As much as I knew I was going to miss them, the time came when the kiddies had to go to school. So early one September morning I scrubbed and polished four reluctant youngsters and drug them into the car. I drove to what appeared to be an old wooden dormitory for the WPA but said "School House" on a big sign out front, and yes it did have a bell, and smelled of coal. I realized right away we were out of place. My girls in dresses and patent leather shoes and my son in a cotton shirt and khaki slacks would be no match for the bib overalls, combat boots, and straw hats running through the hallways trying to get to class before the bell rang.
After what seemed to be an eternity I managed to get the little ones settled into their own classrooms, surprised that there was more than one. The staff was efficient and seemed more than happy to have four new students so, with minor reservations, I left them and drove off to enjoy the solitude of pampered days all by myself. I did have to smile as I left the school yard and passed a little boy running up the school lane. He was dressed in bib overalls, red flannel shirt, red hair, and freckles and I knew beyond a doubt that Howdy Doody was alive and kicking.