During school days back in my day, we had satchels for our school books. We’d rush to Simpkins store in Tutwiler and find wonderful choices. Plaids were a big modern hit, and they all seemed to have leather type straps and front pockets with leather belt type closures.
We would try to find red rain galoshes for girls. If not, it was picking your size of rain boots from the top shelf lineup of sturdy black ones with the red rubber band at the bottom sole.
Filling the satchel was a major treat. No matter my age, I always insisted on 64 crayons in the box with its own sharpener.
A pencil case was hard plastic with a sliding top and held a few No. 2 yellow Ticonderoga pencils.
Our glue was in a glass pear-shaped bottle with a flat red rubber nozzle.
I’m sure there was notebook paper and notebooks, but I tended to go to school for the arts and crafts. I do remember the earlier grades used tablets with lines to teach writing and the older grades used three-ring binders and probably less satchels.
Mom always took me to Greenwood to see Mr. White at Goldbergs for my shoes. I had very narrow feet with narrow heels, and socks and shoes would make a blister right off the bat. I’d buy saddle oxfords or penny loafers, but the bobby socks did me in. It felt like a cheese grater. Fifty years later, my sister gave me my first pair of cashmere socks and that was a life-changer.
Side note: The ugliest shoes I’ve worn were the most comfortable, issued by the USAF. I walked around the world in those lace-up wonders. I saw a display for white nurses’ shoes, reminding me of marching band shoes. Comfort is a healthy choice winner.
From Greenwood, we’d go to Clarksdale. Powers I remember most, because they had this vacuum pipe system for charges and payments. I’d pick out a new winter coat and earmuffs because Diane had some. I’d get a few sweaters and skirts. No slacks allowed. Maybe a wool jumper. It was all designed to keep you warm in case it snowed.
First day of school, I’d insist on wearing my knee socks, shoes, wool sweater and skirt because it was for school and it was new. We didn’t buy new summer school clothes even though it was 85 degrees at 7 a.m. and by noon I was a river of sweat — not ladylike perspiration but pure country horse sweat. I noticed Diane had a watch so I asked for one for my birthday.
In those days, my mama would go into stores and tell who she was, using a man’s name for reference: “I’m R.P. Turner’s daughter from Tutwiler.” They would vacuum up something and they would send something down for her to sign. She never carried a checkbook; there were bank books at every store. If they knew your face, like in the case of Mr. White at Goldbergs, where you came back with all four children over the years, they didn’t bother looking up details or asking questions. They just knew.
When I was 10, my grandfather died. My mother got a job in a factory and reality hit.
My mom, in her loving attempt to make me feel special, started adding designer touches to homemade clothes. And she always reminded me whose granddaughter I was.
