A Home Visit

1930s teachers visit student homes

A Home Visit

 

By Elton Camp

 

(This is taken from my weekly newspaper column.)

 

            With the goal of increasing community involvement and support for a school where my mother was a teacher in the late 1930s, faculty members were assigned to visit the home of each child.  Some of the youngsters lived in almost inaccessible places in the hills and valleys surrounding the school.  In such cases, the teachers obtained detailed directions from the student. 

 

            “You go past Reverend Beason’s church to th’ stand of pine trees, turn right on a dirt road, and stay on it ’till you reach th’ big rock and turn left.  It’s up that way a fur piece ’long side th’ creek,” was a typical response. 

 

            “We had a good bit of trouble finding one house,” Mother recalled, “but after making a stop at a store for directions, we finally located the narrow lane that led from the road to the house.  It was rough, in spots little more than two ruts with grass growing in the middle, but we could tell that it was traveled.  After bumping along for a distance, the road passed between two huge boulders.  Atop one was perched a shabbily dressed young man with a grizzly beard.  Across his lap lay a shotgun.”

 

            “Whut’s yore business heer?” he demanded.  He spit tobacco juice to the side of the rock as he stared suspiciously at the callers. 

 

            After they uneasily explained their mission, he gestured them onward with the shotgun.  “Th’ house ez just a piece up th’ road.  Y’u can’t miss hit,” he said in a voice not entirely cordial. 

 

            “What do you think?” she asked her companions.  The hurried consensus was that they should proceed.  To risk antagonizing the man wouldn’t be wise.  Besides, with no place to turn around, there was little choice unless they wanted to attempt to back the long distance to the road. 

 

            After about a hundred yards, the house came into view.  The central portion of the dilapidated structure was of logs.  A rickety front porch seemed at the point of collapse, but cane bottom chairs showed it continued in use. The roof was covered with wooden shingles upon which green moss had gained a considerable foothold.  The windows were raised, but no screens covered them.  A thin trail of smoke arose from the chimney despite the warmth of the fall afternoon.  Additions, with shed-type roofs, extended from the left side and the back of the small residence.  The weathered planks had never seen paint.  In the front yard was an open shelter over a hand-dug well.  A windlass with rope and a bucket allowed the residents to draw water.  Barely visible behind the house was a small outdoor toilet.  Alongside it was a good-size garden that, despite being near the end of its production, was free of weeds.  It was enclosed with a high fence.  The yard had no grass.  To the left of the structure stood a cast iron wash pot.  Three hound dogs lay in the shade under the front porch, but they raised their heads to bark lazily at the intruders.  White chickens pecked randomly in the yard. A skinny mule stood in front of a barn of logs that was considerably larger than the house.  A woman stood at a scattered pile of wood, collecting a few sticks for the fire on which she was cooking supper.  She looked at the teachers, but said nothing. 

 

            Two young men with protruding ears, unruly hair, and wearing dirty shirts approached the car and stared at the visitors.  Incongruously, one of them wore a wrist watch which he made sure to keep turned so that they could admire it.  The two looked like older versions of Lucas, Mother’s student in the first grade.  The awkward situation was defused as Lucas ran from the house toward the car.

 

Next week, we’ll look in on the interesting visit with the rural family.