School days, pre-women’s lib

Despite my children’s firm conviction that I was a contemporary of Abraham Lincoln, who trudged dirt roads and wooden sidewalks to arrive at a one-room schoolhouse with wooden benches and isinglass windows, presided over by a trapped spinster, I cherish a treasure chest of memories of my “golden rule days” and teachers who made a difference.

In grade school there was Miss Koch with the neat bob, trim figure and encouraging smile. From the moment she read “The Courtin,”a lyric poem of a handsome swain and the gingham-clad miss he yearned for through Sunday sermons when he obsessed over her “new meetin’ bonnet,” and the pretty face it framed, I was hooked.