Four Lines …

The elementary school homework assignment was simple: Write a four-line poem; turn it in tomorrow.

As I think back about 60 years, the teacher’s name was Mrs. Gandy.  Not absolutely sure about that, but no doubt the school was Heyward Gibbes, located mostly on Westwood Ave. with the main office on Summerlea Drive.  The principal no doubt was C.A. Rampey, who lived on Westwood across the street from the school.

Heyward Gibbes was spanking new back then. Elementary and middle school. Shiny cafeteria and classrooms and a gymnasium that was ruled by Frank Singleton. I can hear him now, “Hicky Duguley, don’t you even think about going in that gym with your shoes on!”  Coach Singleton often transposed the first letters of your first and last names to get your attention. At my 50-year high school reunion, he greeted me with, “Well, well, it’s Hicky Duguley” before wrapping his big bear hug around me.

Interesting how those far away details can surface in a memory that sometimes cannot remember what was for lunch.  Mrs. Shillinglaw (maybe spelled correctly) taught music classes, my least favorite subject, at Heyward Gibbes.  School basketball teams were divided into Midgets and Juniors – don’t remember if those teams were based on body size or class.  Girls, it seems, had to run only to the half-court line before giving up the basketball.

Miss Hiers was the young, good-looking history teacher with the pretty smile. She would be about 80 years old now.  Mr. Wertz was the strict, no nonsense English teacher who drove everybody nuts with diagramming the longest sentences he could dream up.  Mrs. Strange taught math and was everyone’s mother; a really nice lady.

Well, I digress accidentally on purpose.  My understanding is that Heyward Gibbes was torn down and rebuilt years ago. Which means the bricks and mortar are gone but certainly not the memories. Which brings me back to that four-line poem.  I just couldn’t make it happen when I got home that day.  But . . .

My Dad was a laborer who made a good living working hard every day as a plumber in my younger years.  He came home totally tired every day.  But, I knew him for his humor and creative juices.  I decided to ask him for help writing the four-line poem. His deal was for me to come up with my poem and he would try to come up with his, and then we would decide which one to use.

It was no contest.  My Dad’s poem was titled “Four Lines” and it became my poem and earned me an A for the homework assignment:

               I’ve tried and tried just to see

               If a writer of poems I’ll ever be.

              That’s two lines and this is three,

              Now that I’m through I can watch TV.

Some things you just never forget.