Recently, I walked the overgrown pathway that fifty-three years ago I had traveled nearly every school day for six years. I stepped onto the broken macadam of the abandoned playground, and nostalgia washed over me as I stood under the rusty frame of the now-empty swing set. The chain-link fence behind home plate was now rust-brown and overgrown with climbing weeds. A chilly wind danced across the playground, and I imagined the echo of the bell from high atop the building that once was the Grazierville School.
Built in 1927, the brick-and-stone building replaced the one-room school that was the original Grazierville School. The old, yellow, wooden building sat along Grazierville’s back road and later became the home of the Ted Steele family. It’s still standing to this day.
The Sprankle Boys
The new Grazierville School was filled with generations of laughter and learning. My father, Bob Sprankle, his twin brother Albert, and his two younger brothers, Herbert and Richard, all preceded my cousins and me as students. Dad’s two older brothers, Harold and Ken, attended a one-room school in Thomastown that closed about 1931. Thomastown’s children then walked to the Grazierville School by way of a wooden footbridge across the Little Juniata River. The 1936 Saint Patrick’s Day flood destroyed the bridge; then the children walked from Thomastown to get the school bus across the railroad tracks near the train station.
In 1932, Dad and Uncle Ab entered the combined 1st and 2nd grades, which were taught by Cora Reed. Across the hall were the 3rd and 4th grades of Fanny Shiffler. At the front of the school was Mildred Gates’s 5th and 6th grade classes and Bill Barr’s 7th and 8th grade room.
The well in the dirt-floor basement flowed with foul-smelling sulfur water; therefore, it was unfit for use. Joe DiDomenico carried buckets of good, clear, well water from neighboring homes and filled a five-gallon crock with a spigot for drinking water. In the woods high on Pot-pie Hill, behind the school, were the outhouses. When nature called, a pupil held up one finger or two as a request for a potty break. Not one Sears & Roebuck catalog went to waste in that neighborhood. Just imagine that potty excursion on an icy mid-January day!
Susie’s Turn
Only twenty-one years later, Bob Sprankle’s five-year-old daughter (me) climbed those hallowed stairs and entered the 1st grade. Along with the baby-boomer explosion came changes within the Tyrone school system. Now, the 7th and 8th grades were bused to the “big school” — the new Junior High, on Lincoln Ave. By this time, the basement of the Grazierville School was half finished, and the 3rd and 5th grades had moved into it. Now, not only were there six classrooms, but six teachers’ names for us to remember.
Children who lived in Orchard Crossing, Homewood, and Grazierville walked to school. Those from Ironville, Nealmont, and Thomastown were bused. The bus drivers, Lawrence Scott and Slug Drake, were as different as night and day. Scottie was the most patient, friendly, jovial man, and Drake was more subdued. Drake’s bus almost always was late, and we kids would stand on the school steps and chant, “Drake, Drake, the fishin’ bait,” and he’d fake a scowl and growl at us. But we knew he loved every kiddo in the school.
My 1st grade class occupied the same room that Dad’s combined 1st and 2nd did; Cora Reed was gone by then, and Louise Faust was my teacher. The foundation of the three R’s was cemented here, and many solid, lifelong friendships began.
Erasers and Thumbtacks
Margaret Strehle, my 2nd grade teacher, was the first to notice my artistic ability. She encouraged me by teaching me to do many holiday chalk drawings on the blackboard. I also loved it when it was my turn to dust the erasers. I rarely clapped them together; mostly I banged them on the side of the bricks, forming my name with eraser dust. That is, until the janitor, Mr. Cree, discovered it and pinpointed Susie Sprankle. Washing bricks is not easy; don’t ask me how I know!
A few short years ago, I ran into Maxine Perry, my 3rd grade teacher. She said, “Of course, I remember you. You were a whiz at the times table and were so interested in Eisenhower’s election as president. You chanted, ‘I like Ike’ until I couldn’t stand it.”
And in 4th grade, poor Mildred Gates had to put up with more of us Sprankle kids. She already had survived the twins (Bob and Ab), Herbie, and Dick, along with the batch of cousins before me. It was rumored that one of those ornery Sprankle boys had put a thumbtack on Miss Gates’s chair. Dad insists that it wasn’t him — must have been his twin, Ab. Nevertheless, Miss Gates flunked Ab and then kept Bob behind so as not to separate the twins. The truth of this story depends upon which twin you talk with.
That was 1956, the same year that the cafeteria was opened at the school. Until then, we either brown-bagged it or walked home for lunch. Our dear lunch workers were the most memorable ladies: Vannie Scott, Theda Dysart, and Mrs. Cree (yes, the janitor’s wife).
The PTA Fair
I got my first paddling in 5th grade. I think Margaretta Russell hated it as much as I did, but I deserved it. Why I ever bit Eileen Focht, I don’t remember. Okay, now it’s coming back. I do know why. She shouldn’t have sat beside Billy Steele at lunch! I was so glad that Mrs. Russell didn’t send me to the closet where the electric paddle was kept. Everybody was afraid of that one.
Sadly, our last year in the Grazierville School was upon us. Ralph Sherrif was our first male teacher. Bill Barr (who also taught the previous generation of Grazierville kids) was our substitute teacher, and Elton Crider did his first year as student teacher with us 6th graders.
One of the most favorite things held at the school was the yearly PTA fair. Each classroom had an activity such as a fishpond, a bake sale, and Bingo. But I especially remember the “sample room.” Held in Miss Gates’s 4th grade room, one paid a dollar and was given a paper bag. Businesses donated samples of their products, and we had such an exciting time gathering items such as pencils, notebooks, rulers, calendars, candy, gum, flyswatters, aspirin, Ex-Lax pills, and matchbooks.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and the last classes were held in the Grazierville School in 1966 (the same year that I graduated from Tyrone High School). The building lay dormant for many years until it was sold to Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Watters. They’ve renovated the old treasure into a beautiful home in which they still live today.
The Grazierville Gang
One day in 1988, four persons who had attended the Grazierville School in its early years, Jim Wilson, Jim Bonsell, Dan Irvin, and Jerry Steele, met for lunch. Soon after, they invited other classmates to join them, and then their spouses joined. Before they knew it, the meeting became a monthly gathering for a 99-cent breakfast at Wissinger’s Restaurant, in Bellmeade. Thus, the “Grazierville Gang” became an entity.
In its infancy, sometimes there were more than a hundred people in attendance. Time passed, and the breakfast was moved to La Scalia’s Restaurant, in Vail. It now has become a luncheon that’s held at noon on the first Thursday of every month.
Just a few years ago, I attended the Grazierville Gang’s Christmas party, where Mr. Crider was one of the guests. He was asked to reminisce a little about his time teaching at the Grazierville School. He began telling the story of a little, red-haired girl whose name he couldn’t recall, but she was quite the little artist. It was at the time of the 6th grade graduation program, and this little girl was painting the background scenery for the stage. It was nearly done, and the girl and her boyfriend, Gary DiDomenico, were wrestling and spilled tomato soup all over the scenery. As I sat and listened to the story, my face grew red. I raised my hand and shouted, “Mr. Crider, it’s me, Susie Sprankle. I was that little girl!”
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