Having just read "Greg B"s review of Central School jogged my memory, and since bullying has become…read morea major focus of today's educational systems, I, too, feel my story ought to be shared.
I also went to Central School. There was no 'middle' in the name then. We had just moved to San Carlos from Connecticut, and I had never seen such an old school building, with antique wooden desks from the 1920s. I went there from 5th through 8th grade.
I was a dysfunctional kid from a dysfunctional family, who came with a terribly rotten academic history (this was before ADHD was discovered). I was so bad, they made me take 5th grade twice. But the second time around was almost enjoyable. This wonderful teacher, Madeline Rentz, occupied Room 8, and was my teacher for both tours of 5th grade. Mrs. Rentz had a light blue 1953 Plymouth Business Coupe, which she traded in for a brand new 1959 Ford Galaxie. As it would turn out later in my life, Mrs. Rentz was one of the foremost moving powers that shaped my life as an adult, and I will never be able to thank her enough for all she did for me.
But the bullying was another matter. I was the tiniest, shyest, quietest kid in the school, and the older bullies knew it and used it to their advantage. Every day they would wait for me just off the school grounds to harass me as I walked home. Complaining did no good. The school said there wasn't anything they can do, once we were off the school grounds. My indifferent parents just said I must be doing something to annoy them. Both excuses were a crock of crap.
I finally learned that if I just goofed off all day, Mrs. Rentz would make me stay after school to do my work that I didn't get done. I never left much before 4:30 and eventually the bullies gave up waiting for me.
One time the school did something they could have gotten in deep trouble for. In 7th grade my brother had a science class with a horrid teacher named Mrs. Combs. She was tall, loud, very unattractive and when she held her arms up, everyone could see she never shaved under her arms. She was mean and feisty and every kid in the school was scared to death of her. She would tease and make wise cracks about individual kids, which didn't help her credibility any, either. Worse, she drove a solid bright red 1959 Chevrolet Impala 4-door hardtop, one of the ugliest cars ever made by Chevrolet, but it fit Mrs. Combs better than OJ's glove.
One day my brother didn't answer some question to her satisfaction. After teasing him for a moment, he said something which caused her to explode. She grabbed him by his shirt, ripping off a few buttons, and sent him to the principal's office. I wasn't there and don't know what he said, but my brother got As and Bs and was never a discipline problem, so it had to be something Mrs. Combs imagined. I never thought she was carrying a full suitcase, anyway, and often wondered how a public school could ever hire someone like her.
My 7th grade teacher was a young short-tempered man named Mr. Prata. He drove a rusty turquoise 1957 MG roadster. Being the lousy student I was, it didn't take him very long to despise me. He would shout from five classrooms down the hall, "Brassfield, shut up!" in reference to a girl who never stopped talking. He was also an eraser thrower. He called everybody by their last name, males and females, like some drill sergeant in the army. He and I never got along, and 7th grade was the worst grade I ever suffered through.
In 8th grade I got a reprieve, in the form of a wonderful, fun little round guy named Mr. Darley, who drove a Woodland Green 1953 Chevrolet Bel Air. He had a sense of humor that wouldn't quit, and he always had everyone laughing. When something would go wrong, he'd pretend he was angry and gyrate around, causing a lock of hair to fall across one eye, then he'd brush it out of the way in indignation, while the class roared. 8th grade was the first time I'd ever received anything above a 'D' in school.
Today, all these folks are long gone, but they will remain forever interred in my memories. Overall, Central School wasn't really such a bad place, despite a few hiccups no one ever caught.