Welcome to Part 2 of the Sparta Memories Tour. If you missed Part 1 you can find it here.
Also, if you missed Friday’s post featuring my sister’s amazing poetry and my brother’s fabulous photography, you can find it here.
My next stop on the Sparta Tour took me to this root beer/food stand. Back when I lived in Sparta, it was an A&W stand. Anyone ever heard of A&W root beer?
The biggest attraction of this A & W was that they served root beer (and root beer floats) in FROSTED mugs. I cannot even describe the joy of that experience to you. I spent many a summer night there, imbibing (root) beer and ingesting fried food items. (My friend, Lorrie, worked in the A & W kitchen during the summer; she cooked and I ate. What a team!)
On my way through my town tour, I stopped to take a picture of this convenience store because of the word “Pop” on the front.
As I was growing up in Wisconsin, a soft drink was always called “Pop.” When I was sixteen and moved to North Carolina, people started offering me a “soda” or a “cold drink” or a “cola” and I had no clue what they were talking about. It was fun to get back to a part of the country where pop is still pop!
From there, it was on to this lovely building, my Junior High school.
One memory from this building is that I had a crush on a guy named Rick. At one particular juncture during the day, our schedules coincided so that I would be going up these stairs at the same time he was coming down them. I just lived for that brief moment of stair-crossing. Ahhh. Young love. (It was also one-sided young love since he didn’t know I existed.)
And seeing this sign? Oh my. It brought back a million memories. I especially loved the vintage vibe of the sign and the letters. When I looked at it, I felt like I was thirteen years old all over again.
One thing that amazes me is what you look at a room like this as a 13-year old, it seems so huge. And then when you come back decades later and look at it again you think, “Wow. That is really small!” I played in a ping-pong tournament in here once and also participated in a talent contest. I sang, “Why Me” by Kris Kristofferson. I’m sure I was very earnest.
I walked up into the balcony and remembered the countless gym classes I endured. This wooden track encircling the balcony reminded me of all the rainy days that we had to run laps.
I stood there on that worn wooden floor and closed my eyes for a moment and remembered my 7th grade self in my baggy gym shorts and scary hair and gave fervent thanks that those days were in my past.
While most students’ school day at the home of the Sparta Spartans began with classes, my day started much earlier.
I trudged through the frozen tundra darkness at an unearthly hour each morning so that I could get in an hour of work in the school kitchen before classes started. I would do whatever the cooks needed to be done to get school lunches prepared; I remember one particular morning that I blearily buttered many hundreds of pieces of bread.
I would also come back during my lunch hour and help get the food from the kitchen to the cafeteria which, for mysterious reasons unknown to me, were separated by a long series of hallways.
On one memorable day, my responsibility included transporting a large, industrial-sized pot of sweet peas. One of the cooks lifted the heavy pot up onto a tall, metal wheeled car that, unfortunately, I could not see over. Also, unfortunately, I was running late and as a result, was wheeling the cart through hallways teeming with students of the rambunctious, running-about variety.
You’ve probably already guessed what happened.
At a certain juncture on my journey from Point A to Point B, the ponderous pea cart and I collided with a rambunctious runner-about, and all at once, on a floor where there had never hitherto before been peas, there were suddenly precisely 4.6 million peas doing what peas do best–rolling, rolling, rolling. Every. Where.
It was not one of the highlights of my school career and didn’t do much to boost my already wobbly popularity quotient.
I drove over to Southside Elementary, the scene of my 6th grade crime, and sat out in the parking lot for a few minutes just listening to all the memories talking to me.
There were three memories that spoke the loudest and they were all from the sixth grade and centered around a teacher named Mr. Baudek, who was one of my all time favorite teachers.
One day Mr. Baudek finished his morning lesson plan a little early and told us we could all get our library books and read for 15 minutes before lunch; I was delighted since reading was the great love of my life. I pulled out my book and happily began to read . . . and read . . . and read.
The next thing I knew, I heard Mr. Baudek saying, “Um. Becky?”
I looked up with a start and realized that the whole room was empty except for Mr. Baudek and me. I had gotten so engrossed in my book I hadn’t heard the bell, I hadn’t heard fifteen students gather their things and leave the room, I hadn’t heard anything at all. He and I got a good chuckle out of that.
One day at the end of class, some boys started discussing older guys that they knew who were supposed to be really tough. Why in the world I ever felt compelled to get into that conversation I will never know but I jumped right in and said, ” Oh yeah? Well, my brother Phil is tougher than all those guys you’re talking about.”
They were like, “Oh yeah? Well, he’s not tougher than my a) uncle b) dad c) cousin d) whomever.
And I was all like, “Oh, YEAH? Well, I’ll bet he is.”
