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Put Your Little Foot
The Minuet Misfortune

The landlady’s son, David, proved to be a good friend and a terrific “native guide”. He and I attended school in the same building, an older wood-frame structure that had a 1920s look about it. There was a small frozen creek that passed near the back of the property where we lived, and wound through some sparse woods and emerged at the back of the schoolyard. It was a popular pathway for the ones attending the school from our side of town. My brother, a 4th-grader, attended a more modern brick school building toward the main part of town, that had a hockey rink. After school and weekends, there were all kinds of adventures involving bob-sleds and toboggans on hospital hill or Piper‘s Mountain. The rush downhill was always a thrill, and nearly always had a happy ending. The first rule of downhill-anything is, “what comes down must first go up”, usually dragging your transportation behind you. For a seven-year-old in deep snow, that is a day’s work, but the price we pay for a cheap thrill.

Another source of thrills was a contest we would stage nearly every Saturday morning. The hospital dumped a lot of their trash over the side of the hill into a ravine in the winter and cleaned it out in the summer when the trucks could make it up the hill to get it. They threw away lots of things that could be converted into an instrument of swift conveyance. Lids from large containers of canned fruit could be stomped into a dish-shape and both feet would fit on it. The contest consisted of finding and fixing the smallest object that would allow you to ride it down the hill; smallest and farthest wins! There was a bob-sled run from the top of the hill that was banked in places where the walls nearly formed a tunnel, but it required an expert ability to stay within its confines because of the speeds that could be reached. Many of the dare-devils and show-offs got tossed into the woods and bent their sleds. Better sleds than heads!

My first trip down the side of Piper’s mountain on a toboggan was unforgettable. David’s toboggan was longer than we were tall, and, loaded right, would haul three or four of us. The first thing to be decided is who rides in the front spot. As a first-timer, I had no clue, and when I was offered it, I took it; first is always good, right? What a ride; the farther we went, the faster we flew! It was a very quick way to get off the mountain! Just before we leveled off and began to slow down, I began being beaten on the head and shoulders, and quickly covered my face. When we were completely stopped, I looked around and found we were in the midst of a thicket of young sprouts, about the length and thickness of  a casting-rod fishing pole. I was the only one not laughing. My initiation was enjoyed by everyone if you don’t count me! 

Christmas was just a few days away, and the schools would be closed, but before then, the classes had a program to perform. Our building had no auditorium and no stage so our rehearsals were held at a school that had both. We would line up single file and march to our destination under strict orders not to get out of line and, no talking! We had been down this road before, and had learned that the teachers in charge meant to have us follow their instructions to the letter! We were more than halfway there and were crossing a street when I found myself in the middle of a dilemma. Approaching the curb, I was looking down and crumpled there against the concrete was the pale blue ink and the portrait of the lady that was on one end of one side of their currency. I was looking at a Canadian one-dollar bill! No talking; no getting out of line! I wonder if there are any exceptions? That is a dollar; I’ve never had a Canadian dollar! Right or wrong, I’m going to claim that dollar! I jumped in the direction of the blue one-dollar note and picked it up. Immediately at least a dozen kids were aware of what had happened, and in an instant, that many more. In a heartbeat, the teacher was headed my way, to a chorus of, “ He found a dollar!” I handed her the dollar and showed her from whence it came, and she processed the information quickly and concluded the bill had been there a while and could not have been the property of any in our group. Once she had given the dollar back to me and reorganized the line, we were back on our way, no harm done.

A few of us had to learn the Minuet, a slow, graceful dance in 3/4 time, a stately court dance of the 17th and 18th centuries characterized by forward balancing, bowing, and toe pointing. I was never the most coordinated kid on the block, but I was getting the hang of which foot to balance on, and which hand to extend, and when to reach around my partner’s waist. She was not in my class, and I only saw her on the stage. There were four couples, the music was a cute kid’s song with a simple melody, “Put Your Little Foot”, and it should be a real crowd pleaser, considering that would be our parents. The program was performed during school hours, so Daddy couldn’t be there, but Mom was there and came with our landlady. During the dance, my partner would often be out of the routine and scratching with whichever hand was free. I was trying to keep Mom in view to see if the performance was meeting her approval.  I saw her leaning into whisper-range and saying something to her neighbor. Afterwards, I asked her what she was whispering about, and she said, ”I was telling her that the little red-headed girl you were dancing with has “the itch”. Sure enough, not only did I catch it, I gave it to my brother! Mom had to get a bottle of stinky white liquid which had to be rubbed into the skin with a wire brush. It felt like being set on fire and took several days, but thankfully it was a cure; for itch, the minuet, and strange ladies!

