In my neighborhood when I was little there were many more boys than girls. I always played with the boys, mainly because my older brother had to take me along when he went to play with his friends. We’d play tag, basketball, and mostly baseball. I loved playing baseball. I didn’t like softball. I liked to pitch overhand. I also preferred the smaller baseball to the larger softball.
When I was in the first grade I always played with the boys in the schoolyard. We’d run around playing tag, marbles and we’d shoot baseball cards to knock down the cards we placed against a wall. I was really good at both, but especially marbles. My mother used to laugh as I’d walk to the car after school with my huge sack of marbles.
One afternoon after lunch I was playing baseball with the boys. The girls were playing jacks and jumprope. Now, I don’t hate jacks or jumprope, I just would rather be playing baseball. Just as I was about to get my turn at bat my teacher, Mrs. Rollins, came up to me. She told me that I couldn’t play with the boys. She said she noticed I played with them every day and it had to stop. She made me go and play jacks with the girls. When the bell rang Mrs. Rollins told me to sit on the bench alone out in the schoolyard. Then she and all the kids went back into the classroom.
When my mother came to pick me up after school I told her what had happened. She was furious. She got out of the car and stormed into my classroom. She went right up to Mrs. Rollins, who was at her desk putting students’ papers into her briefcase.
“What do you mean leaving my daughter Gloria out in the schoolyard alone”, my mother began. “Anything could have happened to her!”
Mrs. Rollins started to explain that I was being punished for always playing with the boys.
“What?” My mother answered, incredulous. “Why can’t she play with the boys? Boys are all she has to play with in our neighborhood. She’s allowed to play with boys. Don’t stop her from doing that, she has my permission to play with whoever she wants. And don’t you EVER leave her out in the schoolyard alone again. I’m going to the principal right now to tell her what happened.”
With that my mother took off for the principal’s office. Mrs. Rollins never stopped me again from playing with the boys.
My life and the way I looked at it changed one day when I was in the first grade. I was 5 1/2 years old. Mrs. Rollins was reading us a story. We all sat at our tables listening. Each table had two students. The girls were paired with the girls and the boys were paired with the boys. I don’t even remember who my desk partner was. What I do remember is that directly behind me was Bobby. His was the last table in the middle row. This particular day, as I was listening to the story, I decided to take my little chair and sit with Bobby and his desk partner. Bobby moved over to make space for me and said to the other boy.
“Make room, we have company.” I thought that was so nice of him to welcome me that way. I was in love with Bobby. He was the cutest and nicest boy I’d ever known.
Mrs. Rollins was reading to us the entire time I was moving my chair to sit with Bobby. When she looked up her face turned red and she marched over to me.
“What are you doing?”, she half yelled, “Who said you could move your chair back here?...Well?” I didn’t answer because nobody told me that I could do this, I just did it. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong.
“Come with me, young lady!”
I didn’t like being called young lady, but I followed her anyway. She led me back to the cloak room which was a small alcove in the back of the classroom.
“You stand back here until I say you can return.”
At this point in my young life I really didn’t understand that I was being punished. When I was old enough to finally understand that standing in the corner was not a good thing, I had gotten to the point where I spent a lot of time standing in the corner. I’ve had to stand in so many corners that I can putty and spackle a crack in the wall and paint it so you wouldn’t even know it was there.
After Mrs. Rollins left me there alone, I looked around at all of the coats, practiced tying my shoes and glanced out the small window which looked out onto the schoolyard. The schoolyard was empty. Having nothing better to do, I reached up over the coats to get my brown lunch bag. I opened it and looked inside. I always got a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an orange, a banana and cookies. I went for the cookies. I was eating the second cookie when Mrs. Rollins came back, I guess to tell me that I could come back into the classroom. However, when she saw me eating the cookie her face got redder than ever. The rush of blood looked like an elevator going up.
“This isn’t lunch time!”, she yelled. She grabbed my lunch bag and threw it back up on the shelf.