And back and forth we went, with things getting more and more heated by the moment. All of a sudden, Mr. Baudek stepped over to our little cluster of arguers and whispered, “Becky, with every word you say in this argument, my respect for you decreases.”
That was it. That was all I needed. With a gently spoken, well-timed rebuke, he had let me know that I was behaving like an idiot. I shut my mouth and removed myself from the (still arguing) group.
As I look back at the event as an adult, I realize that Mr. Baudek did several things well. 1. He didn’t call me out publicly. 2. He chose just me to correct out of the whole group because he knew it wasn’t my normal behavior. 3. He let me know that he respected me. 4. He let me know in no uncertain terms that I was out of line.
I will never forget his words or the gentle heart behind those words.
You would think that having a teacher I liked so much would have precluded this next incident I am about to share but alas, it did not. It’s obvious that the person I was as a 6th grader was not overly endowed with common sense.
I now present to you . . .
Every day at lunch, Mr. Baudek ate a sandwich that he brought from home. On one particular (dastardly) day I was struck with a particular (dastardly) idea. I decided I was going to smuggle a bottle of Tabasco sauce to school and at an opportune time, I was going to dump a whole load of it on the inside of Mr. Baudek’s sandwich.
The only problem with this grand plan was the difficulty inherent in applying Tabasco sauce to a person’s sandwich when said person was still holding said sandwich. So some friends and I (whom I had enlisted into the Scheme) plotted together and decided to call on another teacher to help. I pulled Mrs. Hem aside (who was known to be a good sport) and told her that during the upcoming lunch hour, I needed her to call Mr. Baudek out to the hallway for about 30 seconds on some trumped-up excuse.
Now, it is unclear to my fading memory whether or not I told Mrs. Hem the reason for this request but regardless, she said she would do it.
At the appointed time (I probably utilized some corny and convoluted secret signal), Mrs. Hem stuck her head in the lunch room and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Baudek. Could you come here for just a sec?”
I always sat at Mr. Baudek’s table at lunch time and so I was close to his seat. As soon as he left the cafeteria, I grabbed my Tabasco, lifted the top slice of his sandwich and doused the contents with great liberality. All the kids at the table were in on the joke and were engaging in various levels of snickers, chortles, and snorts–until Mr. Baudek came back into the room.
At that point, we snickering students transformed ourselves into pictures of churubic innocence as Mr. Baudek returned to his chair and his interrupted lunch
He casually picked up his sandwich with not a care in the world, not noticing that a dozen pair of sixth grader eyes were fastened on him with great fascination.
He took a bite of his sandwich, still with not a care in the world.
And then dear Mr. Baudek suddenly did have a very large care in the world. His face was on fire.
He let out a shout that could be heard in Minnesota and launched himself off his chair toward the nearest water fountain. Of course, at this point, the giggles could be contained no longer. We sixth graders thought this was the best entertainment we had seen in a very long time.
It wasn’t until later on that I felt some guilt about my dastardly deed and apologized to him. (He was my favorite teacher, after all.) He was very gracious about it, which I appreciated, especially since the deed could have led to a trip to the principal’s office.
I went on with my life and my growing up years and figured that was just one happening on one day in one teacher’s life.
Until I was sitting with my sisters during this recent visit home and reminiscing with them about our Sparta years. The Tabasco story came up and much to my horror my sister Ruth (who was in Mr. Baudek’s class the following year) said, “Oh yeah. We did the same thing to him when I had him for a teacher.
I was appalled! I had created a nefarious Tabasco Sauce Legacy which had probably turned this good man into a quivering mass of anxiety every time he got ready to eat a sandwich.
I am hopeful that Ruth’s class was the last one to do it but you never know. When the 2016-2017 school year starts, there may very well be a teacher sitting at Mr. Baudek’s old table, taking a wary look inside her sandwich before taking the first bite.
I guess if that’s the worst thing I ever did at school, I did okay. However, I would still like to make a public apology one more time to Mr. Baudek and thank him for being a great teacher and for being a great influence in my life.
I’m thankful for all the lessons I learned growing up in a small town in rural Wisconsin, lessons learned in and out of the classroom. I’m also thankful for the chance I had to go back there and revisit the memories and relive the lessons. Sparta will always be a part of who I turned out to be–and I am grateful.
What about you? Do you have a miscellaneous school memory to share? Any dastardly deed? Is there a teacher who was influential in your life? It’s always fun to hear your stories.
Funny you should mention A & W, we just received some coupons for A & W in the mail today! I’m in Michigan and we have an A & W less than a half mile from us. I remember when I was growing up that my Mom kept one of the smaller, thick glass mugs in our refrigerator filled with bacon grease to use when frying eggs. As for beverages, in this area most people use the word “pop”.
