HORSING AROUND

The other day I was driving by a grade school just as recess was beginning. How did I know? Because a group of boys came bursting out a side door, racing to the basketball court as if there was no tomorrow. I well remember the feeling. Heaven forbid if a nano-second of recess was wasted on the idle.

Now, our playgrounds at Mound School were the absolute best ever. Even by adult standards today, I marvel at its immensity. The school, built in 1880, was set upon the side of the South Mound in Fredonia. Just to get up to it, we’d have to walk up a steep series of maybe 25 steps, then a wider series of larger steps. Once in the building, there were more steps to get to the first floor, and kids in the upper grades had another stairway to use to get to the second floor. It was a decent workout just to get to class.

But we weren’t there to learn. We were there to play!!!!! Mound School had layers of fun. The smooth sidewalk encircling the building was great for roller skating, jacks, and jumping rope. There was a basketball court behind the building and a big sand pile on the southeast corner. Steps adjacent to the sandy area led up to an unused door. We had strict instructions NOT to jump from the steps onto the sand pile, but as soon as a teacher moved to patrol another area, you can guess what went on. Bombs over Tokyo!!!

There were scads of other playground rules to be broken. “No running down the steps--you might trip and fall!” “Don’t cross the bridge to the trash bin--snakes!” “Don’t jump off the walls--you’ll break a leg!” “Don’t slide down the south hill to the swings and teeter totters. A boy once did this, a stick went up his butt, and it killed him!” The teachers felt we were stepping onto a booby-trapped land mine with every recess period, but we didn’t care!

This leads to the worst rule ever created at Mound School--the one that banished playing Run Horse, Run. Our version of this rowdy chase game was for the girls to be the horses and the boys to be the ranchers trying to catch the horses and then take them to the corral--a large cedar tree in the central playground area that had an opening, which sort of created a teepee effect. Once put in the “pen,” a horse (girl) had to stay there until freed by another horse.

Well, the problem with Run Horse, Run was that it developed into too much of a contact sport, in the eyes of the teachers and principal. We horses did not just roll over and whimper when a rancher caught us. Oh, no. All hell would break loose. We would kick up a storm like a regular wild stallion, neighing and snorting and fighting to break free. Our 6th grade body parts apparently co-mingled too closely for adult comfort. The game was banned and, for a while, girls and boys were segregated on the playgrounds. Man, were we ever chapped about that one!

So, the other day when I saw those boys dashing out the school door, memories of my own playground days flashed before my eyes and I had to chuckle. I knew that when the bell rang for recess to end, those speedy, little legs would suddenly go into slow mode. No way were they going to race back into the building to eagerly start on a math lesson. They’d barely be moving and then they’d have to stop for a drink and to wipe down the sweat. I know the routine all too well.

Mound School was torn down many years ago and a nice home was eventually built in its place, so the grounds are no longer public property, which is a crying shame. I’d do anything to sneak back up all the steps and to jump off the sandstone wall--not to irritate a teacher but just to prove that I could!