I came to Locust Road School when
I was six going on seven in March of 1927. I had started
school at Mitchell School in Charleston S.C. when my parents
decided to move to Harwinton to be with my grandparents
at Rocky Brook farm on Bull Road.
I remember skipping down the pathway lined with huckleberry
bushes to the dirt road below. It was about a half mile
to the little one-room schoolhouse.
My teacher’s name was Matilda Dezinno. My two
older brothers and I had to repeat a grade because we
were enrolled so near the end of the school year.
There was an entry way where our water jug was kept
along with our water cups and outer clothing.
The older boys and girls would take turns going with
a small covered milk can to get our water from John
Schibi’s home up the hill.
We made our own ink by mixing a dark powdery substance
with water. We had an outside privy. In the winter we
were warmed by a wood-burning stove at the back of the
room. An older boy was paid to make a fire in it each
morning. I can recall, on a cold snowy morning, standing
around the stove to warm up and putting our snowy mittens
on top to dry out.
At recess in winter we skated on Schibi’s pond
across the road, or sledded down his hill onto the pond.
There were eight grades. Miss DeZinno would call each
grade in turn to the front of the room for reading,
arithmetic, etc. We also had instructions in penmanship.
Games we played:
“Push me Pulleys” as I used to call it or
“Circles” We played baseball in a back lot
owned by Mr. Schibi or Haley-over or hopscotch. I once
got too close as catcher when my sister Alga hit the
ball and threw her bat hitting me in my forehead.
A highlight of our day was when Mr. Mills would drive
u in his little Ford. He would tell us of his trips
to Mt. Vernon, Washington D.C. and other interesting
places, thus whetting our interest in traveling. He
was a short stout man with around jolly face. His grey
hair was getting a little thin on top. He had a built
up shoe and he walked with a limp. He would chose some
of the children to go with him to other country schools
where we would put on a singing program. He once took
us to Old Saybrook, where our pictures were taken in
front of Lady Fenwick’s grave, and by the Connecticut
River, where he had me read “An Ode to the Connecticut
River”. He also tried to teach us how to write
poetry. He was a smart man who wrote “The History
of Connecticut” and “The Barkhamsted Lighthouse.”
He was editor of “The Lure of The Litchfield Hills”
for many years.