Kari,
It’s been a long time since I’ve heard of anyone using bacon grease for frying eggs. Which IS rather delicious, might I add! And to put it in a glass mug just makes it all the better. 🙂
Boy, did this post bring back memories! I grew up in Washington State and we also had A&W and loved to go there to get root beer floats in the glass mugs. And they always had some sort of plastic animal hanging from the rim of the glass for us to take home. In Washington they also call all carbonated beverages “pop”. I haven’t lived in Washington since I graduated from college and haven’t called carbonated beverages “pop” since soon after I left the state. I’ve mostly been in the south since then and we call it “soda” or “coke” down here. My brother and his family just came to visit last week and it sounded really odd to hear “soda” called “pop” again. As for my dastardly deed…I was in 1st grade and also had a teacher that I loved. One day she brought a robin’s egg in that she had found in her yard. She had it in a little container sitting on some cotton or tissue. She told us to line up and we could all go by and look at it, but NOT to touch it or it would break. I couldn’t help myself…when it was my turn I had to touch it and it broke, just like she said it would. I was terrified and talked a friend into taking the blame. I felt terrible and ended up finally confessing. It was awful and I’ve never forgotten it. Thanks for sharing your walk down memory lane. 🙂
Gayle,
I LOVED reading your memories! It amazes me that things that happened at school when we were young still remain with us many decades later. I can only imagine your horror at breaking the egg although I don’t blame you for being curious and wanting to touch it. I probably would have done the same thing. 🙂
And let’s hear it for A&W and POP!
Had posted previously, but how could I forget that we also have a collection of the A&W mugs (about 20) – even the littlest one – 2 in. high. Love those antique shops. The root beer didn’t seem to taste the same when they went to the paper cups, but I suppose too many of the mugs were getting broken or taken.
Sharyn,
How fun to have a collection of those mugs! And I didn’t know they had some that were only 2 inches high.
You’re right. Their root beer never tasted quite right in the plastic cups!
The first thought that came to mind was 7th grade P.E. class and the AWEFUL gym clothes we had to wear. One-piece, knit, back-zip, sleeveless. YUCK. And I really hated having to change clothes in front of other girls. Then there was the hair. And the bangs that were practically in my eyes. Thank goodness that hair trend was short-lived. 🙂 And finally, I do remember being sent to the principal’s office in grade school and getting paddled, but can’t remember why. It must have traumatized me. Lol.
LeeAnne,
You had one piece, back zip gym outfits?
That is absolutely crazy! I can’t imagine anything that would be less conducive to gym class than that kind of style!
That’s funny that you can’t remember what you got in trouble for. Our memories can only hold SO much information, right? 🙂
I spent summers hanging out at the A&W in Barron WI, nothing better then a twist cone after swimming all day. Another thing we have in common is working in the kitchens at school (Weyerhaeuser WI), mornings and lunch, I also washed the towels from the locker rooms- our little town of 318 people had no jobs to offer so I was pretty pleased to make some money!
Peggy,
Ah yes, those twist cones. They were always a nice treat.
And washing towels is not a real glamorous job (just like cleaning hotel rooms was not) but it sure was nice to make money in those small towns, wasn’t it? Sounds like you were a hard worker!
You are such a good writer, bringing your memories to life for all to enjoy. I got a good laugh out of your stories – somehow I could indeed picture you with each store you told 🙂 Thank you for the memories! Hugs
Lorrie,
That means a lot coming from you!
And oh the memories from those days . . . way too many to recount!
I giggled outrageously at your prank!! These are great stories and memories. Also, I loved Ruth’s poetry. Some of the descriptions remind me of the style of the Pulitzer winning poet Mary Oliver. Beautiful! Both you and Ruth truly have such a gift for writing.
PS. We have lots of A & W’s in my city and my family loves them. We went there for breakfast on Mother’s Day and had pancakes. When I was a child they were super cool- they were drive ins, where the waitress would carry out the food to the vehicle and you’d sit in the vehicle and eat. I loved that as a child. Now, though, all the A & W’s around here are all inside a building, similar to a Mcdonalds.
Jenna,
Yes, that’s how they were in my childhood, too. You got to sit in your car and eat and I thought that was so amazing! 🙂
Jenna, Just have to say that Mary Oliver came into my life for the first time in March of this year and I am hooked. Her writing struck me from every side with joy, passion, depth, intrigue, amazement…it was a huge tool that inspired me to try poetry at all, I never had. I am honored to have anyone slightly compare my writing to hers, Thank you so much. Ruth
Ruth,
Jenna is an excellent writer herself and also, a great lover of nature. You should visit her blog at http://www.daysofgrace.blogspot.com.
