Alex, First Grade, and Hendricks Avenue
Sometime during kindergarten, my mother discovered that there was a boy around the corner who would be going to the same school I would as a first grader, and his mother and mine threw us together as playmates. It is one of the decisions that my parents made for which I am eternally gratefully. Alex was everything I could want in a playmate. Also the youngest (at the time-he subsequently had a younger brother) with significantly older siblings, Alex and I hit it off from minute one. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that I was a girl, for which I was thankful, and we pretty much spent every waking minute together, playing in my backyard, in his family room (he had TONS of Lincoln Logs), or hanging out in the park. I know now that Alex endured torment from the other boys in the neighborhood-as he headed to my house, he would be taunted with cries of “Hey Alex, going to your giiiiiiirlfriend’s?” At the time, he kept it from me, though he’s subsequently told me the desire to play with me always overcame the embarrassment-he would simply backtrack to his house, jump the back fence, cut through the neighbors’ yards, and sneak over to my place.
Chace had moved on to Catholic school and I saw her less frequently, but my relationship with Alex cemented into something that has lasted for more than twenty-five years, despite the fact we had less than a year together due to my family’s move to Pennsylvania. I’ve never been one to make or keep friends easily, but I know that if I needed him, Alex would be there for me. And though he has a wife, two great stepkids, and a beautiful daughter of his own, if Alex needed anything, I would be off to Jacksonville like a shot. Friendships like that don’t come along too often in life, and when they do, they’re miraculously wonderful.
When we headed off to Hendricks Avenue for first grade, things got really tough. Jacksonville had not solved desegregation in any useful way. Most of the kids from our neighborhood were bussed into the ghetto, while kids from the projects were bussed into our local school. Alex and I were placed in different classes and saw each other at lunch, on the rare occasions we had recess (classes were punished by the removal of recess), and at Gifted. It was the days before mandatory kindergarten, and my teacher was overwhelmed-she had thirty students, twenty-five of whom were from the projects and not only had never learned their ABC’s, but had never learned how to behave. John, from my preschool, was in my class. There were five Caucasian kids in the class-everyone else from our part of town had been sent to our classmates’ part of town for school. These kids were by no means dumb. They were street-smart, and if you wanted to live, you didn’t mess with them. But you could learn from them. One boy, Anthony, was sent to be paddled by the terrifying Miss Juanita Wilson, principal who took no shit, every day.
I had the good fortune to be seated next to Elliot. He came from the projects, but his mother had made sure he knew how to behave in school, and he was smart as a whip. He spent Mondays in gifted with me and we became fast friends, which made us both outcasts. He wore glasses and was bright-kids from his neighborhood bullied him. Furthermore, he hung out with a white girl. One thing I will say for my parents-they were never racists. They marched with Dr. King on Atlanta, and my mother had no problem having Elliot over to play, or driving him home to his atrociously dangerous neighborhood.
Elliot and I had our share of woes too. As our teacher was mostly occupied with trying to keep order in the classroom, we tended to chatter away about whatever was on our minds. Alex and Elliot were friendly, which was a plus. But the teacher, exasperated with our inability not to talk to one another during class, decided on a uniquely bizarre punishment. When Elliot and I were caught talking, we were made to sit under the table we shared with several other kids. This was, of course, ridiculously ineffective. Instead of talking above decks, we talked under the table. The first grade teachers were tough, and eventually resorted to banning recess altogether because their students couldn’t behave. Fortunately for Alex, Elliot, and me, we had tested Gifted, which was a day-long program once a week with a sympathetic teacher who made damn sure we had ample time to play outside.
Lunchtimes were a nightmare. Talking was utterly forbidden, as was looking around for friends. Lunch ladies and Miss Wilson, paddle in hand, patrolled the rows, intermittently screaming, “Turn around, sit down!” and jerking talkers out of their seats (Alex was a victim) to smack them with the paddle. One day following lunch, I hurried to get into line to go back to class. Miss Wilson took my haste for running and threatened me with a visit to her office for a real paddling. I was horrified.
I’m not sure I would have survived five years at Hendricks Avenue. My sister had not-it had been so awful for her (also under the administration of Miss Wilson) that a child psychiatrist told my parents to get her out of there, and she ended up in a private all-girls school where she eventually became quite successful. My more adaptable brother made it all the way through before being sent to private school. I might have made it with Alex and Elliot at my side, but there’s no telling. Mid-way through the year, my life changed forever.
Posted on March 24, 2007