MAPLE CREEK MEMORIES XIII
BIG YELLOW SCHOOLBUS
Part IV
When I was a sophomore in high school, the second oldest girl from the family up the road began riding the bus. She was one of four girls in the family, no boys. She was entering the seventh grade. She was 19 years old. Yes, 19. Ugly as sin and dumb as a broadaxe. And this was the year that the board decided that all bus stops had to be at least two tenths of a mile apart.We had never had a problem before, as the stop prior to ours was well up the road and the next stop was at the bottom of the hill. But now that she had started to ride the bus, that made her stop and ours only about one and a half tenths of a mile apart. The compromise was that we would walk halfway to her house and she would walk halfway to ours.
Well, that lasted a whole one day. We walked up halfway but she stood in front of her house. The bus came along and passed her up and stopped for us. The driver waited about five minutes, honking the horn every now and then. While she stood her ground so to speak. He finally took off with all of us laughing. The next morning we walked up again and she again stood in front of her house. Her father stood with her and flagged down the driver. After about five minutes, she got on the bus, her father got off and the driver pulled the bus down to pick us up. We got on and he proceeded with the route as usual.
On the way to school, my brothers and I talked with the driver and we decided that she and her family were not going to budge. We asked him if the mileage between our front path was still over the two tenths rule, and he said that it was, just barely. He also said that if we would move our spot down front instead of out back, that he could then pick her up at her house. We told him that was fine with us, and that was the way it was.
Kids are cruel. Those on the bus constantly made fun of her. She had a slight speech impediment which, naturally, the kids exaggerated, and she wore clothing that obviously were hand-me-down hand-me-downs, of such garish colors that it would make one blink. Her favorite outfit, worn two or three times per week, was a brilliant yellow and bright purple get up. Almost gives me a headache just to remember it. She wore an old rag coat year round and an old felt hat that somewhat covered her always greasy looking hair. Her manner was very abrupt, always unsmiling even when someone tried to be friendly with her.
Riding the bus home one hot late September day, all the windows open on the bus to catch whatever wind we could, we all were remarking that she was still standing when there were many available seats where she could sit. I guess maybe we were wondering why that stump didn't sit down and take a load off her legs. She had been standing all the way from school and we were now about three miles from home, about seven or eight from school. During all tghis time the driver had been observing her as the bus emptied and she remained standing.
The bus had been completely full when we left the high school and it was not unusual for there to be three or four kids who had to stand until we made a stop or two. But what ws unusual ws that the high school was the second stop--it loaded the junior high kids first, and she was in the seventh grade. There were empty seats when the bus got to the high school and she was standing at that time. Oh, well.
We had pulled off Lower Buck Road onto the hard road heading south and were approaching the stop for the kids who lived on Upper Buck Road. Suddenly someone or something, dislodged the old felt hat from her head. Out the window it flew like a bird on the wing. And such a look of perplexion came over her face that we all burst out laughing (yeah, I know there is no such word, but it fits the situation so well.) I can understand now that it was cruel of us to laugh, but, at the time it was hilarious. She moved back and forth in the aisle, three steps forward, three steps backward and repeat. And all the time the driver is watching her.She had begun to settle down a little as we neared the elementary school to pick up those kids for the rest of the trip.
Her two sisters came on board along with the rest, and sat down in the seat next to where she was standing. At this time, including the space where her sisters sat, there were probably thirty empty spaces available, many of them completely empty seats. Apparently the driver had had enough. He looked in the mirror and said, "Hey, girl, what's the matter?" She looked up into the mirror and shouted, "Find no seat!" At which point the entire busload erupted into laughter. The driver told her to sit because he was not going to move the bus until she was in a seat. She continued to stand. This conversation went on, one-sided, for a few minutes and she finally sat down with her sisters who were tugging at her to get her down. That was her last day of school.
Her next younger sister never made it to the seventh grade. She retired from public education at eighteen in the sixth grade. We always referred to her as the halfback, or the hunchback.
The youngest sister started riding the bus when I was a senior. There was no problem with her walking down to the halfway post after the first two or three times that the driver failed to pick her up at her house. The first morning he picked us both up, she at her house and me at our back mailbox. But the told us both that the stop was at the power pole midway between our houses from then on. I walked up to the pole the next day and she stood in front of her house. The driver passed her up. Same thing the next day. And the next. The next day her father stood in the middle of the road and forced him to stop. There ensued a conversation which I heard about later. The driver told me that they had gone at it pretty hot and heavy with the father making some threats and the driver had told him that the stop was where I was standing and that was the only place he was stopping in the future, that he would not stop to talk or even open the doors except at that stop. The next day and every day after that she was at that pole for the bus to pick her up.
And the funny thing was that the following year, she came down to that post for about a week and a half until some rat told her I wasn't going to school anymore.
Part IV
When I was a sophomore in high school, the second oldest girl from the family up the road began riding the bus. She was one of four girls in the family, no boys. She was entering the seventh grade. She was 19 years old. Yes, 19. Ugly as sin and dumb as a broadaxe. And this was the year that the board decided that all bus stops had to be at least two tenths of a mile apart.We had never had a problem before, as the stop prior to ours was well up the road and the next stop was at the bottom of the hill. But now that she had started to ride the bus, that made her stop and ours only about one and a half tenths of a mile apart. The compromise was that we would walk halfway to her house and she would walk halfway to ours.
