...
John Quinn has been a staunch supporter
of Indian Rock Schoolhouse from the very beginning
George's birthday
It was in 1932, the bicentennial of George Washington’s birth when we graduated. The George Washington Bridge was opened over the Hudson and at the same time Public School No. 2 was renamed for our nation’s first president.
My elementary education took place in Edgewater, New Jersey, a 15 minute ferry ride from New York City. It was in Public School No. 2, a small but modern two-story brick building between fittingly named Undercliff Avenue and River Road. Public School No. 1 was three miles down the pike at the other end of town.
Of the eight teachers I had, I really only remember Miss Beck in the first grade and Mrs. Warren our eighth grade teacher and also the school principal.
There was no preparatory program like nursery school or kindergarten so starting school was an abrupt change from my sheltered life at home.
The day started with the high-pitched noise and bustle of youngsters in the schoolyard.
Then suddenly a quiet and order signaled by the electric school bell and the appearance of our teacher, Miss Beck standing by the school door. Miss Beck appeared to us seemingly the same every day: a dark wool skirt that hung down to the high-laced boots; generally a cardigan sweater over a plain blouse and her grey hair gathered in a bun behind. The tone was set – we were going to learn. We sat up straight in ordered rows, hands clasped on our desk tops, eyes following Miss Beck at the front of the room.
Besides introducing us to the building blocks of the “three R’s”, we were learning the simple social skills of discipline and getting along with others.
Of the eight teachers I had, I really only remember Miss Beck in the first grade and Mrs. Warren our eighth grade teacher and also the school principal.
There was no preparatory program like nursery school or kindergarten so starting school was an abrupt change from my sheltered life at home.
The day started with the high-pitched noise and bustle of youngsters in the schoolyard.
Then suddenly a quiet and order signaled by the electric school bell and the appearance of our teacher, Miss Beck standing by the school door. Miss Beck appeared to us seemingly the same every day: a dark wool skirt that hung down to the high-laced boots; generally a cardigan sweater over a plain blouse and her grey hair gathered in a bun behind. The tone was set – we were going to learn. We sat up straight in ordered rows, hands clasped on our desk tops, eyes following Miss Beck at the front of the room.
Besides introducing us to the building blocks of the “three R’s”, we were learning the simple social skills of discipline and getting along with others.
The Day at P.S. 2
We came to find an excited pleasure in raising our hand with the answer and realizing the rewards of a good performance. If the week had gone well, Friday afternoon Miss Beck would take out a book well known and loved by the pupils and read a story or two to the class.
Another of our extra-curricular joys were the classroom chores parceled out through the week - raising or lowering the window shades, cleaning the blackboard erasers, watering the plants, passing out things to the class.
We came to find an excited pleasure in raising our hand with the answer and realizing the rewards of a good performance. If the week had gone well, Friday afternoon Miss Beck would take out a book well known and loved by the pupils and read a story or two to the class.
Another of our extra-curricular joys were the classroom chores parceled out through the week - raising or lowering the window shades, cleaning the blackboard erasers, watering the plants, passing out things to the class.
Miss Beck was always there
Miss Beck was always there before we got to school and was gone only after we had left. But we seemed to know that she lived alone in a house part way up the Palisades. There was a rugged path through the woods to her house that looked down on the road.
Miss Beck was still teaching fortunate Edgewater youngsters when the Quinn family moved from the town.
Miss Beck was always there before we got to school and was gone only after we had left. But we seemed to know that she lived alone in a house part way up the Palisades. There was a rugged path through the woods to her house that looked down on the road.
Miss Beck was still teaching fortunate Edgewater youngsters when the Quinn family moved from the town.
Mrs. Warren and the Blue Grotto
My first recollections of Mrs. Warren are as principal conducting the school assembly of all the grades. Held in the gym, assemblies involved a prayer, salute to the flag, several songs and a reading or talk about current happenings. I remember one assembly when Mrs. Warren told us about her summer vacation trip to Europe, and about her visit to the Blue Grotto – an island cave in Italy. She described how you had to crouch over in the boat to enter and then how the grotto opened. She told us how the boatmen sang Italian melodies and demonstrated by singing and teaching the song “Santa Lucia”. It became one of the favorite of our assemblies.
My first recollections of Mrs. Warren are as principal conducting the school assembly of all the grades. Held in the gym, assemblies involved a prayer, salute to the flag, several songs and a reading or talk about current happenings. I remember one assembly when Mrs. Warren told us about her summer vacation trip to Europe, and about her visit to the Blue Grotto – an island cave in Italy. She described how you had to crouch over in the boat to enter and then how the grotto opened. She told us how the boatmen sang Italian melodies and demonstrated by singing and teaching the song “Santa Lucia”. It became one of the favorite of our assemblies.
Another of her innovations was having us gather in the gym for the weekly radio broadcast of Walter Damrosh and the WEAF Symphony Orchestra in a program aimed at introducing school children to classical music. We learned to identify the sounds of the orchestra instruments and got to know the story behind a number of various compositions.
Our eighth grade class of several dozen boys and girls never seemed to faze Mrs. Warren. The rote and routine of normal school subjects were enlivened by a spirited give and take between pupils and teacher. And this informal rapport went beyond the classroom. She had introduced Manual Training or Shop for the boys and Home Economics – sewing and cooking – for the girls
Our eighth grade class of several dozen boys and girls never seemed to faze Mrs. Warren. The rote and routine of normal school subjects were enlivened by a spirited give and take between pupils and teacher. And this informal rapport went beyond the classroom. She had introduced Manual Training or Shop for the boys and Home Economics – sewing and cooking – for the girls
Class for the Flat-footed
One year, after the school doctor’s physical check-up of the children, a flat feet class was inaugurated and a shoeless Mrs. Warren led a group of us similarly affected in a pigeon-toed parade around the room and then in an exercise picking up marbles with our toes. I’m not sure it did any of us any good but through it all, Miss Warren lost none of her high sense of dignity.
George's birthday
It was in 1932, the bicentennial of George Washington’s birth when we graduated. The George Washington Bridge was opened over the Hudson and at the same time Public School No. 2 was renamed for our nation’s first president.
Mrs. Warren had readied part of the Greatest Generation for the world out there, even for a rather dispirited game of Spin the Bottle at a party of ice cream and cake after our commencement exercises.
John Quinn is a Trustee Emeritus of the Schoolhouse Association. He has written articles, press releases and even a book about schoolhouses (“Memories from a Country Schoolhouse”). He lives in Leedsville with his wife the irrepressible Margaret Duffy Erskine Quinn.
John Quinn is a Trustee Emeritus of the Schoolhouse Association. He has written articles, press releases and even a book about schoolhouses (“Memories from a Country Schoolhouse”). He lives in Leedsville with his wife the irrepressible Margaret Duffy Erskine Quinn.
.jpg)
