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Again the School Bell Rings Out For 26,000,000 Young Americans They're Going to a Building That's VarHy Different from the "Little Old ited School House" Which Their Parents Knew; Equipment, Books and Teaching Methods Have Changed But the Spirit of "School Days" Is the Same Throughout the Years. ? Western Newspaper Union. Ob, the little old red ichoolhouse on the hill. Oh, the little old red ichoolhouse on the hill. And my heart with joy o'er flowi, Like the dew drop in the rote, Thinking of the little old red ichoolhouse on the hill! (From "Th? Mala Quartet's Compan dtan,") By ELMO SCOTT WATSON SOME Monday morning during the next two or three weeks, more than 26,000,000 young Americans will be streaming along our country roads or through the streets of our villages, towns and cities and all of them will have a common objective ? the school house. For it is the "first day of school" and across the broad expanse of these United States thousands of schools will be swinging wide their doors to receive the mem bers of this youthful army * who are coming to take their places in renovated and refurbished classrooms .to begin another year of learning. As Mother watches Bud and Sis bustling away between eight and nine o'clock on that Monday morning, perhaps she will And herself humming the tune of that old song quoted above. Of course, she realizes that it isn't a "little old red school house on the hill" any longer. It's been replaced by a more modern structure that is painted white and has, per haps, over the door a little name plate which tells the passer-by that this is a "Standard School." Or it may be a big brick or stone edifice ? a modern "consolidated school" for the children of a num ber of districts. And there have been other changes, too ? in equipment, in the books the children study, in the teaching methods. For we have "gone modern" in our schools as in every other phase of contemporary life. And yet, for all these transformations, there's something unchanging, timeless, eternal, about "school days." That's why Mother smiles to herself as she softly hums that old tune. In Bud and Sis, as they trudge away to school, she sees herself as she was in those halcyon days which now seem so very, very far away? the days of her own childhood. And for a little moment she drinks deep once more at the Fountain of Youth! ? But quite aside from our senti mental attachment to the "Little Old Red Schoolhouse on the Hill" as the symbol of an era in American life that is gone for ever, there is another reason for our regarding it with something akin to reverence. In his "Back Home" aketches (first published in the old McChire's Magazine and later collected in book form) Eugene Wood wrote this interpre tation of the social significance of the "Little Old Red School house" : "Perhaps it wasn't little, or old, or red, or on a hill. It might have been big and new, and built of yellow brick, right next to the Second Presbyterian, and hence close to the "branch," so that the spring freshets flood ed the playground, and the water lapped the base of the big rock on which we played 'King on the Castle' ? the big rock so pitifully shrunken of late years. But no matter what the facta are, sing at the Old Red Schoolhouse on the Hill and in everybody's heart a chord trembles in unison ? we are brethren knitted together into one living solidarity. And this, if we but sensed it, is the Union a < which the federal compact la but the outward seeming. It is a union hi which they have nei ther art nor part whose parents sent them to private schools, so aa not to have them 'aaaociate with that class of people.' It is the really truly Union. ' "If you would lean in fact the THE MOST FAMOUS "LITTLE OLD RED SCHOOLHOUSE" IN AMERICA? It U the Redstone school at Sudbury, Mass., immortalised in the poem "Mary Bad a Little Lamb.'-" The building is now owned by Henry Ford. secret of our nation's greatness, take your stand some winter's morning just before nine o'clock when you can overlook a circle of some two or three nttes' ra dius, the center being the Old Red Schoolhouse. You will see little figures picking their way along the miry roads, plowing through the deep drifts, cutting across the fields, all drawing to the schoolhouse, Bub in his warn mus and his cowhide boots, his cap with earlaps, a knitted com forter about his neck; and little Sis, in a thick shawl, trudging along behind him, stepping in his tracks. They chirrup 'Good morning, sir!' As far as you can see them you have to watch them and something rises in your throat. Lord love 'em! Lord love the children! "And then it comes to you, and it makes you catch your breath to think of it, that every two or three miles all over this