When I was in primary grades in the small school atop a high hill in Hollister, Mo., Mrs. Bartholomew was our music teacher. Her primary responsibility was teaching high school choir and band classes, but once or twice a week, all the grade-school children were treated to general music class with Mrs. Bartholomew.
Our August Issue
BEYOND THE BACKYARD
Autumn is raking season in St. Louis. Apple-scented breezes bestir oak trees to lose their spindly hold on red and gold leaves.
THE HUMMING BIRD
We competed to see who would be first to spot the huge headlight.
THE NICKEL NURSER
Grandpa knew just how to appeal to his frugal business sense.
Dear Friends of the Good Old Days,
You would never have known that I had a father who was raised a carpenter and a lumberman. I did good to hammer a nail straight in my youth. Daddy always blamed it on my extreme left-handedness, a cruel twist of fate in an otherwise right-handed family. I should have known better when my brother Dennis suggested that I join him in building the world’s greatest treehouse.
The Nickel Nurser
Mr. Burton was hiring for the summer. He and Mrs. Burton owned the grocery-and-sundries store around the corner from where I grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y., in the 1940s.
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