I enjoyed your list of memories, Ken, and think we both share the same
type of Mayberry experiences growing up. My childhood memories are
from the days of our small, eastern Kansas farm, situated in the
woodlands and hills of a very rural environment. REA finally brought
electricity to our farm when I was 10 years old. The annual prickly
cedar Christmas tree in our humble home, cut from Mr. Fletcher's
pasture, was now able to twinkle with a small string of electric lights
of multiple colors. There were only 7 bulbs on this one string --
that's all we could afford -- but we thought it was wonderful and special.
My brother and I attended a small, one-room, country school about 1½
miles east of our farm. All 8 elementary grades were represented in
this small room with Miss Margaret at the helm, a versatile and
dedicated teacher who juggled numerous responsibilities with apparent
ease. Water was hand-pumped from a well and carried in to fill the
schoolroom's water keg. Miss Margaret carried in buckets of coal each
morning, shoveled it into a black monster (the heating stove), and
attempted to keep the drafty building reasonably warm, though the
earliest of our morning classes were taught while we students propped
our feet against a chrome guard surrounding the stove. Tall windows
invited all available sunlight into the room, and if artificial lighting
was required, two kerosene lamps hung from the ceiling did as well as
they could. Restroom facilities were reached via two long paths, one
to the girls' outhouse and one on the schoolyard's opposite end to the
boys' outhouse. Neither was anything to write home about, believe me.
Christmas found us producing extravaganza programs with music, plays,
and recitations. Miss Margaret was not a music teacher, so it was up
to Coleta and me, the two pianists in our student body, to teach the
music and play the piano. My dad tried to keep the old upright piano
in working order, despite hungry mice that nibbled on leather and felt
pieces inside the instrument. The farmers brought in an evergreen tree
cut from someone's pasture, and it was usually so tall that its tip-top
lapped over against the ceiling. Again, no lights on the tree, but we
students made ornaments, paper chains, and threaded popcorn for a
glorious monument to Tannenbaum nonetheless. One Christmas, a
neighbor was entertaining a guest from Germany who agreed to sing
"Stille Nacht" for our school's Christmas program. I was given the
privilege of playing the piano accompaniment for this lady from so far
away and we poor urchins were in awe. I dare say that no one in our
little sheltered community had ever before heard anything in a foreign
language. Even our Barney act-alikes never had opportunity to ask anyone
before, "Sprechen sie Deutsch?". Never could I have even imagined at
that age that someday I would be in Oberndorf, Austria, where "Silent
Night" was written and first performed at a Christmas Eve service.
Our own Village of Mayberry (Mound City) was a mere 3 miles from our
farm, and all of the wonderful characters we've come to love on /The
Andy Griffith Show/ were alive and well in Mound City, just as
predictable, just as entertaining, and just as cantankerous at times.
Like you, Ken, I wouldn't trade those growing-up times of my life for
anything. They shaped our values for a lifetime, instilled discipline,
encouraged a strong work ethic, and taught us to care for one another.
And, we didn't need high-tech electronics to entertain us. We had
reason to be creative, inventive, and industrious. No, not everything
was perfect, and there were a few down and bad times, but my selective
memory chooses to cling to these rich chapters of family and community.
They made us who we are and what we are. And so it was, and for the
present, I send my best wishes to all of you for a wonderful, joyous,
blessed Christmas. May your new year be bright, healthy, and happy.
Larry in CO
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