Gloria
written by Paul Warnock
Almost everyone who had reached at least the beginning of
their senior years will tell you they have some regrets. The
definition of some will vary by individual, but most seniors are
easily capable of providing five to ten with little effort. My
biggest regrets are things I didn't do vis-a -vis things I did do.
Gloria Jones (name changed) was my age and was in the same
classroom with me at least three of the six years I was in
school in Rockingham. The first time was in Ms. McCown's
second grade (49-50) class back at the Grammar School at the
corner of Washington and Lawrence Streets. She was not in
my classroom in the first or sixth grade. Gloria's real name
involved a three-syllable first name, and a one-syllable last
name. You would find at least ten ladies in Rockingham with
the same first name, and at least fifty people with the same last
name; however, she was the only person I have ever known
with that exact name. She had a nice name; so her name was
not the source of her problem.
Usually in each class, I had a young lady that I particularly
liked as a girl friend or sweetheart. The second grade was no
exception. This young lady we will call Annie (name changed)
was easily the prettiest girl in the class. I made every effort to
be with her as much as I could, such as in assembly or at lunch
when the class would go together to the lunchroom. I even
carried her books home for her after school although she lived
less than a block from the school. I was engrossed with this
young lady; so I didn't pay much attention to Gloria. The same
sort of thing went on in each of my classes up through the
sixth grade (53-54). Gloria was a fine looking young lady
although she was not the prettiest; she was at least in the
middle, maybe even a little above average. She was the right
height and the right weight; so that was not her problem.
What was her problem? I'm still not sure, but everybody
seemed to shun her as if she had the plague or something like
that. The other girls didn't like her, and the boys would tease
each other about her by saying the other boy liked Gloria.
When we went to the lunchroom, she was invariably the last
girl in the girl's line. Therefore, whoever the first boy was, he
would be required to set by her. So the boys made a major
effort to not have to set by her. The teachers were oblivious to
the situation, or at least they appeared to be. Since I had a
girlfriend and everyone in the class knew that, they rarely
teased me about Gloria. So if I just happened to get seated
beside her, unlike everyone else, I was civil toward her. In
fact, I was the only one in the whole room who would even talk
to her, but even I didn't talk very much with her.
Back in those days, at our house we were required to take a
bath every Saturday night whether we needed it or not. I wore
the same set of jeans for an entire week before they were
laundered. I wore my shirts continuously until my Mother
came and took them off the hangers to complete a wash load.
So if smell could have been the problem, I would have had that
problem myself. Yet I had no problem socializing with any of
my classmates. I don't remember any of the other students
with an odor problem. Gloria always seamed to be neatly
dressed and clean. So this wasn't her problem.
Looking back at this today, the only reason I can discern for
her problem is that she lived on the wrong side of town. That's
not a good reason; but young children can be mighty cruel
sometimes without realizing it. But I lived on the same side of
town she did. In fact I had to go by her house as I walked
home from school. I remember at least on one occasion
walking briefly with her on the way home. Her father was a
merchant in town; so they probably were better off financially
than my family. I think she was an only child, whereas, my
parents had five children to support. My biggest regret is that
I didn't make friends with her. All she needed was a friend. I
think she was also in my room in the fourth and fifth grade.
{By the way, my fifth grade teacher was Mrs. Ida Huneycutt,
wife of the Richmond County Public School Superintendent.
Their son, Dr. Jimmy Huneycutt, Ph. D., was one of my
mathematics professors in graduate school down in Raleigh in
1969 after I was separated from the Air Force.} I don't
remember Gloria much from the fourth or fifth grades. I had
other girl friends in both grades, and usually she was the
prettiest girl in the class. Remember Patricia from my
previous essay Old Hundred?
The punch line comes in the sixth grade. It was the last day of
class, and we were walking down the stairs at the far end of
the L.J. Bell School. She was several steps ahead of me as we
were leaving, and I noticed she was crying. I hurried to catch
up with her to ask her what was wrong. She said she had not
been promoted. There were more than a few students who
didn't get promoted, so that alone is not that bad. What was
sad was that she had no one with whom to share her misery;
she was all by herself except for me. I remember that we
walked together for a little while, and then some friend
distracted me, and I was gone. Later that night, I decided that
I would get to know her better next year. Actually that would
have been difficult since I was promoted to the seventh grade
and would be in Junior High; whereas she would still be at L.J.
Bell. Also I didn't know at that time my family would move to
Gastonia permanently within three weeks. I remember some
discussion at home of the possibility of moving, but it never
seemed to be serious until it happened.
