An 1890 Silver Dollar

When I was about six or seven years of age, my dad gave me and my brother and sister each a silver dollar. The one he handed to me bore the date 1890. I don't remember what happened to the coins he gave my brother and sister, but I carried mine in my pocket. I liked the feel of it there, and took it out to inspect it several times a day. I grew to love that coin and carried it for well over a month.

One day my dad came down the stairs dressed to go out, and asked whether I still had the silver dollar. I confirmed that I did, and drew it from my pocket. He told me we didn’t have any money, but needed milk, and asked for the silver dollar. I obediently handed it to him.

Over the next few weeks, I missed the silver dollar, but learned a lesson: life goes on despite losing something that meant something to me. Soon I was caught up in the adventures that capture the imagination of a young boy, and forgot about it.

A couple of months later, it was Christmas. My brother, sister, and I opened our presents while sitting on the floor near the sparkling tree. Afterward we remembered our stockings. I reached into the one bearing my name, and pulled out a few small treats and trinkets that were like my siblings.

Then my dad told me I missed something in my stocking, and suggested I reach all the way to its bottom. I soon pulled out a coin--a silver dollar. I turned it over, and saw that the date was 1890. Further, I recognized the scratches on the coin's face, and realized it was the same one I had handed Dad months before.

It became apparent that after he had been paid, Dad returned to the store and bought back the silver dollar I had given him.

Many times small, seemingly insignificant things create lasting impressions, and so it was with my 1890 silver dollar. It was a wonderful Christmas. I no longer remember the presents I received that year, but will never forget the consideration, sensitivity, and thoughtfulness a dad had for his young son on that Christmas morning.

Thanks Dad

Your son, Roger

Stanley Hayes

One-Room School Memories

One-Room School Memories

I attended Elmwood Grade School for sixth grade in the school year beginning in the fall of 1958. The school closed after that year. I went on to Junior High, but my brother, a year behind me, was transferred along with fellow Elmwood alumni to Empire Grade School. 


Elmwood Grade School was located on the south side of Lamm Road, three tenths of a mile west of South Baileyville Road, which when I lived there was called the Baileyville blacktop. The building still stands, and is presently a private residence. 


My parents were Stanley Hayes and Mary (Marler) Hayes. When I was born, we lived at 815 West American Street in the home built by my grandfather, John Ray Marler, who was a ticket agent for the Illinois Central Railroad. 


In the summer of 1958 we moved to a one-room cabin previously owned by “Cowboy” Bill Fay. We later added on to the home, which is located between the old racetrack and the county fairgrounds. Elmwood Grade School was 1.3 miles from our home—road miles. A school bus picked us up at the intersection of South Walnut and Fairground roads, which was a third of a mile from our driveway.


The school was comprised of three grades: 4^th through 6^th. During the year I attended, 24 students were enrolled, six of whom were 6^th graders like me. Our teacher was Miss Coomber. I don’t remember her first name. I seem to recall that she was from Ohio, and possibly returned there after Elmwood closed. My classmates were Jean Wilhelms, Sandra Helms, Karen Otto, JoAnne Kaiser,  and Steve somebody whose family moved away the following year. 


The school had two entrance doors, one for girls, the other for boys. Both doors led to a narrow coat room, and upon looking to my left upon entering, I could see the girls coming in. I always wondered why we had separate doors since they both led to the same place. But other schools, such as Lincoln Grade School, which I attended from Kindergarten through the 5^th grade, had separate girls and boys entrances. Lincoln’s were on opposite sides of the building, and are probably still marked as such.  


Doors from the coat room led into the rest of the building, which was one room. Four rows of school desks six deep were on the right side of the room, from the rear perspective, and a circle of chairs was on the left side of the classroom. Along the front was Miss Coomber’s desk and a chalk board. 


A coal-burning pot-bellied stove sat in the middle of the room, and it was the job of the first 6^th-grade boy who arrived to build a fire on cold mornings. Most of the time that was me, and I enjoyed tending the fire. I think we lit crumpled-up newspapers or scrap paper to light the lumps of coal. In winter it took a while for the room to become warm, and I remember students working math problems while still wearing coats and gloves or mittens until 10:00 a.m. 


The building had no running water nor facilities. An outhouse stood on the east side of the yard toward the rear of the lot. I suppose a pump for water was located outside, but I don’t specifically remember. 

I carried a metal lunch bucket, which usually contained a sandwich (often peanut butter and honey), and maybe some fresh vegetables or fruit. The small thermos that fit in the top of the lunch bucket usually contained milk. We ate at our desks. 

On most days Miss Coomber would take one of the classes to the circle of chairs on the left side of the classroom for a lesson. I remember a specific English lesson she taught to the 4th graders while the rest of us remained at our desks working on an assignment. I could hear the lesson, of course, and it served as a god refresher and foundation for higher-graded English homework I'd be assigned later. As a result, I felt that I learned more in 6th grade than I did in the two school years preceding or following it. 

During these times while our teacher was busy at the side of the room with another class, we were free to walk around the classroom provided we were asking a classmate how to calculate a math problem, for example. This freedom was violated once in a while, as one might expect, but not too often. 


Recesses were enjoyable with the entire student body participating in games in the yard on the east side of the building. We probably played several, but I remember only pump pump pull away, similar if not identical to capture the flag. 


No sidewalk led to the building, and depressions formed in the earth in front of the steps leading to the doors. In rainy weather, they filled with water. On one day some of us thought it would be fun to wade in the puddles. Jean Wilhelms, assuming we’d get in trouble, sat on the steps and watched. Sure enough, we ended up in trouble sufficient to warrant a swat or two with the paddle kept by Miss Coombers for that purpose. 

Not many people can say they attended a one-room school, but I'm glad I did.