I think that my dad regretted the fact that he did not have more then 9 grades. His decision to quite school came after he saw many men with a PhD during the great depression digging ditches. After the war however when things began to boom he realized to late that it was a bad decision. I think because of this it was always assumed that I was going to college to get a degree. So with that in mind I was never given another option, but was sent off to boarding school along with my sister and Gary Leavens to complete high school as college was next in line.
It was the fall of 1955 when my dad took the three of us to Laurelwood Academy where my Uncle Gig lived with his family. Why to Laurelwood Academy when there were many boarding schools much closer? The short answer was that my sister and I would attend an Adventist School, and secondly, my Uncle lived by the school. As it was a boarding school we just about never saw my Uncle Gig and Aunt Laura but my mom slept easier knowing he and his family lived close by.
Being raised in the bush and naturally a shy person I felt a bit out of water so I was not inclined to raise cane, but to follow the rules, and there were plenty. It seemed that without trying I would invariably break some rule just because some idiot had overstepped and had forced the powers that be to create another needles rule.
Various behavioral modification techniques were used to correct one’s aberrant behavior. The rules fell into a number of categories. The one area on which most of the attention was placed however, had to do with how one related to the opposite sex. It seemed there were three stages of behavior that were strictly monitored. Stage 1 was the preferred stage, the “looking stage.” This stage was the safest and if one remained in this stage you were safe from retribution, the only danger being that if you looked to much, and to often, it led to an increase in hormones, which might lead one to move up to Stage 2, which was the “talking stage.” This stage could lead to censure and certain privileges taken away, but talking, if done very discreetly could be carried on with a minimum chance of any behavioral modification methods being applied. If it was noticed however that it was done extracurricular so to speak, the axe fell, and you were immediately put on social. This meant no contact whatsoever of any kind, a bad situation for all intents and purposes. Stage 3, the final and last stage was brought on by the second stage, if you weren’t already on social. This was the “touching stage” and inevitably let to being put on social, but depending on what was touched and how compromising the touching, could lead to being expelled from the premises, or at least given the dreaded “six by six.” That was the big one, and it was hoped, would accomplish the needed behavioral modification. The “six by six” was as it sounds a hole in the ground six feet square that had to be dug and after inspection filled in.
For most other activity that required public censure the punishment remained rather trivial. It varied anywhere from sanding old furniture down so it could be refinished, stripping floor tiles of wax, getting up at 4 am to wash cows tails, or memorizing scripture, which may or may not have some redeeming value but under the circumstances I doubt it.
I never found myself in the position to have to do a “six by six” but more then once I found myself the brunt of some minor behavioral modification. Of all the times I was required to participate only once do I remember what I did to deserve it. As my room was diagonally across from the showers I used to grab a towel and dash across without a robe or anything on, not particularly being aware of any rule to the contrary. The main fear was to be seen by a stray girl wondering in on official business, as our room was on the main floor. The obvious answer should one appear was to wrap your towel around your head to keep from any embarrassment and your identity being known.
This breach of behavior brought on the inconvenience of washing cow’s tails. The biggest hope when doing cows tails was to have someone beat you to it the morning before as I am of the opinion that cows are no respecter of whether their tails are clean or not, so unless your turn came on the tail, (no pun intended) of the previous miscreant it was probably already dirty when your time came.
Four o’clock came early the morning of my inglorious duty. On arriving at the barn I was handed a big bucket of warm soapy water. The idea was to walk down the stalls between the rows of cows grab each poop encrusted tail as one walked by, dunking it in the soapy water, and swishing it around until clean. Voila! First one side and then the other, until all the tails were fluffy and clean.
Every job has its hazards and this one was no exception. The cows were feeding on spring grass and at any moment a tail would go up and you would get sprayed with liquid cow poop. It was my lucky day as I noticed Lose Lucy before she let fly, so finished my duty with out any mishap. You can bet your boots that anytime I saw a tail go up I cleared the premises, or at least the immediate area.
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