by Neile Parisi
During my ordeal—for at least six months—I called my mom every day. She always had some words of wisdom. She said I should never give up. I was close to giving up after attending DCF Court. The deck was definitely stacked against me, and I saw no way out. Mom calmly reminded me that it wasn’t over. She suggested looking for other employment, and going to the library every day to read the bestsellers and peruse the want ads. I ended up going to a local bookstore to read the bestsellers. I thought, That’s what I’ll do. I’ll write a book. When I informed my mom, she said, “Why would you want to do that? Why rekindle those old, dark memories?” It was true. I kept them hidden away.
I had managed to quell them for years, but now I was ready to share and write those memories down for others to read—and maybe learn from. Part of me was scared, and I second-guessed myself. Who would want to read what happened to me? Who cares about what happened? But then, every day, I saw or heard something in the news about a case of false accusation, or a pathetic situation in which someone’s life was destroyed or taken from them because of deceit and lies, and I would think, I need to do this. I need to tell my story. I convinced my mom, and now she cheers me on and wishes me the best of luck. Sometimes, she even reads the chapters and critiques them. And sometimes, she even likes what I write.
CHAPTER 26
Adjusting to the New School
IT SEEMED EASY AT FIRST TO ADJUST to the new school, even though painful memories were recurring. In addition to the daily schedule in place, the principal had added a new routine: a weekly fire drill. I guess it was necessary, but it became tedious after repeated months of practicing the drill. Everyone got used to it, and performed in a satisfactory way. It pleased the principal, the fire department, and the parents, so we continued.
We also continued with our studies, which became exciting again, especially science. During science classes, the teachers let me be a guest teacher and share my knowledge and experience. I loved it—especially the unit on astronomy. I felt like a teacher again. And the best part was that the students came to me again after school for help in science.
The school didn’t really participate in a recognized science fair contest, so I decided to start one of our own. It would be held only at our school, and all grades would participate. Each student would choose a topic to research, and create a science-fair board. The teachers, the librarian, and I would help them with research, construction, and participation. I suggested it to Mrs. Baxter, our new principal. She thought it was a great idea, and helped implement it.
We had an assembly at which we discussed the requirements and announced that there would be one prize for each grade level. Nearly everyone thought it would be fun. I was appointed as the chairwoman of the project, which made my heart sing. I met with Mrs. Dixon, the librarian, and she was extremely helpful. At fifty-four, she was one of our youngest faculty members. Mrs. Dixon was filled with innovative ideas for the students, and set up stations in the library to help them. She compiled lists of references, piles of books and data, and numerous pictures and charts. She was ready to help in any way.
I was allowed two hours during the day to meet with students in the library to help them get started. It was exciting and fulfilling. After my cleaning and required chores were completed, I reported to the library to help the students. Since this was all new to everyone, I had to train the teachers and Mrs. Dickson on what to do and expect. We wanted all of the children to participate, so we provided all necessary supplies, including paints, boards, glue, tools, etc. We knew some students had nothing at home, and would need everything. Two hours a day wasn’t enough, so I made myself available after school every day for two hours. It worked out well. The students had two months to prepare.
The judges were chosen as follows:
Mr. J. J. Radcliff, who managed the local Piggly Wiggly store, was a fixture in town, and knew everyone and everything about it. No one used his real first name when referring to him. It was always just J.J. Did he even have a first name? He was constantly visible walking through the aisles of the store, and would personally escort you to the location of any item. J.J. held the all-time record for the lowest incidence of pilfering throughout the entire chain of Piggly Wiggly grocery stores. I think everyone liked him so much, they just couldn’t steal from him. He had a wife and three children, and made a fine living for his family. They had lived there all their lives. He was so pleased that he had been chosen.
