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The dismissal bell is tolling for those one-room schoolhouses that once dotted the American landscape.
At the end of World War II, the nation had more than 85,000. Today perhaps only 1,000 of the simple wooden buildings survive, the National Geographic Society reports.
Surrounded by nostalgia, one-room schoolhouses call to mind carefree barefoot days, shy, tentative first flirtations, and an occasional day of hooky spent at the ol’ swimmin’ hole. Presiding over all this was a stern but lovable schoolmarm who patiently drilled home the time-honored 3 Rs.
Strong Emotions Aroused
“These kids today don’t know what they’re missin’,” say oldtimers who lament the passing of the little red structures. “They don’t know how lucky they are,’’ counter those impressed by the facilities available in modern rural schools.
A case can be made for both views, but there’s no disputing the fact that at the turn of the century the typical little red schoolhouse — it was more often white—left a lot to be desired.
Poorly lighted, the classrooms reeked of kerosene, oil-mopped floors, chalk dust, perspiration, damp wood, and chlorine bleach. It took about a gallon of bleach each day to sanitize the nearby privy.
The children who attended the board and log cabin schools of colonial times had it even rougher. The buildings were primitive and small, roughly 18 by 20 feet. Low ceilings and few windows resulted in poor ventilation and a stifling atmosphere that made it not only hard to learn, but as one 18th-century pupil put it, “a toil to exist.”
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