.
Loved it!
Wonderful writing. Your descriptions put me right there. I used to work in a dish room in a hospital in high school and have similar memories of the trays and the carts. We used to stop the elevator in-between floors and pick off the apple crisp toppings before we delivered the trays. Then if someone died or was discharged, we got to eat the whole tray.
rated
The pictuh sweatuh is THE BEST! LOL! I bet you were sorely glad to finally be rid of it! That lunch deal at the old school sounds like a pretty sweet deal. Wish they still did stuff like that today!
The fear and trepidation of entering a new school......
It must have been hard to give up the job and the perks that went with it......
Hey man, I hear what you are saying about not posting pics "allows the writer to paint as much or as little of the scene as he/she feels you might need..."

But you have way too big a fan base now and you gotta give the readers what we want - PICTURES!! I really want to see that sweater moving up and up your arm as the years go by :) Off to read part 3 - just great!
We sat on the back dock of the kitchen, soaking wet from hosing our carts, laughing with heavenly joy as we ate 'til our bellies hurt. Sometimes we’d fart or burp due to our excesses, and then laugh so hard we’d lose our breath, cry, and grimace in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Man, that was so well put I could see you two in my mind, and it just about made me bust. Dude, you are one helluva writer. This is just wonderful, letting us peek into your childhood.

Off to part 3 now - can't stop until I finish it all.

Rated.
This is priceless! I went to school in a Williamson county country town in of 1,000 people in Central Texas in the '50's and '60's and can really relate!