I was going into the sixth grade when we moved to a tiny town called Aguanga, with a population of 50 (we increased it to 56). There I attended nearby Cottonwood Elementary school. This was the last functioning one-room schoolhouse in Riverside County, California.
Yes, I’m so old that I actually attended a one-room schoolhouse. It was built in 1897, and functioned until 1975. Now there’s a more modern Cottonwood Elementary, with multiple rooms, built directly behind the original. But the old schoolhouse still stands as a historical landmark.

Each grade from one through six was represented by at least one student. Altogether we were a body of 27 students. Our principal and teacher was a middle-aged lady named Mrs. Rusk.
It was Mrs. Rusk’s first year at this school, and she had to figure out methods on-the-job, to teach her students in this unique environment. One method involved breaking us up into study groups, based on grade, then making rounds as she supervised each group.
She also wanted to recreate the historical spirit of this academic setting. She encouraged us to play old-time games during recess, such as kick-the-can and capture-the-flag. She held old-fashioned spelling bees. And she made sure our music lessons reflected the history of the Old West, with a songbook taken from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, Oklahoma!
For several minutes of each school day, we set down our books and pencils and belted out tunes like, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning,” “The Surrey With the Fringe On Top,” and “Oklahoma.” And every day she’d cast a longing glance at a dusty old piano that sat abandoned in the corner. We had to sing a cappella, because no one knew how to play the piano.
One day on lunch recess I was called in from the playground by Mrs. Rusk, who told me I had some visitors. I was astonished to find my dad and siblings inside. I hadn’t seen my dad in over a year. He was arrears in child support and thus, forbidden by law to visit.
He had sneaked into town and stealthily removed each of his kids from school. I was the only one of his children attending Cottonwood, and also the last intended victim in his kidnapping ploy. But Mrs. Rusk seemed wary, and reluctant to release me. She sensed something wasn’t right. Besides she’d be breaking rules by releasing me to an unauthorized person. Rusk didn’t like the risk. She mumbled something about a very important lesson and said that it wouldn’t be healthy for me to miss this lesson.
It seemed my dad’s kidnapping scheme was unraveling, and that I had just a precious few minutes to visit with him before lunch would be over and class would resume. That’s when Dad spotted the dusty old piano sitting in the corner. He moseyed over and began pecking out a tune.
Mrs. Rusk made a beeline for him, face abeam and hands proffering sheet music from Rodgers and Hammerstein. “Y-you can play?!” she asked excitedly.
Oh yes, he could play. Dad was an ex-pro, having supported his family at one time, playing in a saloon for tips. He drew large crowds of drinkers and tipsy tippers with his zingy, free-wheeling style of pedal-and-key pushing. But he only played by ear. He couldn’t read sheet music very well.
He brushed the sheets aside and suggested that she have her class begin each song a cappella, and then he’d figure out the tune and join in.
It worked like a charm; the same charm that gilded my father’s smooth personality. Soon the rafters of that old schoolhouse were ringing with our bright, cheery voices, accompanied by brattling, blaring riffs ripped from that half-tuned antique.
The “very important lesson” Mrs. Rusk had been planning was thrown out the window. For the next hour we covered Oklahoma! in full-throated glee and harmony. We fulfilled Mrs. Rusk’s historical fantasies by turning the room into a time-machine with our magical music. For one shining hour we transported back to the horse and buggy days, and enwreathed our schoolhouse in the spirit of the 19th century, from which it had been born.
I stood tall and sang proud amongst my 26 classmates, enjoying the reflected glory from having such a dad as this man, tickling the ivories. I’ll always treasure this memory.
After the last song, Mrs. Rusk gratefully released me to my kidnapper. We drove off for an afternoon of sneaking around town, enjoying billiards, dodging my mother, and reuniting with the happy-go-lucky spirit of a beloved father who was usually absent from our lives.
Dad disappeared into the sunset after dropping us off near our house. In our lumpy-throated farewell, we swore secrecy to him. It was only about ten years later, after we were all grown, that we informed our dismayed and chagrined mother about this lawless adventure.
I learned nothing from school that day, except one very important lesson: Screw the law. If you’re not hurting anyone, to hell with following rules. Have fun. Love your family. And create many happy memories in the highlights of your life.
Just be sneaky enough to avoid getting caught.
Here’s a piano rendition of the Tennessee Waltz, performed by my father.
Categories: Family
Loved this story!
Thanks for sharing it Tippy! π
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You’re welcome.
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wonderful story – and how nice that you have that recording of your father playing the Tennessee Waltz. I also liked how Mrs. Rusk dropped everything for the chance to have some piano music in the classroom…
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Thanks. He made a CD of his piano music for his kids, after he realized he was losing his ability to play, due to arthritis.
Yeah, you have to admire Mrs. Rusk’s flexibility when presented with a rare opportunity.
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what a great CD to have…
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It is. I like to listen to it now and then.
Meanwhile, I hope you and your family are having a nice Thanksgiving.
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I hope you and your family had a great day as well…
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Thanks. We did.
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π
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I remember you sharing a post before about the CD. A special gift to have.
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Yeah, that post was from a few years ago. That was a very thoughtful gift. Sometimes when I miss my dad, I play some of his piano music.
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β€
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Beautiful. The piano is a magical instrument. I’ve always envied people who can simply hear music, and then play it back with their own emotion.
Happy Thanksgiving to you.
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My dad had something of a similar experience to you, with the piano. His parents forced piano lessons on him, and he hated it. His problem was his difficulty reading sheet music. Finally he rebelled, and just started playing by ear, and ignoring the sheet music, and he began to excel. But not in the classical piano style his parents were hoping.
Happy Thanksgiving to you, too!
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What a wonderful memory! π
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Thanks. It is.
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What a fun story and heartwarming story. I can just imagine you wearing the biggesf smile as you sang with your classmates.
Yes, sometimes rules are meant to be broken! π
And I remember playing Kick the Can.
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Thanks. I think I may have cracked a little smile that day.
That’s right, you’re pretty old, too. Wasn’t that such a fun game we played way, way, way, back when?
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Haha! I didn’t have a One room schoolhouse smartie! I was just “way back…”
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So your was an outdoors school?
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πΆπ€!
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But yes it was fun! I liked it better than Capture the flag.
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I liked the game. It was a bit like hide and go seek.
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I should tell you that when I saw the title I thought Oh, this sounds like a sad story for Thanksgiving! But it turned out to be a great one for Thanksgiving! π
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Thanks. I’m not completely full of sob stories. Sometimes I can spread a little bit of cheer.
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Oh you spread more cheer than sob stories. Though you are good at spreading the ..”smacking of one’s head”… too.
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Yeah, you make that easy. It’s like opening a jar of creamy peanut butter.
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