Friday, April 3, 2009

That Revolutionary Year

We got air conditioning, kindergarten, and integration at my Florida public elementary school in 1968-69. I was in the third grade, and for me, the anticipation of the black students' arrival was much greater than that of the window unit. I was used to heat and humidity. I wasn't used to black children. The addition of the kindergarten meant my little sister would be joining me and my big sister at school.

Integration turned out to not be such a big deal, although we did get one boy who fascinated me with his loud humor and his earthy knowledge of human relationships. My little sister's kindergarten class actually shocked me, because when I went by there one day the young teacher was playing a song on the record player called "Sweet Blindness", and all the children were dancing around to it. If you're not familiar with it, here are the lyrics:

Let's go down by the grapevine
Drink my daddy's wine, get happy
Down by the grapevine
Drink my daddy's wine, get happy

Happy, oh, sweet blindness
A little magic
A little kindness
Oh, sweet blindness
All over me

Four leaves on a clover
I'm just a bit of a shade hungover
Come on, baby, do a slow float
You're a good looking riverboat
And ain't that sweet eyed
Blindness good to me

Let's go down by the grapevine
Drink my daddy's wine, good morning
Down by the grapevine
Drink my daddy's wine, good morning

Morning, oh, sweet blindness
A little magic
A little kindness
Oh, sweet blindness
All over me

Please don't tell my mother
I'm a saloon and a moonshine lover
Come on, baby, do a slow float
You're a good lookin' riverboat
And ain't that sweet eyed
Blindness good to me

Don't ask me cause
I ain't gonna tell you
What I've been drinking
Ain't gonna tell you
What I've been drinking
Ain't gonna tell you
What I've been drinking
Wine, of wonder
Wonder by the way

Oh, sweet blindness
A little magic
A little kindness
Oh, sweet blindness
All over me

Don't let daddy hear it
He don't believe in
The gin mill spirit
Don't let daddy hear it
He don't believe in
The gin mill spirit

Come on, baby, do a slow float
You're a good looking riverboat
And ain't that sweet eyed
Blindness good to me

Blindness, sweet eyed blindness
Now ain't that sweet eyed
Blindness good to me

I had gone to a Christian kindergarten where I memorized all the presidents in chronological order and learned to sing "I'm a Little Teapot" with hand motions. So, even though I was only in third grade, I was not too young to be shocked by the difference.

Now I know that revolutionary things were happening throughout the culture, in the Church especially. I read on Rorate Caeli that "Pope Montini gave a great gift to the rebellious wing of the Church: on Holy Thursday, 40 years ago, he imposed (or at least attempted to impose) upon the whole Latin Church a completely New Mass, a liturgy much to the liking of the rebels. His own Roman Mass, promulgated by the Apostolic Constitution "Missale Romanum" - the second major step, after Pontificalis Romani, in the fabrication of a new Roman Rite."

On Holy Thursday in 1969 I was probably sitting in my third grade class, memorizing my multiplication tables, practicing cursive, and reading about the Laplanders, completely unaware of this huge upheaval in the Church and the dramatic consequences it would have on the whole world. I wasn't Catholic. If any of my classmates were Catholic, I wasn't aware of it.

My teacher, Mrs. H, was old fashioned, and I loved her for it. She had a calming low voice with a "deep in the heart of Dixie" accent. She prayed with us before lunch every day, and I remember always admiring the full, well-below-the-knees skirt of her dress as our class followed her to the cafeteria. At that point, we girls were still required to wear dresses to school, but I didn't have any with a big skirt like the ones she always wore. I loved the way they moved as she walked. They were really out of style at the time, but I didn't know it. Mrs. H's car was out of style too: a 50s or very early 60s Oldsmobile with tremendous curves and flares and lavish chrome. She read to us every day after lunch. Two books stand out: Paul Bunyon and Brer Rabbit. She did the best Brer Rabbit voices and dialect I've ever heard.

I carried a part of Mrs. H away with me at the end of that school year. I think that was her goal. It helped sustain me as the revolution progressed.

2 comments:

Fotofule said...

Great post! Oh....dear, did this take me back. I had to look it up - the 5th Dimension! Funny, I've been singing "One Less Bell to Answer" all week.

Your memories of this time are so clear, Wen. I do remember that integration was no big deal to us. I don't remember any anger - everyone was well behaved.

The things we suffered through, though, because of misguided teachers.

Wendy Haught said...

Wasn't it the Woodstock year also? Your husband went cross-country in a Volkswagen van to attend? You should get him to write about that for your blog.