They changed the lives of children (03/19/08)

Morning or afternoon?

After all these years, that's one question I can't answer with 100 percent confidence.

I think it was afternoon, but I'm not sure.

Back in the Pleistocene Period, also known as my childhood, kindergarten wasn't associated with the school system.

It was one of those things that had sprung up, on its own, after World War II as parents tried to make life better for the children in their community.

In Portland's case, kindergarten was started by a wonderful, though quirky, woman by the name of Arthelma Cox.

Her first efforts at kindergarten were in the cramped, musty, and uninviting space that was the basement of the old Carnegie Library. Since the basement flooded frequently and it was a little difficult to maintain library silence with a bunch of five-year-olds in the lower level, that plan soon gave way to another.

The second home for kindergarten was in a building on South Wayne Street that was known affectionately for a couple generations as "the rec." Today's it's home to the offices of the street and parks department.

"The rec," short for recreational center, was also a post-war phenomenon, built when the community wanted to provide a place for young people to do things like play ping-pong and hold events like sock hops.

It was, undoubtedly, a simpler time.

Arthelma Cox soon enlisted the help of a friend, June Ireland, who is still my neighbor on North Street in Portland.

Together, working on a shoestring budget, the two of them changed the lives of hundreds of local kids in the 1950s, sending us off to first grade with the sort of pre-school education that we all take for granted today.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in the same neighborhood where both Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Ireland lived. Gary Ireland had been one of my brother's roustabout companions in elementary school, and Dan Cox was one of my earliest and best friends, though he was a couple of years older.

When kindergarten rolled around, another great friend from the neighborhood, Don Starr, and I were in a unique situation. The teachers were a couple of moms who lived a few doors away.

Kindergarten was half-day at the time, but I can't for the life of me be sure whether I attended in the morning or the afternoon. I think it was the afternoon; Don and I sometimes rode to "the rec" with Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Ireland.

But it could have just as easily been morning, with the two of us riding home for lunch with our teachers. I can't be sure.

Don's mother was working to establish a beauty parlor in her home, and my mother was often busy writing items for The Graphic on the old Royal typewriter that was to be found on our enclosed back porch. Either of them would have welcomed the transportation assistance, though Don and I found that "teacher's pet" was an epithet that came with the deal. We worked our way out of it, but it took awhile.

At a high school class reunion a couple of years back, I thought I'd found the answer about morning or afternoon. Someone had brought kindergarten class graduation pictures, one from the morning session and one from the afternoon.

There was just one little problem: No one had ever marked which was which.

But when I looked at the pictures, I decided it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.

With all those smiles, what difference did morning or afternoon make?

[[In-content Ad]]