Wilson School, located between Sixth- and Seventh Street and Montana Avenue Southwest, was built in 1924.

My father, Bill, went to Wilson, as did my Uncle Johnny, Aunts Aletha and Jeanne. My cousins, Steph and Linda, followed by my brother Scott and then me.

My brother Mike went to Buchanan, built on top of our baseball field, which we had moved as Woody’s Trailer Court took out our first one.

In my father’s time, Wilson  had grades through eighth. I have his yearbook that each “graduate” put together containing their memories and photos of classmates. I went to Wilson from the first grade through sixth grade, then on to Junior High.

At Wilson, I had chicken pox and measles all in one year — first grade. I found a book in a closet at home called, “Down the River Road,” which evidenced a part of my home schooling while I recovered. My mother kept all my report cards, and I was generally a decent student. A bit talkative, as one said.

My grandfather had been a sergeant in the Minnesota Volunteers during the Spanish American War.

While bivouacked in Chickamauga, Tenn., soldiers would walk the Civil War battlefield and dig old “Minnie balls” and bullets from the trees. Some of these ended up in our house.

One day, without discussing it, I took them to school for show and tell. It was the fourth grade as I recall. When it was my turn I stood up and presented the bullets to my class. Oh my, I never expected the commotion that resulted. I was in Principal Eva Walker’s office in the blink of an eye.

Very sternly she confiscated the bullets and would not return them.

I felt great despair, knowing any explanation I would give at home would not be acceptable. When I got home I found my father and told him what happened. Thunder and lightening erupted, and we were in the car and back to the school. Dad hunted down Miss Walker and the janitor who had been told to bury the bullets out back in the alley. Dad was a veteran and knew a spent bullet from a live round. He expected that they should too, and they better hurry up and get the bullets back in his hand very quickly. My lecture was about getting permission before I took any family items to school.

I have many memories from Wilson School. I fell off the slide from the top and had the air knocked out of me. I was pretty sure I was going to die. One winter day I stuck my tongue on the metal bars of the old merry-go-round. I just remember how much it hurt when I pulled away, losing some skin in the process. We played flag football, and one day I had an interception of an opponent’s pass. We played at Washington School and I still have the picture. I also learned to squire dance, and developed a big crush on my partner — had a silk neck bandana and a cowboy shirt. One day we were given tonettes and taught to play “Aura Lee.” From the tonette I went to a clarinet under the tutelage of Paul Christiansen.

My robust memory is of the great marble raid. We played a lot of marbles then. We played circle shoot, chase, funzies and keepers. We had aggies, cockiest, purees, cat’s eyes and steelies. My father worked in the CNW Round House then and I often got ball bearings from diesel engines. No one would play chase with me if I used them.

We somehow devised another game. Pots. Pots consisted of a shallow pit, dug in the gravel of the school yard on the north side of the school. Kids would scoop out a pot, and place some marbles in it as a prize. Next you placed a marble in front of the pot and walked off a distance from it and drew a line. Then you were encouraged to take your marbles and try to knock the marble into the pit. If you did, you collected those marbles as a prize. This was a popular activity with six or seven pits open and various prizes offered.

One boy tried to win and ended up losing all his marbles. He broke out crying and was taken to the Principal’s office. He blurted out to Miss Walker what had happened. Now, I happened to be standing there in front of the pits when Miss Walker arrived. I had never witnessed anything like what ensued. She had on her black, matronly shoes that tied up past the ankles. She used them to scrape gravel into every pit and while screaming her disappointment, managed to close down the greatest marble casino of the time. Lucky for me I wasn’t a participant that fateful day.

I have lots of good memories of friends and teachers from that school. Many classmates are still friends today. My all time favorite teacher was Nell Tollefson, and she, more than any other teacher, set me on a path that worked out well for me.