With summer vacation underway for the kiddos, I tend to reminisce about my childhood summers.
Working the hayfields, fighting with my brothers, swimming lessons, my annual purchase of five dollars in fireworks.
However, I still remember those school days leading up to summer vacation.
The highlight of my entire fourth-grade experience occurred in early 1969 when Valparaiso Elementary played Raymond Elementary in basketball.
Only the boys were allowed to play.
The girls were granted the incredible honor of attending the game and sitting in the stands while cheering for us.
Earlier that winter, we had played at Ceresco and got our clock cleaned. My performance against Ceresco was horrible, and I was extremely disappointed I didn’t even get a shot at the basket.
The Raymond game was played in the Raymond school building, which was a square, white, two-story structure that creaked and groaned whenever anyone walked on its ancient wooden floors. Raymond’s tiny gym was dark and drafty, but I loved it because I scored two points on a short jump shot from the right side of the lane. I don’t remember if we won or lost the game; and I didn’t care. The important thing was I scored two points, and by the end of the week, dozens of people learned of this great accomplishment. I made sure of it.
While my basketball seeds were sprouting, my knowledge of baseball players died on the vine when my teacher, Mrs. Sharon Eagen, gave me a writing assignment on New York Yankees great Joe DiMaggio.
Mom and Dad had recently purchased a complete set of World Book Encyclopedias, and finding a segment on DiMaggio was easy. I was proud of my research, which consisted of copying the encyclopedia story word-for-word.
My self-assurance was quickly deflated when I got up in front of the entire class and pronounced DiMaggio, “Duh-Mingo.”
Mrs. Eagen was dreadfully terse when she corrected me. I got a sermon on how important it is to pronounce the name of anyone correctly. She then asked me if the story was my work or someone else’s. I knew what she meant and confessed I copied it from the encyclopedia. Mrs. Eagen then lectured the whole class on the importance of using the encyclopedia and any other publication as a guide, but that our work should not be a replica. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had just received my first plagiarism lecture.
Just like Nebraska fourth graders of today, my fourth-grade class studied Nebraska history. Mrs. Eagen taught me about the Great Blizzard of 1888 that killed several of the state’s children who were caught in the storm while walking home from school. I learned of the pioneers who ventured across Nebraska in covered wagons, and about the State Capitol building. To cap off my fourth-grade history lessons, my classmates and I took a field trip to Lincoln and toured the capitol. I was awestruck when we traveled up the elevator to the four observation decks that provided a panoramic view of Lincoln in every direction. I’m sure I stared directly at Memorial Stadium, located 10 blocks to the northwest, but I had no clue as to what I was viewing.
After touring the capitol, my classmates and I ate at McDonald’s on North 27th Street.
Mom had given me 50 cents for lunch, which got me a hamburger, fries, and a soda. Most of my classmates had been given between 50 cents and a dollar for the trip, so some were able to buy a souvenir at the capitol and still have money left over for lunch.
Mark Shanahan, whose family owned a Valparaiso plumbing-and-heating business, brought two dollars and feasted on 50 cent Big Macs and other goodies. His coin-filled pockets made him more popular than even the famous Hamburger Clown.
That was 1969.
I’m not sure what two dollars would get me today.