Hi Ruth, That is awesome that you like Mary Oliver’s poetry too. I love her descriptive and beautiful nature imagery. It’s like she tells a story through her poetry that touches the soul and I see that in your writing too.
I’ve always been intimidated at the thought of writing poetry, but it is something I’d like to try. I had a surprise, beautiful encounter with a wild coyote over the weekend, and maybe I will get up the nerve to try write a poem about it.
Becky, thank you for such a kind compliment about my writing and blog. That means a lot coming from such a wonderful blogger and writer as yourself! 🙂
Jenna, Just try a poem–free verse is so freeing! Start with a thought, and more keeps coming as you go along. I would like to hear about that coyote! Ruth
Jenna,
I love encouraging and cheering on other writers!
Jenna,
Glad my prank gave you a giggle! 🙂
With your love of nature, I just knew you would enjoy Ruth’s poetry.
Oh, we also had an A & W Root Beer but I never cared for the taste.
My high school coach instilled in me that the school team was our team whether win or lose. So many people claim “my” team if there is a win but not when losing. I have never forgotten that.
Ann,
That is a great lesson to instill in students. And your coach obviously did a great job with that lesson since you still remember it all these years later!
I snorted when I read about your poor teacher’s face turning red and heading for the water fountain…Oh my word. Funny. I stop in at an A & W when I go through Deer River MN. they still have frosted mugs of root beer. There is nothing as good as that taste.
Wendy,
You are so fortunate to get to visit an A&W occasionally. I don’t suppose the frosted mugs would go over as big in the winter but they sure are nice in the summer!
Love hearing your memories! Wonder if Steve remembers going to the A and W for mini frosted mugs of root beer when we lived in Alexandria, La.
Vernie,
Oh, the mini mugs! I had forgotten about those! 🙂
Hi Mom. Nope.
Great post! Great stories. How did you get into the high school to take pictures? Did you ask permission or did you just figure the doors were open?
Lesley,
Well, it’s funny you should ask because I was wondering on my drive there if I would even be allowed there. The old Junior High school I visited now houses administrative offices for the school district, a preschool kindergarten and an alternative High School. When I asked at the front desk about walking through the school, they said I would just have to leave my license with them, put on a badge and I would be good to go.
However, when I went to my old High School and asked if I could walk through the halls, they said the policy was that I couldn’t do it until after 3:45 when almost all the students would be gone.
It seemed weird to me that a school with young children had much less security than a school with teenagers.
At any rate, I was very grateful that the old Junior High school let me in; I went there 3 years and the High School only 6 months, so I didn’t care as much about walking through that building.
Oh yes, Bec, the Sparta memories. That junior high school is rather beautiful, I’m amazed it is still up and going. I remember the horrid gym too but never heard the awful pea tale before. (how sad) Never knew how that teacher deftly handled your peer pressure argument either; Mr, Baudek was a good one. I don’t think I poured the hot sauce on that year, but probably helped the culprit along. It can be hard to go to the site of years past, looking ahead is refreshing to me. Ruth
Ruth,
I can’t believe you never heard the pea story before. It was a doozie of a day!
And yes, I am thankful for teachers like Mr. Baudek who helped make the experiences we look back on ones that are worth remembering.
We still have an A&W that serves floats in frosted mugs.
Jstory,
I am jealous! We don’t have one within many miles of us and I miss that summertime experience so much! Go have one in honor me. 🙂
Ah, yes, A&W root beer. We also had one that featured swamp water – root beer and orange pop together. And then there wa suicide, orange pop, root beer, and grape pop. Never have heard any other A&W have these concoctions. Not bad – well, at that time. Was in study hall one day and one of my classmates (a guy who played basketball) wasn’t doing any studying or much of anything else. Think I asked him if he was bored He said yeah, nothing to do – I suppose we could smell arm pits. That cracked me up. Have a feeling it never happened.
Sharyn,
Swamp water is certainly a creative–albeit unappetizing–name!
And smelling arm pits to pass the time? No thanks.
I guess your comment could be titled “Swamp Water and Arm Pits!”
We had a teacher when I was a senior in high school (who shall remain nameless :-)) who came in the middle of our senior year (Oh and did mention it was her first teaching assignment?) She always came into the class after we were all there. We used to throw her grade book out the window on a daily basis, then she had to go out of the school building to get the book, thus killing more time. Moral of the story, she never found out which of us it was and thankfully she never will. That’s my story and I am sticking to it. 🙂 So enjoyed the memories, I think we all have those that made us who we are today.
Gail,
I think if I had been that teacher, I would have gotten into the room a little early and kept on eye on that grade book! 🙂 It’s amazing the memories and the life lessons we carry with us from our school days.
It’s all news to me. Good sermon illustrations. Great post.
Steve,
It’s amazing the things you can learn about your wife through her blog!