Then there was Mrs. Bea Jacobs, who owned the Honey Bee Bakery. She served some of the best delicacies: hummingbird cake, bread pudding, pecan, sweet potato, and key lime pies, and her famous banana pudding pie, which was her claim to fame. And the national Banana Pudding Festival had started right here in Easly because of her pie! Her goal was to make sure every customer tasted at least one bakery item during each trip to the bakery. This strategy surely increased sales for her, and it most certainly increased the weight of the townspeople. She reminded me of Aunt Bea on The Andy Griffith Show—you know Opie’s great aunt. She was a stout little woman with a smile that wrapped around her face; as tall as she was wide, and as jolly as old Saint Nick.
Next was Mr. Clifford Dudley, who owned the Vintage General Store. In fact, his family had owned it since its inception. He had grown up in the family store and knew where every item was located. As a child, he had worked there before school, after school, and on the weekends. Everyone knew that when he grew up, he would be the only one to run the store—and they were right.
“I’m looking for a light bulb, Mr. Dudley.”
“Industrial, aisle 3, incandescent, aisle 7, and household, aisle 2.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. You really do know where everything is located.”
His two older brothers decided to leave Easly and head out for the big city of Columbia to make their fortune. Wesley, his oldest brother, became an accountant after graduating from Clemson. And Crofton, his other brother, settled in Myrtle Beach. He owned a five-andten store, and after some time had passed, his beachside real estate was worth a fortune. They had both done very well.
Mr. Dudley even said he’d give a 50 percent discount to any of the students who purchased supplies for their science fair projects at his store. He was so happy to be a part of the team of judges.
Next in the lineup was Mrs. Penny Tillerson. She owned the Mercantile and Penny Arcade and Café. The café served all the favorites: sweet tea, hush puppies, fried okra, and chicken fried steak and biscuits. She said she would cater the awards ceremony for a big discount. She boasted that if you couldn’t find an item in her store, then they didn’t make it on Earth! Her store supplied the locals with the current fashions, but I didn’t know how current they were. At least that was how they were advertised. I think she may have coined the phrase penny arcade. She was a clever woman who capitalized on her creative sales abilities, and she had a lot going on in the store. You could shop, you could eat, or you could play games. All of these different outlets increased her sales. She was a very smart lady.
And finally, we asked Dr. Marshall McClain, our own beloved doctor. He bragged that he had probably delivered most of the students in our school. Everyone loved him. He was the kind of doctor who still made house calls. He also had an interesting hobby: he played the saw. He could make it sing, and often performed at the town talent show. Dr. McClain had outlived two wives, and now, at his age, he was just enjoying his grandchildren and life. He said he would never retire. He’d just die at the hospital someday. We thought we should have at least one person with a scientific background on our committee of judges. He graciously accepted.
The students were more excited about this project than they had been about anything in two years’ time…but I was the most excited. The event was my baby, and I wanted it to be successful. I sent a note home to all the parents explaining what the science fair entailed and what was required, and let them know that I would be available after school every day for two hours and that I had many supplies they could use.
I bought them at Mr. Dudley’s general store (at a 50 percent discount!). All the parents had to do was reserve a time slot. The signup sheet filled up fast, so I also designated a time slot before school for an hour. I was in pig heaven. I felt like I was teaching full time again.
The students’ projects were outstanding, thanks to the efforts of Mrs. Delila Dixon and several other teachers. I remember one in particular: Miss Florence Walker. Florence had never married. This wasn’t by choice; it just didn’t happen. She said she had all the children she needed at school. She spent most of her free time working on school lessons or projects, and was always, always available to help the children. She said the good Lord knew what He was doing. Some of us just had to stay single to help the others with their young-uns.
Her greatest joy was teaching the third grade. She said they were the perfect age to teach: they could read, they were so curious about everything in life, and they laughed at her jokes. They even believed her threats about talking to their parents if they misbehaved. Most impressive, though, was the fact that they wanted to learn! They came to school on time, and willingly.
