T-Bucket's Memories of a Happy Poor Boy... pt. 2
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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Comments
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.
I'd love to hear stories about your new school.
Loved this story!
Have you ever had anything published?
Hugs
there are one or two girls from sixth grade who i still wonder about too!
LOVE.
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.
AMEN.
Mission is doing well tonight. Only one accident today. I am pleased.
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.
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.
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 ;)
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.
I hear my N'awlins grandma in that sentence. I miss her.
thanks T, I love your stories.
Besides, I don't look good in orange.
love this post.:) please keep writing here. and if you have your own personla blog, i want the link.:)
mary
Your memories and your way of writing them are more precious than gold. Thank you for sharing the wealth.
Peace,
Greg
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 ."
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
the exactness like dew, still damp and sweet
the life in words live here, in your pen.
Good God Man!
Again,
please.
"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.
You are such a treat.
Looking forward to Parts III, IV, V, etc...
Besides, I don't look good in orange.
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.
Nothing like sticking your hand into that monsterous can of lunch garbage to fish out a spoon to teach you that!
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.
(and if you google madelyn, this post pops up!)
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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...
" 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!
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It must have been hard to give up the job and the perks that went with it......
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!
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.