Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 23, 1995 TAG: 9501230090
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C4 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KEN BAKER DAILY PRESS
DATELINE: WILLIAMSBURG (AP) LENGTH: Medium
``Clink. Clink. Clink.''
The steady sound comes from the kitchen, where streaks of morning sunlight illuminate Fannie ``Grandma'' Epps.
The diminutive 99-year-old sits in a beige overcoat at a table, clanging her spoon against a near-empty bowl of cornflakes.
She's not acting like someone who has somewhere to go.
Yet Epps, who for 17 years has worked at Norge Elementary School (where she received the nickname), has only five minutes before she must shuffle across her living room's creaky hardwood floor, grab her cane and board the bus for school.
She gets up at 7 every weekday morning to assist students with mental and physical disabilities because, she said, ``I don't want to act dead while I'm still alive.''
The bus eases to a stop in front of Epps' historic home on Duke of Gloucester Street. Epps, her golden brown skin glowing, taps her cane as she toddles toward the bus.
``Good morning, Grandma,'' says bus aide Gina Warburton, extending an arm to help Epps onto the quiet bus.
Eight sets of young eyes fix on Epps. Ages 2 through 7, the children clearly look forward to picking up this final passenger.
Joseph, from his wheelchair, stares up at Epps, who, at barely 5 feet tall, eases down the aisle.
One child's sunken eyes, set in the broad face associated with Down's syndrome, fix an expectant glance on Epps as she drops onto the seat beside him and gently rubs his right arm.
She wishes him a good morning. He smiles.
The 20-minute ride up Route 60 to Norge is merely transportation for the young passengers observing the passing scenery.
But the yellow time machine carries Epps' thoughts back nearly 100 years, to a time when horse-drawn buggies rolled through Williamsburg's dirt streets.
Born in 1895, Epps has never lived anywhere but Williamsburg. ``Born and raised here,'' she boasts. She married her husband, Fred, at a church in Williamsburg in 1917. He was a cook at the Williamsburg Inn and worked at the city post office.
He died in 1961. Three of her four children have died, too. Her youngest son, Roland, who is 67, still resides in Williamsburg and visits her regularly.
The bus jerks to a stop. They've arrived at the school.
Warburton, the bus aide, guides each child off the bus.
First, she lowers Joseph down the wheelchair lift. The others follow. Epps, sitting in the back seat, exits last.
``You behave yourself today,'' jokes the driver, Gertie Duke, as the group files into the school.
It's now 9:15 a.m. Grandma Epps plays with an enthusiastic toddler, Drew.
Because he has difficulty walking, Drew plops, inch-by-inch, around the classroom floor on his buttocks and rough hands.
``Jingle Bell Rock'' by the Chipmunks resounds loudly from a portable tape player. Epps, bending over little Drew, claps her hands to the rhythm. He chirps with giddy laughter.
Epps retired from the Hampton-based Foster Grandparent program - where she makes $2.45 an hour - last spring. She had thought she was getting too old to ride the bus to school every day.
When September arrived, though, she changed her mind.
``I was lonesome,'' said Epps, the oldest of the 85 foster grandparents working in Peninsula schools for handicapped children. ``So I said, `Shucks, I'm going on back.' So here I am.''
Epps seems to have an answer for just about anything thrown her way, yet she can't figure out why anyone would want to read about her in the newspaper. ``I've just lived a life, that's all,'' she said.
Epps doesn't know if she'll return to school next year. That depends on her health.
``I'm doing good now, though,'' she added.
by CNB