Well, that lasted a whole one day. We walked up halfway but she stood in front of her house. The bus came along and passed her up and stopped for us. The driver waited about five minutes, honking the horn every now and then. While she stood her ground so to speak. He finally took off with all of us laughing. The next morning we walked up again and she again stood in front of her house. Her father stood with her and flagged down the driver. After about five minutes, she got on the bus, her father got off and the driver pulled the bus down to pick us up. We got on and he proceeded with the route as usual.
On the way to school, my brothers and I talked with the driver and we decided that she and her family were not going to budge. We asked him if the mileage between our front path was still over the two tenths rule, and he said that it was, just barely. He also said that if we would move our spot down front instead of out back, that he could then pick her up at her house. We told him that was fine with us, and that was the way it was.
Kids are cruel. Those on the bus constantly made fun of her. She had a slight speech impediment which, naturally, the kids exaggerated, and she wore clothing that obviously were hand-me-down hand-me-downs, of such garish colors that it would make one blink. Her favorite outfit, worn two or three times per week, was a brilliant yellow and bright purple get up. Almost gives me a headache just to remember it. She wore an old rag coat year round and an old felt hat that somewhat covered her always greasy looking hair. Her manner was very abrupt, always unsmiling even when someone tried to be friendly with her.
Riding the bus home one hot late September day, all the windows open on the bus to catch whatever wind we could, we all were remarking that she was still standing when there were many available seats where she could sit. I guess maybe we were wondering why that stump didn't sit down and take a load off her legs. She had been standing all the way from school and we were now about three miles from home, about seven or eight from school. During all tghis time the driver had been observing her as the bus emptied and she remained standing.
The bus had been completely full when we left the high school and it was not unusual for there to be three or four kids who had to stand until we made a stop or two. But what ws unusual ws that the high school was the second stop--it loaded the junior high kids first, and she was in the seventh grade. There were empty seats when the bus got to the high school and she was standing at that time. Oh, well.
We had pulled off Lower Buck Road onto the hard road heading south and were approaching the stop for the kids who lived on Upper Buck Road. Suddenly someone or something, dislodged the old felt hat from her head. Out the window it flew like a bird on the wing. And such a look of perplexion came over her face that we all burst out laughing (yeah, I know there is no such word, but it fits the situation so well.) I can understand now that it was cruel of us to laugh, but, at the time it was hilarious. She moved back and forth in the aisle, three steps forward, three steps backward and repeat. And all the time the driver is watching her.She had begun to settle down a little as we neared the elementary school to pick up those kids for the rest of the trip.
Her two sisters came on board along with the rest, and sat down in the seat next to where she was standing. At this time, including the space where her sisters sat, there were probably thirty empty spaces available, many of them completely empty seats. Apparently the driver had had enough. He looked in the mirror and said, "Hey, girl, what's the matter?" She looked up into the mirror and shouted, "Find no seat!" At which point the entire busload erupted into laughter. The driver told her to sit because he was not going to move the bus until she was in a seat. She continued to stand. This conversation went on, one-sided, for a few minutes and she finally sat down with her sisters who were tugging at her to get her down. That was her last day of school.
Her next younger sister never made it to the seventh grade. She retired from public education at eighteen in the sixth grade. We always referred to her as the halfback, or the hunchback.
The youngest sister started riding the bus when I was a senior. There was no problem with her walking down to the halfway post after the first two or three times that the driver failed to pick her up at her house. The first morning he picked us both up, she at her house and me at our back mailbox. But the told us both that the stop was at the power pole midway between our houses from then on. I walked up to the pole the next day and she stood in front of her house. The driver passed her up. Same thing the next day. And the next. The next day her father stood in the middle of the road and forced him to stop. There ensued a conversation which I heard about later. The driver told me that they had gone at it pretty hot and heavy with the father making some threats and the driver had told him that the stop was where I was standing and that was the only place he was stopping in the future, that he would not stop to talk or even open the doors except at that stop. The next day and every day after that she was at that pole for the bus to pick her up.
And the funny thing was that the following year, she came down to that post for about a week and a half until some rat told her I wasn't going to school anymore.
posted by tanstaafl | 6:30 PM
3 Comments:
Do you know what ever happened to those girls? Your stories are so similar to the ones my relatives tell, and I'm always amazed at how much they know about what happened to all the people they tell stories about. I don't know what happened to MOST of the people I went to school with, but they seem to know about those people from all those years back. I guess maybe it has a lot to do with always having the numerous family reunions every year out where they grew up, and there not being a whole lot of people out there to know anything about to begin with.
Old purple and yeller--She died at about age 26. Her real name was Norma. Really sad. I don't think she ever had a single male look at her with desire.
The halfback--even sadder. She passed away at 22. But a funny, if tragic, story. Their oldest sister lived down the road a couple of houses from us, and they lived in the next house up the road. We know they were all somewhat slow witted. One day, a year or so before the first of this story, the family was walking down to the oldest girl's home. It was a bright, sunny Saturday, the day before Easter. As they approached, they were involved in animated discussions. And as they passed our front porch, Hunchie shouted, "Mom, I know where you can hide the eggs!"
Now there were no children in the home of the oldest girl, as yet, and the youngest sister was then about fifteen. So who was going to hunt for those eggs?
The youngest we called Betty--She actually turned out to be a CNA before there were such certifications, and worked at an old folks home in Huntington. But that was over 40 years ago, so I do not know where she ended up.
By the way, there are two more Big Yellow Schoolbus tales to go--at least two.
Oh, I forgot to mention, my barber is a distant relation to that family, shares the same last name even. He refuses to admit that he is related. But you know me, I am a genealogist, so I know he is--but I have not let him know that I knew, for he apparently has issues in that regard.
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