The moral of this story is to never judge people by their
physical looks or their worldly possessions. The real measure
of a person is what's in their heart and their soul. Youthful
physical beauty doesn't last long.
written by Paul Warnock
Almost everyone who had reached at least the beginning of
their senior years will tell you they have some regrets. The
definition of some will vary by individual, but most seniors are
easily capable of providing five to ten with little effort. My
biggest regrets are things I didn't do vis-a -vis things I did do.
Gloria Jones (name changed) was my age and was in the same
classroom with me at least three of the six years I was in
school in Rockingham. The first time was in Ms. McCown's
second grade (49-50) class back at the Grammar School at the
corner of Washington and Lawrence Streets. She was not in
my classroom in the first or sixth grade. Gloria's real name
involved a three-syllable first name, and a one-syllable last
name. You would find at least ten ladies in Rockingham with
the same first name, and at least fifty people with the same last
name; however, she was the only person I have ever known
with that exact name. She had a nice name; so her name was
not the source of her problem.
Usually in each class, I had a young lady that I particularly
liked as a girl friend or sweetheart. The second grade was no
exception. This young lady we will call Annie (name changed)
was easily the prettiest girl in the class. I made every effort to
be with her as much as I could, such as in assembly or at lunch
when the class would go together to the lunchroom. I even
carried her books home for her after school although she lived
less than a block from the school. I was engrossed with this
young lady; so I didn't pay much attention to Gloria. The same
sort of thing went on in each of my classes up through the
sixth grade (53-54). Gloria was a fine looking young lady
although she was not the prettiest; she was at least in the
middle, maybe even a little above average. She was the right
height and the right weight; so that was not her problem.
What was her problem? I'm still not sure, but everybody
seemed to shun her as if she had the plague or something like
that. The other girls didn't like her, and the boys would tease
each other about her by saying the other boy liked Gloria.
When we went to the lunchroom, she was invariably the last
girl in the girl's line. Therefore, whoever the first boy was, he
would be required to set by her. So the boys made a major
effort to not have to set by her. The teachers were oblivious to
the situation, or at least they appeared to be. Since I had a
girlfriend and everyone in the class knew that, they rarely
teased me about Gloria. So if I just happened to get seated
beside her, unlike everyone else, I was civil toward her. In
fact, I was the only one in the whole room who would even talk
to her, but even I didn't talk very much with her.
Back in those days, at our house we were required to take a
bath every Saturday night whether we needed it or not. I wore
the same set of jeans for an entire week before they were
laundered. I wore my shirts continuously until my Mother
came and took them off the hangers to complete a wash load.
So if smell could have been the problem, I would have had that
problem myself. Yet I had no problem socializing with any of
my classmates. I don't remember any of the other students
with an odor problem. Gloria always seamed to be neatly
dressed and clean. So this wasn't her problem.
Looking back at this today, the only reason I can discern for
her problem is that she lived on the wrong side of town. That's
not a good reason; but young children can be mighty cruel
sometimes without realizing it. But I lived on the same side of
town she did. In fact I had to go by her house as I walked
home from school. I remember at least on one occasion
walking briefly with her on the way home. Her father was a
merchant in town; so they probably were better off financially
than my family. I think she was an only child, whereas, my
parents had five children to support. My biggest regret is that
I didn't make friends with her. All she needed was a friend. I
think she was also in my room in the fourth and fifth grade.
{By the way, my fifth grade teacher was Mrs. Ida Huneycutt,
wife of the Richmond County Public School Superintendent.
Their son, Dr. Jimmy Huneycutt, Ph. D., was one of my
mathematics professors in graduate school down in Raleigh in
1969 after I was separated from the Air Force.} I don't
remember Gloria much from the fourth or fifth grades. I had
other girl friends in both grades, and usually she was the
prettiest girl in the class. Remember Patricia from my
previous essay Old Hundred?
The punch line comes in the sixth grade. It was the last day of
class, and we were walking down the stairs at the far end of
the L.J. Bell School. She was several steps ahead of me as we
were leaving, and I noticed she was crying. I hurried to catch
up with her to ask her what was wrong. She said she had not
been promoted. There were more than a few students who
didn't get promoted, so that alone is not that bad. What was
sad was that she had no one with whom to share her misery;
she was all by herself except for me. I remember that we
walked together for a little while, and then some friend
distracted me, and I was gone. Later that night, I decided that
I would get to know her better next year. Actually that would
have been difficult since I was promoted to the seventh grade
and would be in Junior High; whereas she would still be at L.J.
Bell. Also I didn't know at that time my family would move to
Gastonia permanently within three weeks. I remember some
discussion at home of the possibility of moving, but it never
seemed to be serious until it happened.
The moral of this story is to never judge people by their
physical looks or their worldly possessions. The real measure
of a person is what's in their heart and their soul. Youthful
physical beauty doesn't last long.
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