the horses. Along with the coal furnace, the electric lights, and the domestic-science room, the school had a projector with educational slides donated by the Ford Motor Company. It even had a telephone. The final critical component was the teachers, and on August 4, 1916, the Republican reported that the two schoolteachers “come very highly recommended” and that “Elkhead people count on a splendid school this term.”
The community was proud of its big new school. One of Ros’s ninth-graders, Leila Ferguson, had come west with her family from Medicine Lodge, Kansas, with a few chickens and turkeys in crates and some equipment for the household, including a Singer sewing machine. Leila said that as a young girl, she had been taught by her mother, “and she wasn’t much of a teacher. She had no patience.” In 1910 the Fergusons were strong advocates of the new district, and Leila attended the Dry Fork school before Elkhead was built. “ We had brand-new desks ,” she told Ferry’s granddaughter Belle sixty-three years later. “I’ll never forget seeing them uncrate those desks and knowing one was going to be mine. I wouldn’t have put a mark on it, a scratch on it, for anything. I just loved every minute of school.”
Everyone knew how difficult it would be for the children to get to school in bad weather; the site had been chosen with equal access in mind. A civil engineer created a survey indicating where each family lived and the number of school-age children, drew a series of concentric circles that indicated each mile mark, and then located a spot in the center. None of the students would have over a three-mile trip each way. “ That consolidated point ,” Carpenter said, “was on top of a hill with not even a road to it.” It also happened to have the finest views in Elkhead.
—————————
On Sunday morning, two days after their arrival, Rosamond wrote: “Dearest papa: You are just getting ready for St. Peter’s. I have thoughtof you and mother so much, while Dotty and I have been sitting in the sun drying our heads, after washing them in the most wonderful soft sulphur water (which has to be carried about ¼ mile from a spring!).” On Sunday mornings in Auburn, coachmen readied the carriages as the church bells began ringing around town. The middle class and the poor walked to their neighborhood churches. Catholics had separate congregations for German, Italian, Polish, Russian Orthodox, and Ukrainian immigrants. At the Harrisons’, Ros described the tranquil beauty of the mountains, the little creek, the sagebrush, the wildflowers, and “the cultivated spots” where “grain of all sorts flourishes.”
Later, they accompanied the family in “the so-called spring wagon” to Sunday school at the schoolhouse—Mr. and Mrs. Harrison on the seat, and Ruth, Lewis, Ros, and Dorothy spread about in the back. It was the social event of the week, and virtually everyone turned out. Dorothy wrote to Milly, “Our beautiful new school seems so out of place, perched on that lonely mountain side and the people seem even more so.” It was the teachers’ first introduction to the neighbors. The men wore sombreros and overalls and spurs; the women were “nice & intelligent-looking—a lot of shy girls and a perfect swarm of small boys who were introduced to me en masse—as being my pupils.” One little boy, whose family somehow had not been counted in the survey, told her that he would be riding eight miles each day.
Miss Iva Rench, an officious young woman from Muncie, was teaching at Mountain View and had been conducting Sunday-school services at Elkhead. Her lessons consisted of “Pauline doctrines of the stiffest kind,” Ros commented. She was not one of the more popular people in Elkhead. Nevertheless, she conducted an impressive Sunday-school sermon on Paul’s missionary journey which Dorothy and Ros sat through in fear that she would ask them questions. “She is expecting to
The community was proud of its big new school. One of Ros’s ninth-graders, Leila Ferguson, had come west with her family from Medicine Lodge, Kansas, with a few chickens and turkeys in crates and some equipment for the household, including a Singer sewing machine. Leila said that as a young girl, she had been taught by her mother, “and she wasn’t much of a teacher. She had no patience.” In 1910 the Fergusons were strong advocates of the new district, and Leila attended the Dry Fork school before Elkhead was built. “ We had brand-new desks ,” she told Ferry’s granddaughter Belle sixty-three years later. “I’ll never forget seeing them uncrate those desks and knowing one was going to be mine. I wouldn’t have put a mark on it, a scratch on it, for anything. I just loved every minute of school.”
Everyone knew how difficult it would be for the children to get to school in bad weather; the site had been chosen with equal access in mind. A civil engineer created a survey indicating where each family lived and the number of school-age children, drew a series of concentric circles that indicated each mile mark, and then located a spot in the center. None of the students would have over a three-mile trip each way. “ That consolidated point ,” Carpenter said, “was on top of a hill with not even a road to it.” It also happened to have the finest views in Elkhead.
—————————
On Sunday morning, two days after their arrival, Rosamond wrote: “Dearest papa: You are just getting ready for St. Peter’s. I have thoughtof you and mother so much, while Dotty and I have been sitting in the sun drying our heads, after washing them in the most wonderful soft sulphur water (which has to be carried about ¼ mile from a spring!).” On Sunday mornings in Auburn, coachmen readied the carriages as the church bells began ringing around town. The middle class and the poor walked to their neighborhood churches. Catholics had separate congregations for German, Italian, Polish, Russian Orthodox, and Ukrainian immigrants. At the Harrisons’, Ros described the tranquil beauty of the mountains, the little creek, the sagebrush, the wildflowers, and “the cultivated spots” where “grain of all sorts flourishes.”
Later, they accompanied the family in “the so-called spring wagon” to Sunday school at the schoolhouse—Mr. and Mrs. Harrison on the seat, and Ruth, Lewis, Ros, and Dorothy spread about in the back. It was the social event of the week, and virtually everyone turned out. Dorothy wrote to Milly, “Our beautiful new school seems so out of place, perched on that lonely mountain side and the people seem even more so.” It was the teachers’ first introduction to the neighbors. The men wore sombreros and overalls and spurs; the women were “nice & intelligent-looking—a lot of shy girls and a perfect swarm of small boys who were introduced to me en masse—as being my pupils.” One little boy, whose family somehow had not been counted in the survey, told her that he would be riding eight miles each day.
Miss Iva Rench, an officious young woman from Muncie, was teaching at Mountain View and had been conducting Sunday-school services at Elkhead. Her lessons consisted of “Pauline doctrines of the stiffest kind,” Ros commented. She was not one of the more popular people in Elkhead. Nevertheless, she conducted an impressive Sunday-school sermon on Paul’s missionary journey which Dorothy and Ros sat through in fear that she would ask them questions. “She is expecting to
Similar Books
