A PERSONAL NEW MEXICO HISTORY
PAGE SEVEN
ENTRY: Other assorted first-grade memories
It's time to move along; but before I do, here are a few other things I remember about the 1952-1953 school year.
The birth of an avant-garde
artist---an evening of "open house" at the school. Our classroom
is brightly lit. Punch and refreshments are being served. All our parents
are milling around, talking to one another. It rather has the feel of an
artist's reception, minus the wine and cheese which would accompany this
type of event in our later lives. All us first-graders are excited and
beaming proudly as the group of adults wanders about, viewing and commenting
on our work (mainly our art work) which is on display. One of the display
areas is a row of colored pages along the top of the blackboards. It is
a row of fruit, specifically, pears. There are subtle variations in the
two dozen almost identical pages: some are a brighter yellow, some have
darker green leaves, but all are pretty much the same---except for one.
That one displays the artist's signature, Judy Goedeke. Judy's pears are
exceptional, a standout, a definite eye-catcher in an
otherwise routine and rather boring exibition. Judy's pears cause the eye
to fasten itself to her page as it scans the top of the blackboard, and
to return there again and again to examine in greater detail the unique
expression of her controversial work. Judy's pears are not yellow. They
are varying shades of burnt umber, black, indigo, olive, maroon, and sienna,
with just a hint of chartreuse and puke (oops, I meant puce) for contrast.
I happened to be standing next to the artist when Mrs. Goedeke, rather
red-faced for some reason, bent down and inquired of her daughter, "Judy,
honey, why did you color your pears the way you did?" Whereupon the
artist replied, rather indignantly at having been asked such a silly question
(no one understands truly great artists)...."Well, Mom.......my pears
are rotten!"
I also remember our first-grade easter egg hunt. As I've indicated before, there are two types of soil in southeastern New Mexico---sand and caliche, neither being very conducive to the growth of plants. There are hardly any lawns in town; grass is very difficult to grow here, very time-consuming and expensive. There is, however, one place which has made an effort to domesticate the wild, desert landscape. That place is the El Paso Natural Gas Company's General Camp. In addition to the General Camp here in town, there are several other camps close by, all constructed in the same fashion---nice homes, lots of trees, and beautiful lawns---a group of oases in the surrounding desert. We arrive at General Camp via school bus. This is exciting in itself for me, as I live in town; It's my first time to ride the bus. Many of my friends and classmates, however, live out at the surrounding camps and ride the school bus into town every day. Arriving at the camp for our easter egg hunt is like arriving at the Emerald City. Everywhere you look, it's green. Towering green trees everywhere, vast expanses of lush, green lawns, and lots of something called shrubbery (just looks like bushes to me). A minute ago we were exposed to the white-hot desert sun. Now, we're protected from that sun by lots and lots of shade. The light filters down through the trees and gives everything it touches a cool, green glow. We hop off the bus and begin scouring the area, each hoping to find that special "prize egg." But you know what? I think we've already been given a very special prize with this cool, green, afternoon outing---right here in the Emerald City of General Camp.
Most kids remember their little
red wagon; more specifically, their little red "Radio Flyer"
wagon. Not me. I didn't have one. Not to worry, though---I was hardly deprived.
I had a huge, really huge silver "Greyhound" wagon with a long
blue handle and a blue skinny dog painted on both sides...just like on
the bus. Today it would probably be called "awesome", but today,
what isn't?
It served me and my friends well for many years (I'm sure Lynn Knight remembers
it. Perhaps Jim Cox, Gary Loudermilk, and Bob Chance do, too). In fact,
we probably didn't outgrow it until years after the little red wagon kids
had put theirs away, simply because you would have to be almost an adult
before you would outgrow the sheer size of the thing, or feel that you
looked "silly" sitting in it. It would probably fit me even today.
(well. . . almost. . . well, okay, so it wouldn't . . . nothing does !
)
Too bad I don't know what ever happened to it.
(Copyright 1998, by Jalfalfa)