Miss Walker said it was the only grade in which she witnessed this. Second graders were just starting to read, and were not as curious yet. Fourth graders were starting to be full of themselves, and beyond the fifth grade, they started to get uncontrollable and too independent. She had substituted in all the different grade levels in Greenville during her beginning teaching years, and knew firsthand that she was correct about this particular fact.
Miss Walker had grown up in Greenville and wanted to teach there, but when she landed her job in Easly, she knew it was the right place for her to teach and live. She never left…and never wanted to, either. She had begun her career as a third-grade teacher, and hoped to end her career as a third-grade teacher here in Easly, as well.
She was so willing to help the students with their science fair projects. Miss Walker matched my time schedule, and even bought a range of art supplies for the children to use. Science was her favorite subject to teach, just like me. I knew I liked this woman. We got along so well. We shared ideas about scientific theories, discoveries, and future events, and spent hours just discussing science. She had so many ideas about projects to share with the kids.
Mr. Dudley was extremely grateful for the sales that stemmed from the fair. He had higher sales that month than he had experienced in years. Florence even brought homemade dinner for herself, Mrs. Dixon, the librarian, and me. She was a fine cook, and we eagerly gobbled down her gourmet dishes as we worked late after school. With all these positive scenarios, we couldn’t help but be a total success! The three of us just melded together. Since we were all single, we didn’t have to worry about what time we had to be home, or who would cook dinner. No one was waiting for us, and we could eat out or bring food at our leisure. Some days, we worked and laughed into the wee hours of the morning. And remember, I had all the keys to everything, which was very convenient.
Mrs. Dixon, the best librarian in all the South, was a sweet, kind, gentle soul. She was divorced, and had never remarried. She raised her daughter to be an outstanding citizen in the community: she never caused a problem, and was always obedient.
I loved Mrs. Dixon’s teaching style. If a student was involved in anything improper, she would simply walk over to them, stare at them, and say, “UNACCEPTABLE.” And that did it. She gave of herself unselfishly. She knew every book in the library, and had probably read every one of them. She also made herself available before and after school to help the students. Her daughter was so influenced by her mom’s success that she also became a teacher. She taught in a high school near Columbia, South Carolina. Mrs. Dixon had been a classroom teacher for years before she became a librarian, so she was very familiar with all the techniques and rules of conduct. She was having the time of her life. That is the word: LIFE. There was a new breath of life in the school. I was joyous.
Every night, I called my mom to tell her about the goings-on. I had no time to be sad, forlorn, or stressed. I was the happiest I’d been in over fourteen years. We continued for two months, working on science projects alongside our daily schedules. We met twice with the judges to explain their responsibilities and to show them how to score the projects and interview each student. We were going to award a first-place and second-place prize for each grade level: fourteen prizes in all.
Mrs. Alexandria Wellington, the art teacher, only answered to Mrs. Wellington. She was from Charleston and knew it—and she made sure everyone else knew it, too. She imagined she was related to Scarlett O’Hara. She offered her services in prize creation for the science fair. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I had to say yes to her offer if I wanted to remain friends with her after the fair. Her image defined a true Southern belle. She certainly dressed the part; the only thing missing was Spanish moss hanging from her arms. I could have sworn she lived with Rhett Butler at Tara. She had even named her first daughter Tara. She sounded like Scarlett, and frequently quoted her. One day, I overheard a student telling her he hadn’t finished his art project yet, and without skipping a beat, she replied, “After all, tomorrow is another day.” I believed she created situations that were perfect for quoting lines from Gone with the Wind. She loved teaching the older students, and referred to the kindergarteners as “a passel of mealy-mouthed brats.” Of course, she would never say that to their faces, because she was, indeed, a lady.
On her first date with Captain Dean Wellington, she had said, “That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, by someone who knows how.” He married her not long after that.
One day, when there was a power outage because everyone in the county was running their swamp coolers, her food was inedible because her refrigeration unit was off. Her reaction? “As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.”
