Reminiscing about Trinity Lutheran School, Part Three

Late in the summer before fourth grade, Mrs. Meyer was the last teacher to make get-acquainted visits to our homes, as was the tradition. She was straightforward but had a dry sense of humor, and she knew the subject matter well. She also began treating us just a bit more like older kids.

In fifth grade, Mrs. Evans built on that way of relating to us. Music — secular and spiritual — was a second language she used to speak to us. She sang and played piano well, and her love of melody and lyrics clearly came from the heart. Mrs. Evans also did a great job of helping us deal with President Kennedy’s assassination on that nightmarish day.

Sixth grade, and my first male teacher. An interesting year. Or as I like to call it, “Trinity Six: The Wrath of Krahn.” Actually, Mr. Krahn was a good-hearted, dedicated gentleman and a wonderful pianist and organist, despite his advancing years. Playing the organ in church, he inspired us with his energy and flair, expressing his passion for the music with a nod of his balding head or a tilt of body language. On Sunday morning, he transformed from an average guy into a powerful figure from the days of the great classical composers.

Mr. Krahn gave us Bible verses and hymns to learn by heart and recite to him individually at the start of the school day; this developed our abilities to memorize, which even carried over to the secular. I wonder if they still use such an old-school tool today.

He was also an avid sports fan, and I lingered many an afternoon to discuss with him the exploits of the Cardinals, Central High Tigers, SEMO State College Indians, St. Louis Hawks of the NBA and the new heavyweight champion, Muhammad Ali.

Our seventh grade teacher was a mild-mannered, Clark Kent-ish gentleman, Mr. Wehmeyer. He also coached our sports teams, and in his thirties, was still a good athlete himself. With his flat-top haircut, he looked a little like NBA star Jerry West, and his demeanor reminded us of the great UCLA coach John Wooden.

One day in class, he surprised me by taking my James Bond novel and holding it up. “None of us should be looking at this kind of trash!” he told everyone. Naturally, that raised my stock with my buddies, as well as a few of the girls. I had become a “double-oh-seventh” grader.

Mr. Lampe taught eighth grade. At our autumn harvest party, three guys and three girls exploited his inexperience by plotting and enacting a daring escape from the gym through the hay bales and piles of fall leaves to the alley and passageways behind Vandeven’s Mercantile Store. There, we secretly paired off, embraced and (gasp!) kissed. Soon our hearts raced almost as fast again as we sneaked back into the party.

And now, for those of you who went to TLS, some random memories: do you remember rice balls sprinkled with cinnamon, meatloaf baked with ketchup, chili with peanut butter sandwiches, ice cream choices (Wonder Bars, Fudgesicles, Sherbet Push-Ups, Dixie Cups with little, flat wooden spoons) for five cents — if you cleaned your tray and showed it to the teacher? Do you remember the tiny school supply store behind the almost-hidden door, where responsible students could work? The scent and feel of the not-quite-dry blue ink from the ditto machine’s rolling cylinder? “The School Round Up” newspaper? The stuff the janitors sprinkled on vomit that actually made it smell three times worse? Getting the job of setting up the metal folding chairs in the gym for Wednesday morning chapel? Getting the chocolate or white half-pints for morning milk break? Being on the schoolboy patrol and leaving class early to man our posts?

One of the last things I remember was our last softball game at recess. Lynn Vogelsang launched the longest home run we had ever seen (or heard) on that blacktop playground. With his big, looping swing, he socked such a mighty clout that the starlings on the rooftops flew up in startled, noisy alarm. (After all, Vogelsang does mean “bird song” in German.) For a long, stunning moment, Lynn’s ascending moonshot looked like a second afternoon moon. And then it cleared the fence and backstop of the other dirt ball diamond with yards to spare before, plummeting, it landed and bounced away somewhere in the parking lot of the Medical Arts Building.

Everyone has memories from their schooldays. These are some of mine that I’m glad I got to share with you.