In the early 1960s I attended Robinson Elementary School, located in the South East Lake section of Birmingham. The school's original building was erected in 1909. Like most public buildings of that era, its architecture was thoughtful and creative, appropriate for a place of learning. It had high arched entranceways, patterned brick work and stone work, high ceilings, and huge windows that actually opened to let in air and light. The wooden floors and radiator heat made it seem like a great big comfortable house inside. The battered wooden desks, some with holes cut out for inkwells, reminded me that generations of students had been there before me. It was very different from modern school buildings, which often remind me of prisons both outside and in. I feel fortunate to have had the benefit of an "old school" education for a few years, so I thought I would write about it.

 

My mother was a teacher at Robinson from 1953 to 1969.  She began her career there right out of college, and for most of the next 16 years taught a fifth grade class on the second floor on the East side of the main building. I went to school at Robinson from the first grade through part of the fifth grade. In fact, I first “went to school” there before I could walk. One of my earliest memories is being carried through the West entrance and up the stairs to my mother's classroom, where I was introduced to faculty and students. So Robinson was actually a bit more than a school for me; it was also an extension of home, because that’s where Mom spent most of her day.

 

Robinson offered a wealth of educational opportunities. In addition to the three Rs there were art classes, “auditorium,” (singing and public speaking), band (taught by a fine musician, Pat Bailey), and “enrichment” classes for students who excelled. Robinson had the best environment for learning I have ever known; knowledge and achievement were valued by everyone, faculty and students alike. Most of us looked forward to attending one of Birmingham’s great institutions of higher learning – which is what high schools were considered in those days – such as Phillips, Woodlawn, or Banks.

 

Other memories: 

• Miss Haffner, my first-grade teacher, crying when we learned that President Kennedy had been shot. Through the classroom loudspeaker we heard the Principal say “May I have your attention please,” as we always did when he had an announcement. But the announcement this time was very different. After breaking the news, he played a funeral march through the loudspeakers for several minutes. 

• Rules against running and talking in the halls. Miscreants were sent to the Principal’s office. Most of us had a deep fear of being sent to the Principal, not only because of the profound shame and dishonor attached to it, but also because he was the only person in the school who could administer corporal punishment. At age 7, I think I would rather have stood before the Lord of Hosts than before the Principal of Robinson School. Needless to say, I neither talked nor ran in the halls. Some boys did, though, and I suppose today they are either in jail or hold political office.  

• Rules against being rowdy in the lunchroom. The faculty sat at a long table in the front of the room. The Principal had a little hotel-style desk bell. One ding meant we were getting too loud; two dings meant this is your last warning; three dings meant no talking for the rest of the lunch period. 

• Being around kids of all ages, from first through eighth grade. In first grade, the day ended early at 2:00, so I would walk up to Mom’s fifth grade class and sit with the “big kids” until the final bell rang at 3:00. I enjoyed being around the 10-year-olds; they were still kids, but seemed very smart and worldly-wise. I could never relate to the eighth-graders, though; they were more like fledgling adults. 

• The way the school smelled, sort of a combination of chalk, books, old wood, and Murphy Oil Soap. 

• Playing soccer in the playground on the West side of the building. I learned many important things on the playground, like how to hang upside down from the jungle-gym and ride the merry-go-round without breaking my neck. 

• Cleaning chalkboard erasers. When the felt became saturated with chalk, the teacher asked a lucky student to take them outside and pound them against the brick until clean.  

• The sound of the student chorus singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” which you could hear from just about any classroom in the spring and fall when the windows were open.  

• Joel, the janitor. Joel spoke with such a thick country accent that I never understood a word he said. But he was always smiling and friendly, and greeted me occasionally. 
  
  
• Manual Training class (later called "Industrial Arts"). This was a shop class held in the basement of the original building. Being a bookish sort, I wasn't much good at sawing boards for construction projects. Wish I'd tried harder, I could use the skills now. 
  
  
• The Safety Patrol. I always thought these older kids looked cool with their helmets, sashes, and orange flags, bravely standing in the road to stop traffic so us first-graders could cross the street safely.

• Miss White, my second-grade teacher. She had a big sign in the front of the classroom that said “Second Grade – The Growing Up Grade,” together with an illustration of a second-grader who seemed to be growing up on schedule. This was about the time of the Supreme Court decision on school prayer, and she defiantly led the class in prayer at the start of each day. We also memorized and recited the 100th Psalm, although I got some of the words wrong, much to my later embarrassment. Miss White was Alabama's teacher of the year in 1970.

• Mrs. Summerford, my fifth-grade teacher, who always expected the best from her students and taught them how to achieve it.

See the Alumni E-mails page for more Robinson School memories.