ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, August 6, 1996 TAG: 9608060025
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
COLUMN: Reporter's Notebook
SOURCE: TRACY WHITAKER
If you were a girl, you couldn't wear pants to school at Bethel Elementary School in 1965. There were some other things students couldn't do: If you were rowdy, you couldn't act up too much. Teachers were revered. You didn't sass them.
You quickly learned that you couldn't run in the halls or shove while getting off the bus. A lot of older kids wore the coveted Safety Patrol belt and badge. Armed with a note pad and pen, they took names first and asked questions later. If busted, you would take a long walk down the yellow-tiled corridor to the big office. You would be ushered in to see Mr. DeBusk, the principal, whose broad face, capable of smiling huge John Candy-like smiles, would be very still. He would listen, hands folded over his big stomach, while you explained how your name happened to get on the list in front of him, even though the page might be clearly titled, "Ran Up Steps."
After your talk, you would still be friends, but you would not run up any more steps for a while.
Mr. DeBusk would still sign your report card on the last day of school: You could count on seeing "John 3:16'' written beneath his signature.
There were many more things that you could do, though.
You could buy a big fat red pencil and a Blue Horse notebook at the supplies closet for 25 cents.
You could get your school picture made at the beginning of the year and walk away from the photographer with a new black plastic comb in hand and white spots before your eyes from the flash.
You could go outside at recess and play in the shade of a huge oak tree. You could watch ants march up its deeply furrowed bark carrying crumbs dropped from snacks hurriedly eaten before games of Red Rover or softball or Simon Says.
You could make friends who would still be a part of your life 30 years later.
You could be chosen to go outside and dust your teacher's erasers against the brick walls of the school.
You could relish the novelty of taking fifth-grade science in Bethel's first mobile unit.
You could check out books, take them home and discover that reading would be one of the greatest pleasures of your life.
In a few weeks, Bethel's teachers and students will be busy with the beginning-of-the-year rituals of assigning desks and textbooks and getting reacquainted. But this year as they settle into the first six weeks of school, they know that their days at Bethel may be numbered. Within the next two years, a new school will be built in Riner, and Bethel, at least for now, is scheduled to close - though a group of Bethel parents and supporters are trying to change Montgomery County officials' minds about that plan.
This fall when you drive past the old school, look at the colored paper art decorating the windows. Note the yellow school buses lined up in the mornings and afternoons that safely carry children from home to school and back again. Notice the wide, well-worn playground and the big shade trees. Take a minute to remember what it felt like to touch your tongue to the place where you lost a baby tooth the night before and how, at recess, the wind would whistle past your ears when you ran as fast as you could just because you could.
In those days, it was easy to be sure of the right answers when tough questions arose. It was simple: You knew the answer, raised your hand, and the teacher called on you to enlighten the rest of the class.
The best part was, though, if we didn't know the answer, we could always look in the back of the book.
If only it could be so simple now.
Tracy Whitaker is a former editorial assistant with the New River Valley bureau of The Roanoke Times.
LENGTH: Medium: 72 linesby CNB