The establishment and operation of a school was a significant commitment on the part of the SLO Church members. What we students experienced was a revolving door teacher mill. Each teacher was a unique individual and each left her imprint on her students. Miss Bernadine Schants was the youngest. She had completed two years of college prior to her placement in a school with students from grades 1-7. Her teacher-training courses may have provided an introduction to subjects associated with elementary education but they had come short in preparing a teacher to manage a classroom of harum-scarum kids
who soon became aware their young teacher had much to learn about enforcing classroom decorum.
Miss Schants drove a light-green 40s something Dodge coupe. In addition to transporting our teacher, now-and-again a couple students would grab a stack of math flash cards, climb in the front seat, and quiz each other on the multiplication tables. Very versatile car, that Dodge.
There came a time when bright kid came up with the creative idea that it might prove of interest to cross the spark plug wires in Miss Schants’ chariot. The suggestion brought about a quick search for the hood release; a firm pull on the lever and before us, nestled snug in the engine compartment, was the flat-head six cylinder enginve. Any guy knew what to do next: a tug on a couple of wires; a quick switcheroo, and push the wires back on the plug and it’s a done deal.
The afternoon was longer than usual for the guys. Any who watched us would have wondered why the snickering and furtive whispers. The conclusion of that school day brought a gaggle of can’t wait to see the fireworks guys straining their necks round the side of the building. Anticipation grew as Miss Schants walked to her car, pulled open the door, climbed in, settled behind the steering wheel, turned the key, hit the starter and, of a sudden, all manner of strange and wondrous sounds originated from under that little
Dodge’s engine compartment. (For those who have not experienced the effect of crossed spark plug wires—expect to hear a serious of mild explosions as the car backfires a time or two. Usually an engine manages to run, but the resulting noise is not unlike what one might imagine if a hand full of gravel was tossed into the cylinders. The initial reaction for many well be to run before the whole thing blows up.)
I don’t recall who came to rescue the schoolmarm’s dilemma. Perhaps her boy friend? Yes, the young educator had a boy friend. We were fascinated when we saw her ride in his car. The bench seats in those years allowed, even encouraged, a passenger to slide over to snuggle next to the driver. It’s been known for some guys to wax the front passenger seats to make the slide more efficient. Was Miss. Schant’s friend a “seat polisher,” or did the slide come natural? Such a cozy situation is not permitted with our
modern center console configuration. Our loss!
The school/church building had several rooms that were ordinarily locked. There came a day, however, when someone neglected to lock the Dorcas room. The discovery led to the student production of a memorable fashion show. We rescued several old clothes that fit over our school clothes. Slipped into clunky shoes, and waltz into the classroom. One kid took the opportunity a bit far. He found an old whale-bone corset that more-or-less fit round his clothes. When his turn came to parade down the isle, Miss Schantz came unglued. That kid was sent into detention and his parents, as I recall, were informed of
his adverse behavior.
My seventh grade instructor, Mrs. Boodt (pronounced Boat), was the most competent of the string of teachers who did their time at the SLO school. Ernie, her husband, was a Cal Poly student; later on staff at Monterey Bay Academy.
Mrs. Boodt knew how to teach math. The previous year my parent’s hired her as a tutor for my sister and me when they realized Miss Schants was not able to do our math, much less provide instruction.
With Mrs. Boodt in control, shenanigans became a memory. A highlight of Mrs. Boodt’s tenure was when her husband visited the school and took us kids on a trek north-east toward what is now Laurel Lane and Flora. Open fields between the school and the mountain and few streets welcomed the one who wished to escape. With Mr. Boodt in the lead, we would be away from the classroom for an hour or two; at times longer. Our wanderings on occasion took us part way up the hill that rises to the North-East of Orcutt
Rd.
At the conclusion of my 7th grade year, our family moved to Soquel where we resided for the next eight years in the two story house across Old San Jose Rd from the Soquel Adventist Campground that Central California had purchased some time earlier. The conference was looking for a tenant. We met that need. What took place at the SLO school after we moved is a story for someone else to tell.
—Larry Downing