land, wherever there are children at all, there is the Old Red School house. At this very hour a liv ing tide, upbearing the hopes and prayers of God alone knows how many loving hearts, the tide on which all of our longed-for ships he did an amazing thing. He gave up his law practice and his position in the state sen ate to become secretary of the newly created Massachusetts board of education. "Foolish and visionary," even his best friends called him, "to barter his pros pects for political life for a post where returns are so small and where his efforts are spent in rid ing from county to county looking after the welfare of children who will never know whence the bene fit came." But Mann, the visionary, thought differently about that. At that time the Massachusetts public schools, although they had been in existence nearly two cen turies, were in a pitiful condi tion. One third of the common wealth's children had no educa tional opportunities whatever. The new secretary began hia work with little encouragement from the authorities of his state. But he was undaunted by this fact. 'For the next 10 years he worked unceasingly to carry the gospel of free schools throughout Massachusetts. Better buildings, qualified teachers, longer terms, efficient teaching methods, libra It was an important day on the calendar of the "Little Old Bed Scboolhoase" when the hoard of director, visited It to tort the pro* reu of the pnpili with a "apell-down." (From a drawing by C. 8. Reinhart in Harper'* Weekly, 1*71, reproduced in the Tale Univer sity Press' "Pageant of America." ?re to come in, is setting to the schoolhouse. Oh, what is mar tial glory, what is conquest of an empire, what is statecraft along side of this? Happy is the people that is in such a case!" ? ? ? If indeed within the walls of the "Little Old Red Schoolhouse" (symbol of all our fre? schools) there lies, as Wood says, "the secret of our nation's greatness," then one of our greatest national heroes should be the man who, ? hundred years ago, had just started to carry the gospel of free schools throughout one state. For after winning his campaign in that state, his Ideal spread eventually to all the others. Horace Mann was his name. Born near Franklin, Mass., on May 4, 1796, Mann's youth was a bitter struggle to get the rudi ments of an education. He nev er attended school for more than 10 weeks in any single year up to the age of fifteen and he had to braid straw in his father's farm house to get enough money to buy his books. Mann worked his way through Brown university, also through a law school at Litchfield, Conn., graduated, hung out his shingle and aooo built up a prosperous law practice. He went into poli tics, was elected to the state sen ate and chosen president of that body. And then on June 1, 1837, ry facilities, all were emphasized in his lectures and in his writ ings. Mann was influential in getting his state to establish the first nor mal school in the United States at Lexington which opened its doors July >, 1830, to three young women. Within the next decade Massa chusetts spent more than $2,000, - 000 on school buildings and equip ment and had established 50 new public high schools. Gradually Mann's influence spread through other states and by IMS, when he was ready to retire from this work and return to ? political career (he was elected to con gress to succeed John Quincy Ad ams), the public school move ment was gaining Impetus all over the United States and Mann was a national figure. Today the first object one sees when he approaches the Massa chusetts statehouse in Boston is a statue of this pioneer educator. And not without good reason is there a bust of him in the Hall of Fame at New York university, among those of statesmen, au thors, artists, inventors, explor ers and military heroes. None at them bears a prouder inscription than that which is written below his. It is: "Dm coalman school is the greatest discovery ever made by man." For that was the credo of Horace Mann. IN SCHOOL DAT! Still sits the schoolhouse by the road, A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry vines are run ning. Within, the master's desk is seen. Deep scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife's carved initial. The charcoal frescoes on its wall; Its door's wort sill, betraying The feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing. Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves' icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls. And brown eyes full of griev ing, Of one who still her steps de layed, When all the school were leav ing. For near her stood the little boy Her childish favour singled ; His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered ? As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fin gered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt The soft hand's light caressing. And heard the tremble of her voice As if a fault confessing, "I'm sorry that I spelt the word, I hate to go above you, Because" ? the brown eyes lower fell? "Because, you see, I love you." Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is show ing. Dear girl, the grasses on her grave Have forty years been grow ing. 1 ? He lives to learn, in life's hard school. How few who pass above him. Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her ? because they love him. ?John Greenleaf Whittier. Back of that poem, one of the most famous in the English lan guage, is this story: It was written by Whittier for the magazine, Our Young Folks, when Lucy Larcom was editing it. She had sent Whittier several pictures with the request that he write verses to accompany them. Thereupon he replied: "Dear Friend Lucy: I could not make verses for the pictures but I send thee herewith a bit, which I am sure is childish, if not child like. Be honest with it, and if it seems too spoony for a grave Quaker like myself don't compro mise by printing it. When I get a proof I may see something to mend or mar. "Thine truly, J. G. W." However, Miss Larcom did not think it "too spoony" and evi dently when Whittier received a proof ol it he did not And in it anything to "mend or mar." So it was printed in Our Young Folks and immediately became popular. Later Whittier confessed that he was the little boy in the poem and that the little girl, who had so naively confessed the rea son why she was sorry that she had spelled correctly the word that had sent her above him to the head at the class, was Lydia Ayer. Whittier died in 1892. Ten years after his death the manuscript of his poem, together with the letter which he wrote Lucy Larcom about it, was sold for $540. Other manuscripts of his poems were sold at the same time and brought more than $10,000. This money was used to keep up the old Whittier homestead near Ha verhill, Mass., his birthplace and the scene of his immortal "Snow bound." This homestead has been made Into a Whittier museum with all of its furnishings remaining as he described them. Visitors there - today may see, among the other relics of the Quaker poet, a sam pler made by Lydia Ayer, the loyal little friend who had said to him "I hat* to go above you." On this faded square of cloth are embroidered the words: "And must the body die? This mortal frame decay? And must these active limbs of mine Lie mouldering in the clay?" There was something singularly prophetic about that poem which little Lydia's patient hands had embroidered upon her sampler. For she died soon afterwards at. the age of eleven. But in the hearts of thousands of Ameri cans, who may not know her name but who do know the poem written by the friend of her child hood, she lives forever. | ? Speaking of Spot Marathons in Golf Old Stuff, History Shows By GEORGE A. BARCLAY ALL tales of endurance on coif courses have been going th? rounds since J. Smith Fere bee, young Chicago broker, negotiated 144 boles at Olympia Fields la a stifle day with a score of 91 and thereby won Us business partner's half of a $30,000 Virginia plantation as well as numerous cash bets. Ferebee became a seven-day wonder and an epidemic oi golf marathons broke out reminiscent of the pole-sitting fever of a decade ago. No one should be brash enough to disparage Ferebee's remarkable feat. He accomplished it under hand icaps enough to stop an ordinary player. But when old-timers began digging through the records here and abroad they came on some in teresting instances of golf en durance that not only equalled Fer ebee's but gave other aspiring marathoners an even tougher mark to shoot at. For instsnee, there was the rec ord of Slason Thompson, Chicago newspaper man who played eight rounds one day back In 1906 at On wentsia, clicking off 144 holes with out losing his breath. And Thomp son was 55 years old at the time. Then there was Eddie Wild, who went 162 holes back In 1921 at the Sea view course at Atlantic City, winning a $1,000 bet that he could do the Job carrying his own clubs and break 80 every round. When the record hunters traveled across the ocean, they found even more startling examples of golf stunts. Back in Aberdeen, Scotland, a golfer named W. G. Blozom wa gered he could play 12 rounds over the Aberdeen course and then walk ten miles afterwards ? all within 24 hours. His bet was accepted and one morning in 1875 he started out at 6 a. m., finished between 8 and 9 p. m. and then walked his ten miles. The Aberdeen course was 15 holes, so Blozom played 180 holes. Scots Are Tough More recently, in 1910 to be ex act, another Aberdonian, H. B. Lumsden, started at 2:2# a. m. and