Sunday, January 19, 2020

Long Feet


The 52 Ancestors’ prompt of “Long” made me wonder what to write about. Then I thought about the Moore feet. Most of us inherited the long somewhat narrow feet. My feet are long, size 10 or 11 depending on the style shoe. Add to that they’re flat. When I went for my induction physical for the Air Force they questioned those flat feet but passed me anyway. My dad, Earl Moore faced the same. When he was drafted into the army during WWII they questioned his long, flat feet but it was war and he was inducted. Then there’s my great grandfather Charles S. Moore. He served in the 4th NJ Regimental Infantry during the Civil War. He must have been and ornery guy because he disobeyed and order to stopped shooting mules with dried corn kernels and shot again. They court marshaled him and docked his pay. The transcript of the court marshal contained a question about his being late for a battle. The sergeant explained that he had bad feet and couldn’t keep up with the rest, so they made him the wagoner. Those long, flat feet are still around in my family. When my oldest son, Sean was born the first thing my husband said was, “Oh no, he has your father’s feet.” And now I see my grandson, Finn and think, “Oh no, he has my father’s feet.”

#52 Ancestors, #52 Ancestors 2020, #Long Feet, #Earl Moore, #Charles S. Moore

Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Favorite Photos


I've always liked this picture of my mom, Millicent “Midge” Moore and me. It was in front of our apartment at 803 Chambers Ave. in Gloucester City, NJ. I always feel a close to her when I see this picture. It’s black and white but I still see the colors. 
The second picture is my mom’s favorite picture. This is in DeSoto Park in Tampa, Florida. My grandmother, Hazel Wiedrich and my mom made a path up to their house using upturned car batteries (sorry, people were so environmental conscience in the early 1950s). The third person is me.

#52 Ancestors, #52 Ancestors 2020, #Favorite Photos, #Arlene Moore, #Millicent Wiedrich, #Hazel Bristol


Saturday, January 4, 2020

Fresh Start


How great is a fresh start? A chance to begin again with nothing hanging over your head. It seems it doesn’t come along often enough. Sometimes changing jobs can be a fresh start. I was lucky. I had a fresh start every year. I was a teacher.

Every September I began again. New students and a start at the beginning of the course again. It meant trying something new or eliminating something not successful. It meant developing a relationship with new students. Because I had multiple certifications, it sometimes meant not only different courses but different disciplines. This year it might be reading and Jr Hi math, next it might be earth science, life science, general science or High School math. It was exciting and refreshing. It’s hard to imagine any other job having that opportunity. Well, unless you count being a student a “job”.

#52 Ancestors, #52 Ancestors Fresh Start, #52 Ancestors 2020, #Fresh Start, #Teaching

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Slchool Days at Highland Park School


Highland Park School in Gloucester City, NJ was a four-classroom school when I attended from 1957 to 1961. In the basement was the lunchroom (it may have been a kindergarten room in the morning). My Brownie Scout troop met in the basement. I have fond memories of Mrs. Davidson and Mrs. Blanche Moen teaching us scout songs, making butter and crossing a bridge to a higher troop. I had attended Monmouth St. school for kindergarten before we moved to the Cypress Gardens section of the city.

Our class was quite large and was the only grade in our classroom. Some of the other grades were grouped two grades in one classroom.  My first-grade teacher was Mrs. Cole. She was the meanest person I ever met in my childhood. She would smack us, hit us, pull our hair and ears and verbally abuse us. Once when I had a wrong math problem she ripped my skirt off my body. That little navy-blue pleated skirt is seared into my memory. Why didn’t we tell our parents? She told us she would kill us if  we did. Kids were having night terrors, wetting the bed, and afraid to go to school. A classmate told me years later about meeting Mrs. Cole while grocery shopping with his mother and shaking in his shoes while she sweet talked his mother. I had a child nervous breakdown. After nightmares, crying and saying I was afraid to go to school my mother went to see the teacher. She said I was a terrible child and that my kindergarten teacher said that too. My mom went back to my old school and told Mrs. Barr, my kindergarten teacher what Mrs. Cole said. Mrs. Barr asked who my teacher was and when told it was Mrs. Cole she said my mom should go to Miss Mary Ethel Costello, the Asst. Superintendent of Schools. I was called to the principal’s room (she taught 2nd grade) while all the other children were outside on the playground. Present besides the principal were Miss Costello, Mrs. Cole and me. Not even my mother. I was asked all the things Mrs. Cole was doing to the children. I told them everything (can’t believe I was that brave, but I was truthful). Then they called my mom on the telephone and had me repeat everything I had told them.  What was the result of this inquisition? Mrs. Cole would remain our teacher and would be fired at the end of the school year. As for me, I would still be in her class. She ignored me the rest of the year. This situation would be all over the news if it happened today. When she left at the end of the year they found empty gin bottles hidden all over the classroom, cloak room and the basement. I sometimes marvel that after that experience I loved school and ironically became a math teacher.

Mrs. Farina, the principal,  was my second-grade teacher. I don’t remember much about that year. The most overwhelming memory is that I was behind thanks to Mrs. Cole. I think I sat behind Joanne (Dee) Davidson as we were two of the tallest kids in the class. I remember looking over Dee’s shoulder to see her paper. I knew Mrs. Farina knew I was looking at other people’s papers, but she never said anything. She let me catch up and later I could do my work on my own.

Third grade was Mrs. Barrish  (not sure of the spelling). I remember very little. She was young and in my mind pretty. I think her husband may have been in the military. She left after that year.

Fourth grade was Mrs. Angrabe. I started that school year late. I had an emergency appendectomy at the end of August. In those days you were in the hospital for a week or more. I had some complications and was in about 10 days. I began the school year two weeks or so late. Then I wasn’t allowed on the playground at recess as a precaution, so I spent it in the classroom with Mrs. Angrabe. This was the first time I remember having science. I loved it. I was fascinated with space and space travel. Mrs. Angrabe’s husband taught science at my next school, M. E. Costello. This was Mrs. Angrabe’s last year teaching. She was pregnant with her first child. She was a great teacher and I loved her and her class. The next year Highland Park students went to Costello school. My classroom teacher was Miss  Perry. There we would have Mr. Angrabe for science. But tragedy would strike. Mrs. Angrabe would die shortly after having her baby. It was traumatic for young children who had spent so much of the previous year with her. Ironically Miss Perry would later marry Mr. Angrabe.

Highland Park gave us a great start. Our independence started. Probably our first days away from mom or a babysitter. Most of us walked to school by ourselves. Classes were large but for the most part we were taught well.

#Highland Park School, #Gloucester City, NJ schools, #52 Ancestors, #52 Ancestors 2019, #School days, #Gloucester City, NJ