I continued to enjoy the class-work we were doing in school. Mostly we worked from workbooks with stories based upon the woodland Indian tribes of Canada. The stories were interesting, the illustrations were realistic, and the lessons were practical. I thought the school was great. In the quiet time the teacher was reading to us aloud from the stories of Uncle Remus. I did manage to commit one huge faux pas. In some discussion, the subject of kings came up. The teacher then asked, “Who is our king?” When no one seemed anxious to answer, I put up my hand. The teacher thought to see what this kid from “the States” knew about the British monarchy, and called on me. I piped up, “God is our king”. She replied, “That is right, but I meant who is our earthly king”. I had an answer for that, too. “There’s no such thing as kings, they’re only in fairy tales”. Oops! George VI still had five years to reign until his death in 1952. So she corrected me and graciously helped me cover my blunder, since I was a guest there, and not expected to be familiar with such things. 

My mother had written my teacher a note to see if I could be excused one afternoon so she could take my brother and me to see “Gone With The Wind”. We had met the grandmother of the actress who played Bonnie Blue Butler in the movie and Mom wanted us to see the child actress perform. On the last day of class before Christmas, we had a treat; we each received a six-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola and cup of vanilla ice cream and a flat paddle of a spoon. As I was enjoying mine, I recalled Mom’s niece taking me to the drug store for a Coke float, so as soon as I had a little bit of space in my cup, I would dribble a small amount of Coke into my cup and sip and dip and enjoy my float. This attracted some attention, so I had to explain how the Coke Float was a popular fountain drink in the States, and everyone should try it. Many did and it had mass approval. So, in my small way, I helped to bring American culture to Red Deer!

We exchanged our Christmas gifts with our family in the States by mail, which we had to do many other times, only the stamps were different. The half-dollar in the toe of my sock I hung up was different, and outside our window was a giant snowy scene to excite the Santa-watchers. I got a sled, a nice long fancy one because it was something I had asked for, but it came with the understanding that it was to be shared. Daddy got a little bit extravagant but had a good reason. Goods from England could be purchased at a great savings in Canada, and he bought Mom a twelve-place-setting set of bone china. She was thrilled, even though it wouldn’t see much use while we were on the road, but after we settled in Tulsa, it set a beautiful table. 

One afternoon in early March of 1948, I discovered my dad standing back by my teacher’s desk talking quietly so the class would not be disrupted. I continued with the assignment I had been given, and when I looked again he had gone down the stairs, so obviously, he had not come to see me. At the end of the day, on my way to the stairs, the teacher called me aside, and she had a gathering of papers and all my workbooks and informed me I was moving back to Texas. It was a very bitter-sweet moment for me. Tomorrow, I would be absent, and the day after that. I would be taking the papers she was handing to me and giving them to someone in the next school I attended. I would be taking some personal mementos she wanted me to have: a felt emblem that was intended for a sweater or jacket, a pocket knife I had found in a puddle of melted snow on the playground after a big Chinook thaw; no one had claimed it. Mostly, I would be leaving with memories, lots of wonderful memories, too numerous to begin to describe here or even list, because every day brought new ones. I could only hope that my future school experience would be as enjoyable as this had been. Oh, Canada! Merry Christmas, happy New Year, au revoir!

The home office had promoted my dad and he would be supervising his own crew. He would be out of the field and into an office, with more responsibility and better money. All of our belongings would go by train to Oklahoma since we no longer owned a vehicle of any kind. In Tulsa, we would receive a company car to get us to Gainesville, and Dad could order a personal vehicle and take a bus back to Tulsa to get it when it was available. Right now, everything had to be packed for shipping, prepared for a train ride; my sled, the bone china, everything except for a couple of suitcases, a travel case and a camera case. The train should make better time than those jeeps with the governed engines did driving through snowstorms. We would be headed to a different world; we realized we had not seen the ground without snow since we left Kansas back in November of last year!

My dad, put on a tie to celebrate his promotion to Party Chief after 3 1/2 years as a surveyor for the company and being transferred back to the good ol' U S of A for the next decade, before buying a portrait studio in Sapulpa. It was successful beyond his expectations, and he was able to build a nice new home for Mom, and retire on an acreage on Lake Hudson.