completed 12 wands before 9 p, n. He U said to have holed out every putt, played 216 holes and averaged 82 strokes per round. Some of the British marathons have taken a bizarre turn. Accou tred in a suit of heavy armor, a gen tleman named Harry Dearth played J. SMITH FEBEBEE a match at Bushey Hall, Scotland in 1912 and was beaten 2 to 1 be cause he could not see to putt. An other Scotch golfej named. J. N. Farrar bet he could play 18 holes at Holyoke in less than 100, wearing full infantry equipment, canteen, full field pack and haversack. His score was 94. Of all the marathoners of the links, Bruce Sutherland of Edin burgh, Scotland, holds Hie top rec ord. Ia 1927 he played 252 holes, starting Jane 21 at S:15 p. m. and tnlshtng the following day at 7:3* p. m. Caddies carried torches to light the way daring the night. He walked more than H miles and In ished in a rainstorm. Over in Australia a unique record was made by W. F. R. Boyce, club champion of the Brisbane Golf club, Queensland. He played 108 holes one day over eight different courses covering a 55-mile radius. Returning to America, the record banters found several more stand outs. For instance Daa Kenney of Tyler, Texas, and Bill Lund berg of Houston completed 21C boles from 4:39 a. m. U ? p. m. back la 1923. Kenney took 957 strokes, or 4.4 per hole and Land berg took 1,9*3, or 4.7 per bole. In 191C Charles Daniels played 228 holes at Sabattbs' Park. He accomplished this ia 15 hoars, bad aa average score of 94 per 19 bole round aad covered 35 miles tram 4 a. m. to 7:39 p. m. So, Mr. Ferebee, it seems, is one of a long line of golf marathoners. Few on the list, however, have given a better performance than he did. Moreover, his feat has been profita ble even since be wan his partner's half interest in the farm, for he has received a number of offers to en dorse various commodities tor a price and has accepted some of the more attractive ones. The result of all the publicity and acclaim be re ceived is that golfers everywhere are trying to outdo his record. Price of Success Baseball ncten is its own worst hazard, particularly a M| Usfuc manager's. One# a manager wlmt a peasant for his team ha lit make a habit a f winning ar expect te be sab)eeted to a kick down an* oat. At least that is what the expe rience of two of the major leagues' moot successful managers ? Charley Grimm aai Mickey Coehraae might stiff est. Mickey Cochrane was ousted as manager of the Detroit Tigers, fol lowing closely on the dismissal of Charley Grimm by the Cubs. Coch rane hadn't won a pennant for De troit for two years, but he had won pennants in each of the two preced MICKEY COCHRANE tag years. The Tigers finished sec ond in 1936 and 1937. Charley Grimm's ' six-year record with the Cubs included two pennants, second place twice and third place twice. All of which might indicate that the luckiest manager is the one who never quite reaches the top. Gabby Street, now manager of the St. Louis Browns, could probably speak with feeling on the subject. He won pennants for the St. Louis Cardinals in 1930 and 1931 and then slipped down to a tie for sixth hi 1932. His exit was dramatic. Probably the lone exception among pennant-winning managers who are able to hold their jobs when the team skids is Connie Mack. In the past 20 years the Philadelphia Athletics under his tutelage have fin ished first three times and last six times. They've been in seventh place twice, in sixth once, in fifth and third twice each and in second four times. One of the reasons Con nie has hung on is that he is a substantial stockholder in the club. Mickey Cochrane's trouble at De troit was that success probably came too suddenly. He startled the baseball world by winning a pennant in 1934, his first year as manager and then repeated in 1935, taking the world'* championship to boot. Here and There CALIFORNIA Mends say Pop Warner will make good his in tention to retire as an active coach after this season ... He will pass along the Temple job to Fred Swan . . . Bob Seeds, Giant outfielder, punched cattle as a youngster on his father's ranch . . . Frank Kohlbeck er, the Cleveland Indians' traveling secretary, and Cr Slapnieka, the clnb's general manager, were bat tery mates for Milwaukee in the American association daring the ?pitball era . . . Gabby Hartnett promises to be the busiest man in the winter trading markets . . . He is dissatisfied with some of his play ers and feels that new faces would be a welcome change in some other spots. Comes a Cropper? I N ABILITY of Bobby Feller to wio 1 consistently for the Cleveland In dians this season Is regarded as om of the prime reasons for the failure of the Tribe to five the Yankees more competition. Last year and the year before it looked as if an the advance ballyhoo about this sen sational youth with the fireball speed would be fulfilled. But the same faults which plagued him at the start of his career seem BOBBY FELLER magnified this year ? wildness hi pitching to batter* and carelessness in watching rtumers once they get on base. Bobby still leads the league in strikeouts this year, but be is also far in the lead in bases on balls and his earned run average is somewhere between live and six runs per game. He is frequently the victim of stolen bases. ?WMHn?nemi UoUfc WHO'S NEWS THIS WEEK ' Br LEMUEL F. PARTON ?