In the years 1958 to 1961, when I rode the Windham school bus, the trip to school was often the best part of the day. I was part of a clique of boys who occupied the seats at the very back, where we played poker for much of the ride. It was a juvenile version of the game, with aces, deuces and one-eyed cards being wild. No one carried money, but we did have an informal currency: marbles, which you could buy almost anywhere.
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| In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Max Millard rode the school bus to J.A. Andrew School in South Windham. The bus driver, Arthur Tyler, always took the same route from the end of Windham Center Road onto Route 302 and then a right turn leading to South Windham. COURTESY PHOTO |
He didn't stop at every house but often retrieved a cluster of kids from several neighboring homes. In Windham Center, I waited with Steve and Jim Quimby, Dennis Hawkes and several others. On sub-zero days we would pick up twigs and brandish them like cigarettes, exhaling clouds of vapor to pantomime smoking.
The bus always took the same route to J.A. Andrew School – down to the end of Windham Center Road, then onto Route 302, where we picked up Brenda Espaignette, Pamela Wood and Clifton Gray, followed by a right turn leading to South Windham, to the homes of Nancy Millet, Tommy Szostak, Maurice Clark, and many others. Among the passengers was Mrs. Toppi, the school cook. She was an elderly and corpulent woman with a bright smile and much enthusiasm for her job, but little conversation apart from the day's menu. With minimal help, she managed to prepare a meal for the entire school.
At the River Road, we scooped up Timmy Dolby, whose family owned the town funeral parlor. Timmy was somewhat of a maverick. If there was any commotion on the bus, he was invariably among the suspects. Arthur Tyler kept a special seat for miscreants at the very front of the bus, which he called the “dog house.” When Timmy was called to occupy it, Arthur addressed him as “Digger Dolby.”
At school, the biggest sport at recess was not baseball or basketball, but marbles. To start the game, a player would grind his heel into the dirt and excavate a circular “pot” about 2 inches deep and 6 inches across. Then the competitors would stand behind a line and take turns throwing marbles toward the pot. Whoever came closest would go first.
To play the game, we placed one foot up against a marble, then kicked it with the other foot. Before starting, a player could announce the rules and follow it up with the phrase “touch black,” then touch the bottom of his shoe to make it official. He might say, “Boot and a shoot, touch black” which meant each “boot” would be followed by a “shoot,” by crouching down and pushing the marble forward with an index finger.
During the game, some kids would announce a new rule, such as “clearsies.” That meant clearing away any debris that was between the marble and the pot. It was always questionable whether this was legal, but usually the bigger kid got his way. Other times kids would announce “trenchsies” and dig a trench from the marble to the pot, or “airplanesies,” and simply pick up a marble and drop it in the pot. But no one accepted these infringements of the rules.
Booting the marble was as tricky as putting a golf ball. Whoever got the last one would keep the whole potful. The most skilled players held a certain status, and everyone respected them for the huge sacks of marbles they would lug around.
The commonest marbles were cat's eyes, so called because that's what they resembled. The more prized marbles were of a transparent color and called pures. The big marbles were simply bigs and the most coveted marbles were big pures. The best marble players would often play for two or three bigs at a time. Such matches always attracted a crowd, like fans at a major golf tournament.
Arthur Tyler had one of the largest marble collections of anyone. He kept them in a jar, and one day when it was full, he announced a contest: Whoever came closest to guessing the total would get them. It turned out that he had 161, and the lucky winner guessed 160.
In the fall of 1961 I entered Field-Allen Junior High, where I could walk to school, so my bus-riding days were over. But I never forgot how to play marbles. In later years, I tried to teach the skill to children who knew nothing about the game, but I never found a single child who showed interest. What had once been a passion for my peer group had become a tedious pastime for the next generation.
Max Millard is a retired journalist and teacher in San Francisco, California. Send email to [email protected] <
At the River Road, we scooped up Timmy Dolby, whose family owned the town funeral parlor. Timmy was somewhat of a maverick. If there was any commotion on the bus, he was invariably among the suspects. Arthur Tyler kept a special seat for miscreants at the very front of the bus, which he called the “dog house.” When Timmy was called to occupy it, Arthur addressed him as “Digger Dolby.”
At school, the biggest sport at recess was not baseball or basketball, but marbles. To start the game, a player would grind his heel into the dirt and excavate a circular “pot” about 2 inches deep and 6 inches across. Then the competitors would stand behind a line and take turns throwing marbles toward the pot. Whoever came closest would go first.
To play the game, we placed one foot up against a marble, then kicked it with the other foot. Before starting, a player could announce the rules and follow it up with the phrase “touch black,” then touch the bottom of his shoe to make it official. He might say, “Boot and a shoot, touch black” which meant each “boot” would be followed by a “shoot,” by crouching down and pushing the marble forward with an index finger.
During the game, some kids would announce a new rule, such as “clearsies.” That meant clearing away any debris that was between the marble and the pot. It was always questionable whether this was legal, but usually the bigger kid got his way. Other times kids would announce “trenchsies” and dig a trench from the marble to the pot, or “airplanesies,” and simply pick up a marble and drop it in the pot. But no one accepted these infringements of the rules.
Booting the marble was as tricky as putting a golf ball. Whoever got the last one would keep the whole potful. The most skilled players held a certain status, and everyone respected them for the huge sacks of marbles they would lug around.
Arthur Tyler had one of the largest marble collections of anyone. He kept them in a jar, and one day when it was full, he announced a contest: Whoever came closest to guessing the total would get them. It turned out that he had 161, and the lucky winner guessed 160.
In the fall of 1961 I entered Field-Allen Junior High, where I could walk to school, so my bus-riding days were over. But I never forgot how to play marbles. In later years, I tried to teach the skill to children who knew nothing about the game, but I never found a single child who showed interest. What had once been a passion for my peer group had become a tedious pastime for the next generation.
Max Millard is a retired journalist and teacher in San Francisco, California. Send email to [email protected] <
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