7th Grade: On the banks of the White River in Cotter, Arkansas

The summer that we headed back to the Ozarks, after the end of my 6th Grade in Cloverdale, we were still in the Cookie Wagon. Except this time, all five of us were riding together because we didn't have the car to drive back. A nice, cozy journey.

My Dad found more construction work before school started. In Arkansas. Cotter, Arkansas, to be precise, which, if you believed the signs on the edges of the little town, they were the "Trout Capital of the World." Apparently still are, according to this website. The White River running through Cotter is renowned for trout fishing. I'm glad it was good for the trout, because it was much too cold for me!

Now, if you've ever been to Cotter, and think it is small, consider this: Some of my classmates lived in neighboring communities of Cotter, some of which were much smaller. Communities such as Monkey Run, Gassville, Flippin, Calico Rock, and Yellville. I think their names are pretty cool. So, the question is, had I just gone from being an Okie, to being an Arkie? It was so hard to keep up my growing list of identities.

We rented a house in the middle of "town" (such as it was), less than a block from the school, which hosued all twelve grades in the big, square, two-story brick building. Since I was starting 7th Grade, I would be on the TOP floor where grades 7-12 shuffled back and forth between the handfull of rooms. My little brother? Well, he would be relegated to the lower parts of the structure, as it should be. I guessed that's why they were referred to as "under" classmen. Being a top-floor, "upper" classman was a thing of beauty.

Now, as you may have guessed, when we headed back east from California, I had to leave my rented piano behind. So my love for music had to find a different path. Cotter School had a band, and from the 7th grade on up, you could join. Oh, joy! So now to decide what instrument I wanted to play. By the time I had decided I wanted to play saxophone, all the saxophones were taken, so I was told the closest relative to that was a clarinet. Sold! I was now a student of the clarinet...the "licorice stick." Except the one I was assigned didn't look much like licorice because it was all silver. In fact, most of the band's "student instruments" were silver. But I didn't care, I had a new object for my love of music. Besides, this kind of instrument would be much more portable since we were such a portable family. I loved being in the band. I think we learned other stuff like English and math and history, but it was Band 101 that I looked forward to every day.

We stayed in Cotter the whole year of my 7th Grade. By the time the year ended, I was playing the clarinet like I had played the piano, by "adding stuff" to the music. But only at home, because it was frowned upon while playing with everybody else in the band. I had to keep my embellishments to myself.

Band, and that clarinet, were two of the things I remember most about 7th grade at Cotter.

But there is something else I remember. Not a happy or fun memory in any way.

We were each assigned to one of the old wooden double-wide desks that were in the "study hall" which took up the huge main room of the school's top floor. A mix of 7th through 12th grade students were each assigned to a desk, with a deskmate, that would be theirs throughout the whole year. I liked my deskmate. She was very nice to me, very tiny for a 7th grader, and very, very smart. We got along famously.

One Monday morning when I came to school, my seatmate was not there. And there was a lot of whispering going on. When I asked where she was, they pointed towards the empty half of my desk and said "She was shot in a hunting accident over the weekend. They don't know if she will make it. And if she does, she may never walk again." I was devastated!

She was gone the rest of that school year. I didn't get a new seatmate. The empty half of my desk haunted me, and reminded me to pray for her every day. I remember her name. But I won't mention it here, because I have no right to do so. I did manage to track her down online because I really did want to know what became of her. Well, I did find her, and and was so happy to learn that she is doing quite well, and is very active in helping other people all around the globe. She might not remember me, but I remember her very well. And I remember the tearful, heartfelt prayers I would pray for her every night before going to sleep.

You know, that year I was at Cotter was 1963. And as you may remember, there was another tragedy that occured in 1963. November 22, to be exact. President Kennedy was assassinated. And yes, I remember exactly where I was. I was in the band room, getting in some extra practice on my silver clarinet when a classmate came charging down the stairs (the band room was in the basement) and told us we were all being sent home because the President had just been shot.

As traumatic as that day was to me, my sweet deskmate being shot was every bit as traumatic. To this 7th grader, anyway.

So here's to you, Cotter, Arkansas, my alma mater for just one year. You with your shiny, silver band instruments and that humpity-hump bridge over the freezing-cold White River.

And to my sweet deskmate. I'm ever so glad you "made it."

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