Country Gal/City Woman: "Once a Hero, Always a Hero!"

"When I grow up I want to be a hero!"

You would never hear that slightly incongruous, self-serving boastful statement come out of the mouth of any self-respecting lad or lassie in my peer group at the time, the twenty-some First Graders at the now-demolished Grant School, Kindergarten through Third Grade.

So..Bobby Bailey did not wait to grow up to be a bona fide hero in the eyes of several starry-eyed damsels learning their A-B-C's alongside this always polite and quiet kid who lived up the street on Birch.

The day of the event of which I am about to tell you followed a day that Mom, Dad, brothers Dutch, Perle and Kenny, and sister, Addie, and I had spent visiting with Grandma Rhoda Cranston and our Uncle Ben on the family farm near Fletcher Chapel, a short distance from Atlantic, off of Highway 71.

On that Sunday Uncle Ben proudly introduced us to the mysteries of "The Radio!" a ridiculous invention encased in an ugly box that made no impression on my small mind at all at the time. It certainly wasn't anything I would ever want to be bothered with...too tiny, too tinny sounding and one had to practically wear it to hear it...nope, not for me. I'd rather chase chickens (and gather up their newly-layed eggs) around the farmyard and did. (Yes, I watched carefully where I stepped 'cause Grandma was a stickler for tidy floors, beloved granddaughter notwithstanding!)

All of this has nothing to do with Bobby except to explain that on the ride home from the Cranston Homestead, I felt uncomfortably warm but without any further ado or complaint, I settled down on the back seat and fell asleep. (One could say I was a "model" child, didn't fret or whine or cry or beg or cuss or tattle but I would be stretching the truth a tad bit.)

Jump forward with me to the following Monday morning when off to school we kids went knowing it was bound to be another great and fun-filled day of learning and playing, soaking up quality education under the watchful eyes of Pearl Dahlberg, Esther Butler, Agnes Dawson, Maude Fryman, Clara Ergenbright, a staff like no other, believe me!

A bathroom break that followed consumption of cold chocolate milk this particular morning proved to be life-changing for the entire First Grade of Grant School.

No doors closed off the three or four stalls in the Girls' Bathroom; and so, it was here that a very observant classmate noticed several red bumps on the trunk of my body (I am discomfited yet when I think of how THAT could have happened...20/20 eyesight is the logical answer (not mine, hers), but along with washing our hands after bathroom use, we were told to keep our eyes to ourselves, too.  And, one day, I am going to tell Miss Butler!) 

Said classmate decided to make this day an unscheduled "Share and Tell" day and to my utter chagrine, I was "shared!" Following my little playmate's detailed "report," and a bit of tittering in the classroom, a more complete inspection by Miss Butler led to a telephone call to Mom and home I went...with measles!

Just more than a bit indignant!  Strip-searched, found guilty of possession, punishment quickly rendered: two-weeks' house arrest, meals included but no sympathetic visitors save siblings at home, and they wanted no part of being guilty by association. Could it get any worse? Enter Bobby! ...

Bobby, for whatever reason, picked up on my emotional state of affairs (being in the classroom) immediately, and though we were simply platonic neighborhood playmates, decided he was going to "make things right!" Bobby, Hero!, (see the connection now?) promptly organized the first "Gang" ever to walk the halls of my beloved Grant School named after Ulysses S. Grant, another warrior/hero of considerable fame.

Without much forethought of consequences, upon the afternoon dismissal of school, said juvenile "Gang" members ambushed the unsuspecting lass and her supporters who, for every good reason, had spread the news of my contamination to each of the four classrooms (we were a small school)!

The blows struck for right or wrong were light, and no permanent damage was inflicted upon one or the other warring factions. I was ensconced in bed, in my home across the alley from the temporary battlefield and had no idea such a high price had been offered on my behalf.

Of course, I felt like a little bit of "royalty" when I later heard of the skirmish, never did properly thank Bobby and The Gang, the skinniest, puniest, ragtag defenders of my somewhat dubious honor on that fateful day when Bobby became a "hero" as he led "The Charge of the Lightweight Brigade!"

Measles, bruised egos and skinned knees were bravely suffered as real heros and heroines do in every story of this kind known to man.  Indeed, friendships were mended in time for the next pick-up game of softball in Talty's Pasture the following Saturday morning but minus their ailing all-around first basewoman and substitute pitcher.  Some few years later, Bobby and his wee battlers lived on to fight another heroic battle with honor...World War II.

Now...some 80 years later, thank you, Bobby and The Notorious Ulysses S. Grant School Gang!  I am beholden...