Mrs. Wellington could be charming and demanding at the same time. Her husband put up with her strange ways because she was always so entertaining, and because he was a little quirky himself. She was a great art teacher, and I had faith that the prizes for the fair would be perfect.
Mrs. Baxter didn’t believe in everyone getting a prize, like some schools offered. She said she wanted to prepare her students for the real world. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Learn to deal with it. Next time, try even harder if you didn’t get first place. The students knew ahead of time what the requirements were and how they would be scored. It would be a fair contest. We had preened the judges, and they were ready.
We continued to work very hard, and the day arrived for the presentations. The Augusta Blackmoore Media Center was organized with tables and chairs for each student to set up their project board and any experiment equipment they needed. The parents were invited that evening to witness the students’ presentations. The judges were equipped with clipboards and a series of questions to ask in order to score the students and their work. The areas scored included: 1. the subject matter; 2. the students’ answers to the judges’ questions; 3. originality of project and title; 4. the actual board; and 5. their presentation of data. The parents and judges went from student to student, asking questions about their projects, taking notes, and scoring them as they were interviewed. Some of the questions the judges asked were as follows: Where did you get this idea? What research did you do? What was your hypothesis? What did you measure, and how? What does that graph tell you? Who might want to know this information? What was the hardest part, or the most fun, or the most surprising? Who helped you? What would you have done differently? What did you base your conclusion on?
There was such a variety of projects—How Much Weight Can Your Boat Float, A Matter of Time, DNA Fingerprinting, The Swimming Secrets of Duck Feet, The Reasons for the Seasons, Blood Clotting to the Rescue, Rocketology, Craters and Meteorites, Bubbleology, Measuring the Surface Tension of Water, and more. It was going to be very difficult for the judges to just choose fourteen winners.
The presentations w
ent on for three hours, and at the end, there were light refreshments served from the Honey Bee Bakery. Mrs. Jacobs was so proud. The whole program lasted from 6:00 to 9:00 P.M. Then the judges met together to discuss their findings and the winners. It was difficult, but they narrowed it down.
As I walked around listening to the judges’ questions and the perfectly-orchestrated answers the students gave, I was so proud, as if they were my own children. In a way, they were. The memory of Daniel Ray disrupting our science fair presentations surfaced and tried to destroy the moment for me, but I wouldn’t let the voice sabotage my feelings. It was so different here and now. The students weren’t presenting discipline problems like Daniel and his classmates had done in the past. They were mostly obedient, and glad to be. They sincerely wanted to learn, participate, and win!
I had prepared the students to graciously accept the outcome, and to congratulate the winners and clap, even if they didn’t win. They seemed to grasp the concept that not everyone could win, and that they should remain proud of what they had accomplished. I was looking forward to tomorrow’s awards assembly. I had my personal favorites, and was curious to see if the judges agreed with me.
It was late when I called my mom. She was happy for me, and shared in my joy. I could always count on her.
Wednesday morning arrived. The parents came again, grateful to accompany their children. The judges were ready, and so was I. Mrs. Baxter began by thanking all who had participated, including the students, the teachers, the librarian, and the judges. Then she said, “We want to especially thank Miss Billie, who spearheaded this wonderful project, and allowed us to flourish and forget sad past memories and concentrate on happier times and today.” She began to applaud, and everyone clapped and rose to their feet and gave me a standing ovation. I sat there and cried.
It was all worth it. It was the best science fair show I had ever participated in. All the trophies I had received in the past were meaningless compared to this very moment. The judges announced their winners, and I had chosen six of the fourteen they selected. It actually didn’t matter who won, because that day, we were all winners. We were all happy and smiling. I thanked the students, the parents, Mrs. Baxter, and the judges, expressing my gratitude to all of them. So many children ran up to me, thanking me for the experience. We decided that this should be an annual activity, and that I would be in charge every year. And that was just fine with me.