Friday, September 4, 2020
Thursday, June 11, 2020
The Tunnel Under The School
We use to play in the tunnel that ran under the girl's bathroom to the boy's bathroom floors in the one-room schoolhouse, built-in 1919, that stood in the middle of nowhere. My brother's and I just had to walk a short distance through someone's pasture to get there, but there was more than one family that had to drive some distance to get their children there on time. The school looked like a new friend with windows for eyes on either side of the hollow stucco stairs that looked like a grin under the white wooden door placed perfectly like the nose on your face. I couldn't wait for school to start, I'm a closet geek I guess you could say. I loved the smell of a fresh box of crayons, opening a new book for the very first time and the crisp, clean clothes that I got to wear on the first day instead of my older brother, John's hand-me-downs.
I loved the fact that I didn't have to wear shoes to school unless it was muddy or wintertime. It was during these subzero winter days were allowed to play in the tunnel that ran under the school. The teacher told us the tunnel had originally been built to hide from outlaws and Indians before Montana had become a state. My Dad told us a different story entirely. One that I can not repeat here. You entered the tunnel from the restrooms at the back of the classroom. Each trap door was in front of the door that hid the toilet from sight on the other side of the wall, on the left side of the door you entered from was a handwashing sink and a mirror.
The soap dispenser was a plastic bubble that always reminded me of a bee-hive, that had a silver plunger you pushed up inside to dispense this God-awful smelling yellow, liquid detergent. The faucets sat to the left and right from the middle of the rim of the sink; with a hot water handle on the left, and the cold on the right, you could not mix the water as it came out of the two separate faucets unless you put the white, rubber stopper attached in the middle of the porcelain sink with a small, silver chain, in the drain of the sink.
As you stepped out into the classroom there was a very large, green slate chalkboard that took up the entire front wall. From the ceiling, you could pull down large canvas maps or a movie screen. The teacher's large, blond wooden desk sat below that. Off to the left-hand side of the desk, a small room where some things were stored and the furnace. By the time my brothers and I were attending the Ledger School, Dad told us when he was a kid that room was used to store more desks and the potbelly stove, and that was where the boys would have to split wood for those cold winter mornings before school started, or if they had gotten into trouble over the course of the day recess was forfeited and wood splitting, or mucking out the stable was the break they got.
The wall next to the furnace room door was filled with large white cupboards where school supplies, glue, scissors, construction, and ruled paper, as well as other necessary things the students needed to complete their daily assigned tasks. Next was a doorway that leads to the small library for the school. Wooden shelving held books, most first edition, lined one entire wall to left as you walked in, the partial wall that held the door frame and another partial wall in front of you, where a window and a large cabinet under the window and three-quarters of the length of the wall, held the paper cutter and other school supplies underneath.
I would break into the school over the summer months, just to read all the books in the library. Our family would also spend time at the Ledger Community Hall. It was a large Quonset looking building. Once through the wooden double doors you could hang your coat and go straight into the gymnasium, or turn to the left and go downstairs to the basement which held a huge kitchen and dining area, two bathrooms, what we called the furnace room, and stairs out the back to the trap shooting range.
The population at that time was 12 people residing inside the "city-limits" of Ledger, Montana, the surrounding farmers and ranchers were included as population only when it came to the little, antique post-office that served the community. This post-office was housed in the small general store, that also was the home of our oldest living resident, Freda Hall.
The general store was one wall, and a partial wall, that held the door frame for the post-office, was built in shelves that held can goods, condiments, bread, cereals, toilet paper, and things like that, but no produce was sold. You could ask Mrs. Hall for a variety of soda pop, or milk and she would slowly waddle back and forth to her private area where there was a second refrigerator where she stocked the milk and sodas. There was a large, rounded all-glass display case that stood at least four feet high off the ground, where she displayed all the candy she had on hand. Back then you could still get a small, brown bag that fits nicely in the palm of your hand and maybe five inches high filled to the brim with penny candy for about twenty-five cents.
On the wall above this counter and to the right, if you were the customer, was another glass case, framed in wood as well, that held cigarettes and some cigars, back then we could take a handwritten note from our parents and buy cigarettes for them at fifty cents a package.