“You just stay back here a little longer.” She left me there, still red in the face.
Having nothing better to do I peered out of the small window in the cloakroom. I saw a man walking toward our classroom. He was carrying something but I couldn’t make out what it was. Very soon I heard some pops and lots of screaming. Not fun, excited screaming but horrible screaming. I tip-toed to the end of the row of coats and peeked into the classroom just in time to see the back of the man’s head and the back of my teacher. All of a sudden my teacher’s head looked like a watermelon blowing up in all directions. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The popping just kept going and soon all of my classmates had fallen down. The man’s eyes started darting around and I realized I was in danger and I snuck to the back of the cloakroom and hid behind bookshelves. I shook like a leaf as I saw the man’s shoes entering the cloakroom. He stopped, I couldn’t see his face. I crouched perfectly still. He left quickly and I heard the classroom door slam.
I laid still for I don’t know how long. After a while, I heard sirens and lots of screaming. (I later learned that the screaming was from parents who had gathered in front of the school. They were told by the Chief of Police that it appeared that all of the children were dead). I got up slowly and peeked out of the small window. One of the policemen spotted my movement and shouted, “There’s someone inside! I just saw someone move!” I scrambled back to my hiding place. I then saw feet at the entrance to the cloakroom. I began whimpering. I soon saw several sets of feet coming in slowly. I looked up and saw that their guns were drawn. I started to really bawl now. They must have spotted my tiny feet and they put their guns away. “It’s ok, honey, come out. It’s safe, we’re policemen. What’s your name?”. I peeked again to make sure. They all had uniforms on. I slowly came out, still crying. “Gloria”, I said very softly. One of the officers came up to me and tried to lead me out by my shoulder. “Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me!” I said. The officer said “OK, just follow us. Keep your eyes closed, we’ll lead you out.” I didn’t close my eyes. It was important for me to look for Bobby. I repeated, “Don’t touch me.” I didn’t want them to lead me away yet. I looked around and saw all these little bodies on the floor, I saw Mrs. Rollins and I saw a lot of blood. My eyes darted all over until I rested on the place where Bobby’s desk was. I saw him, I knew it was him by his clothes. I ran up to him, knelt down and cradled him. “Bobby! Bobby!” That was all I could think of to say. I looked at him and shook. His face wasn’t really there. I cried uncontrollably, still yelling, “Bobby!” One of the officers finally picked me up and brought me outside. I heard one of them say, “She has blood all over her, but it’s not hers. She’s OK, she’s fine.” I saw that he was talking to the parents. The officer said, “This is Gloria, is her mother or father here?” My mother let out a shriek and ran up to me. She hugged and hugged me, crying fitfully. My brother, who had been in the third grade classroom, was there too. He hugged me and kept his arm around me.
When we got home we were not allowed to discuss what happened and no newspapers were brought into the house. At family gatherings nothing was ever mentioned about the incident.
My mom let me go to Bobby’s wake. It was, of course, closed casket. My mother had told Bobby’s mother that we would be coming. I shyly went up to Bobby’s mother and she hugged me. She gave me his Roy Rogers bedspread. Bobby and I had talked about it when he got it the week before. His mother said that Bobby told her about our conversation and how much we both loved Roy Rogers. I had asked Bobby if Pat Brady, Bullet and Nellie Belle were on the bedspread. When Bobby’s mother gave me the bedspread all she could manage to say was, “Thank you for holding Bobby. I know he heard you. It comforts me that you did that.” I wondered how she knew about that. Later I realized she must have read it in the newspaper.
I often think of my fallen classmates. I don’t really even remember what many of them looked like, although I can still see Bobby vividly. I think of all of them as I go through each rite of passage in my life’s journey: My first Holy Communion, Confirmation, first school dance, proms, my graduations. I stop and say a prayer for them all, who never got to experience all of the ups and downs of growing up. To be cut down so young is so unfair and except for a weird twist of fate it could have been me too. I will wonder why I was saved to my dying day.