HORSING AROUND, PART II

I had to be in Fredonia yesterday, so I took some afterthought pictures of the old Mound School grounds that I blogged about. The steps look to be in a crumbly state of disrepair, but the Run Horse, Run corral/cedar tree is bigger and better than ever. The new owners of the grounds have trimmed it up so it no longer looks like a hideaway for wayward horse girls.

An old classmate who now lives in Oklahoma emailed me to say she’d read the blog, which threw her back to the terrible time she broke her leg during one of our famous Mound School recess periods. We were in 6th grade playing softball in the flat area east of the school building. (Look at the cedar tree picture, and the scene of the crime was in the area between the first two sandstone walls in the foreground.) Barbie was up at bat and hit a grounder down the 1st base line, which wavered between being fair and foul. Like a trooper, she ran it out. No one would want to be caught standing still at home plate hoping for the ball to go foul, after all. Well, as she approached 1st base, the damned ball still wasn’t sure which way it was going to go….fair or foul, and it suddenly rolled right into the base path. She tried leaping over the ball but, instead of clearing it, she made contact with one of her feet and she went tumbling down. Ouch!!!! Time out!!! Somebody go get the principal!! Quick!!

Now it’s what happened next that I’d either totally forgotten or wasn’t aware of, but Barbie, bless her, had full recollection. Back in those days, there was no 911 to call for emergencies. When you got hurt, a parent was called (and not on a cell phone) and you sucked it up. Yes, the principal made poor Barbie and her broken leg limp all the way to his office to call her mother. We’re talking two sets of steps up the sandstone walls, then up a set of stairs into the building, then up the curved stairway to the office. Good lord! It’s a wonder the leg didn’t fall off by the time she made it to the phone!

I asked Barbie if any of her caring classmates helped her maneuver all those steps in her broken down condition, hoping so, although I had a sick feeling to my stomach that none of us did. Back then, all we cared about was getting in our full amount of recess time. There was probably a call to “Play ball!” again before she ever made it off the field. That’s about how long sympathy lasts with 11-year-olds. I’m still awaiting her response, but I think I know the answer to my question: “Hell, no!”