I loved the fact that I didn't have to wear shoes to school unless it was muddy or wintertime. It was during these subzero winter days were allowed to play in the tunnel that ran under the school. The teacher told us the tunnel had originally been built to hide from outlaws and Indians before Montana had become a state. My Dad told us a different story entirely. One that I can not repeat here. You entered the tunnel from the restrooms at the back of the classroom. Each trap door was in front of the door that hid the toilet from sight on the other side of the wall, on the left side of the door you entered from was a handwashing sink and a mirror.
The soap dispenser was a plastic bubble that always reminded me of a bee-hive, that had a silver plunger you pushed up inside to dispense this God-awful smelling yellow, liquid detergent. The faucets sat to the left and right from the middle of the rim of the sink; with a hot water handle on the left, and the cold on the right, you could not mix the water as it came out of the two separate faucets unless you put the white, rubber stopper attached in the middle of the porcelain sink with a small, silver chain, in the drain of the sink.
As you stepped out into the classroom there was a very large, green slate chalkboard that took up the entire front wall. From the ceiling, you could pull down large canvas maps or a movie screen. The teacher's large, blond wooden desk sat below that. Off to the left-hand side of the desk, a small room where some things were stored and the furnace. By the time my brothers and I were attending the Ledger School, Dad told us when he was a kid that room was used to store more desks and the potbelly stove, and that was where the boys would have to split wood for those cold winter mornings before school started, or if they had gotten into trouble over the course of the day recess was forfeited and wood splitting, or mucking out the stable was the break they got.
The wall next to the furnace room door was filled with large white cupboards where school supplies, glue, scissors, construction, and ruled paper, as well as other necessary things the students needed to complete their daily assigned tasks. Next was a doorway that leads to the small library for the school. Wooden shelving held books, most first edition, lined one entire wall to left as you walked in, the partial wall that held the door frame and another partial wall in front of you, where a window and a large cabinet under the window and three-quarters of the length of the wall, held the paper cutter and other school supplies underneath.
I would break into the school over the summer months, just to read all the books in the library. Our family would also spend time at the Ledger Community Hall. It was a large Quonset looking building. Once through the wooden double doors you could hang your coat and go straight into the gymnasium, or turn to the left and go downstairs to the basement which held a huge kitchen and dining area, two bathrooms, what we called the furnace room, and stairs out the back to the trap shooting range.
The population at that time was 12 people residing inside the "city-limits" of Ledger, Montana, the surrounding farmers and ranchers were included as population only when it came to the little, antique post-office that served the community. This post-office was housed in the small general store, that also was the home of our oldest living resident, Freda Hall.
The general store was one wall, and a partial wall, that held the door frame for the post-office, was built in shelves that held can goods, condiments, bread, cereals, toilet paper, and things like that, but no produce was sold. You could ask Mrs. Hall for a variety of soda pop, or milk and she would slowly waddle back and forth to her private area where there was a second refrigerator where she stocked the milk and sodas. There was a large, rounded all-glass display case that stood at least four feet high off the ground, where she displayed all the candy she had on hand. Back then you could still get a small, brown bag that fits nicely in the palm of your hand and maybe five inches high filled to the brim with penny candy for about twenty-five cents.
On the wall above this counter and to the right, if you were the customer, was another glass case, framed in wood as well, that held cigarettes and some cigars, back then we could take a handwritten note from our parents and buy cigarettes for them at fifty cents a package.
“Come on Johnny,
you promised you and the others would go on this tour with me.” She
stomped her feet, “I am holding you to it Johnny Bollar, I am
holding you to your word once and for all! I’m not going to let you
just brush me off like this anymore.” Sarah garbed her keys and
ran out the front door. "The rest of us are going, and you can do what you like." The screen door slammed behind her.
Johnny shook his head, deep down inside he knew there was nothing but trouble waiting for them in that ghost town. He could not talk his other brothers and sister out of going back to Ledger. He still remembered the strange tales his Grandfather and others recanted at the Smorgasbord gatherings the community held at least twice a year.
The town of Ledger held two-grain elevators, the community store/post office, a community center, the old one-room schoolhouse and two of the four houses and the Great Northern Railroad Depot. The sleepy little farm town had a strange and mysterious past ever since its conception in 1913, on the Dry Fork River in Montana.
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