^EW YORK. ? When Sir Walter Runciman wa? here in 1937, it was reported that he was trying to persuade Washington to lend money Runciman Master of Squeeze Play to Germany, to soothe Hitler and make him stop frightening Eng land. That may or may noi nave Deen nis mission, but, as a master of the old credit and-raw-materials squeeze play, he works that way, and, now, as Vis count Runciman, he is deep in the Downing Street strategy which swings these two cudgels of empire. Prime Minister Chamberlain ap pointed him as mediator in the Czechoslovak-Sudeten German nego tiations, but the Czechs toned that down to adviser. Viscount Runciman has been ? silent ally of Viscount Halifax in the qniet, glacial-pressure ad vance of the four-power bloe scheme for a European coalition and the final and complete iso lation of Russia. It was reported from London, un verified so far as this writer knows, Make* Moves In World" m Cheat Game that rt was he who1 put over a fast credit double-play with France and Italy, the moment the Oaladier government came in, and he has been tagged as the man who deploys the empire's financial resources in the diplomatic chess game. His father was a ruddy old sea dog who sang chanteys, a cabin boy who became a shipping czar and a baronet. Viscount Runcimgn is a pallid, tight-lipped little man, a total abstainer, a former Sunday School teacher, and a faithful chapel goer. As president of the British board of trade, he made concessions in empire free trade, but he is a pro tectionist of the Chamberlain tradi tion. Like many men of small stature, he has the Napoleonic psy chosis, writing books about Napo leon and hoarding memorabilia. Hp HIS writer has heard from sev 1 eral assured but not necessarily authoritative sources that Tullio Serafin would succeed Edward Sera/in To Bo Th* Met ? Johnson as man ager of the Metro politan Opera. Signor Serafin has been highly es teemea nere ior ms musiciansrup, but all was not well between him and the Metropolitan manage ment when he returned to Rome in 1935, after a number of years as Italian conductor here. "The Metropolitan has not kept pace with the artistic progress of the modern stage," he said, on his arrival in Rome. "The way opera is put on at the Metropolitan is ri diculous . . . The great fault with the Metropolitan is the little encourage ment it is giving to its latent tal ent." Hie Metropolitan reply hinted that Signor Sera fin was really thinking about money rather than art. In the season '32-'33, he had a fair subsistence wage of $58,240 tor the season. This had been worked down to $34,000 the year he left. He did indicate that he thought that was pretty shabby pay for an ace conductor, but insisted his criti cism was directed solely at artistic shortcomings. Several years ago, the Metropoli tan was intent on national self-suf Home Talent For Opera No Bargain ficiency in music. It was going to discover and nur ture native talent. That hasn't quite come off, and there have been the usual number of importations. It will be interesting if it brings in not only a European manager, but one who is its sharpest critic. Among music lovers of this writ er's acquaintance, there seems to be great indifference about where the singers come from as long as they are good. They insist that mu sic, above all, must be free from the sharply nationalistic trends of the day. As a lad, Tnllio Serafln laid down ? shepherd's crook far a baton. Tending the sheep near Cavarsera on the Venetian mainland, he used to walk sev eral miles to town ?a Saturday night, at the age of ton, to een daet the village band. He at tended the conservatory at Mi lan and was a fall-fled red con ductor la his early yoath. At La Seal a, in Milan, he was assistant conductor under Gatti Casazza. He became one of the most widely known and popular con ductors in Europe. A stanch supporter of the Fascist regime from its outset, he has bean conductor of the Royal Opera at Rome since his departure from New , York. He was replaced her* by Ettore Panizza. ? OooaoMdat*d_Mcwa VOaturw.
The Alamance Gleaner (Graham, N.C.)
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Aug. 25, 1938, edition 1
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