When I was 10 my Father left Chrysler Corporation and joined Ball Brothers Glass Manufacturing Corporation as an Industrial Engineer. This meant we were moving again. It also meant that I would be enrolling in my fourth school in six years. So, here I was, in a new city, in the middle of fifth grade and being introduced to my new classmates. I had seen this movie before. I’m on the outside looking in at what had now become an all too familiar scenario. Of course, I was seated in the front row of desks, while being introduced to my classmates while the Teacher butchered the pronunciation of my name. I had heard the snickers before. Then something unbelievable happened, the Principal walked into the room, walked over to my desk and while pronouncing my name perfectly, welcomed me to Emerson Elementary School. He then turned to the classroom and instructed it’s occupants to take good care of me. Just as I was getting used to the positive attention he smiled down at me and left the room. Wow, that had never happened before, he had made me feel very special in what was traditionally an awkward situation that I had been dreading.
It wasn’t long before I was being invited to play marbles on the playground during recess and a few cute girls were smiling at me from the safety of their gaggle. It was during this transition from new kid in school that I began to be aware of my surroundings.
The first thing that I noticed about Emerson was the size of the building. It was three stories tall made of brick and was huge. It was to date, the biggest building I had been inside of next to our Church. I think it had been built in the 1920’s which sounded very old to me in 1960. In each end of the structure were the stairways which were huge. The stairway on the east end was designated for those who were descending from the upper floors and the stairways on the west end were to be used for getting to the upper levels. The floors were marble and shined in the sunlight. The classroom entry doors had numbers painted on the glass window above and the window was on a hinge that could be opened in case of excessive heat. The control for that came in the form of a long pole with a hook on it that had taken up residence in a dusty corner near the door. Upon entry to the classroom, the height of the ceilings immediately captured my attention, they must have 12 feet high. Passing by the large wooden Teacher’s desk behind which was a chalk board that had been built for a lot of information, because it stretched the entire length of the front of the room. After seating myself in at my assigned wooden one piece desk I immediately became aware of the classroom heating system positioned under the windows. There was a series of huge iron radiators that circulated hot water through the system. As impressive as their appearance was, the function left much to be desired. They had one temperature it seemed, Hot. It was not an uncommon sight, in the winter, to see one of the huge swivel windows cranked open to help mediate the temperature in the classroom. These iron monstrosities were tended to by the Janitor, whose job was to get to school early and turn up the heat of the water in the pipes. The result was that for several hours in the early part of the day a series of hisses and clanks would escape into the learning environment. Occasionally, one of the pipes would sound remarkedly like my Grandpa after Sunday dinner. This inevitably would spark a round of snickers and snarks from the students. Once in a while it would cause our teacher to giggle and class room decorum would take a dive for a few minutes. Recess, weather permitting, was to be enjoyed on the playground. As a normal 5th grade boy, I was usually quite ready to hit the Jungle Jim a couple of times a day. Even then I would find myself staring back at the impressive brick architecture. Something about the environment drew me to the building.
It was several years later while attending the University which was right down the street from Emerson, that it dawned on me. The buildings were built just like my elementary school and it evoked the same feeling in me. It wasn’t the buildings so much as it was the environment. This is where my childhood dream to become a teacher had taken root. It was the learning environment, the dedication to education, the opportunity to pursue intellectual growth. I continued that pursuit of education and have perpetuated my life long love of books and the collection there of, much to my wife’s chagrin. I still love to learn new things and am fascinated by old buildings and architecture.
Little was I aware that at ten years old I would experience something that has become part of my inner core. Most of my teachers names at Emerson Elementary School are lost in the tangle of my memory. However they left me with precious memories that will be with me forever. There is one name I will never forget, the Principal that took the time to welcome me to a his school and showed me a kindness that I could never repay, Mr. James Zedekar..