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      1949 - 1950. My first school was a public school In Crown Heights, Brooklyn, only a few blocks from the family apartment. It was to be my first and last year there.  I liked going to school. I loved my kindergarten, so full of color and active post-war kinder. And I liked, really liked my teacher, Miss Rosenthal. I noticed, in my five-year-old way, that she was youngish & pretty.

 

     Miss Rosenthal (this was decidedly pre -Ms) wasn’t overly warm, but nice enough. There were, however, moments of warmth. I remember her gathering us around and passing out a  paper. The kinder (most of whom would not have been there if the Germans und Friends had won only a few years before) could not read yet, so she carefully/warmly explained : “Girls and boys, Miss Rosenthal loves being a teacher - your teacher. But there are so many children in our class it’s so hard to get to know you well.” (This was true. Classes were overcrowded. There was double-session, morning and afternoon. Seems the returning G.I. 's and their wives hadn’t wasted any time!) “I want to get to know you better. So I am going to try to visit all of you at home. Be sure to give the paper to your Mommy. It’s very important .All right, girls & boys?”

 

     [in unison] “Yes, Miss Rosenthal.”

 

     And it came to pass that all the good little boys and girls gave the papers to their mothers. It was an invitation for an invitation - to Lunch. An opportunity to discuss the Child’s needs, answer any questions. If the response in my classmates’ homes were similar to mine, Crown Heights must have experienced a neighborhood Panic Attack: Huh? What? When? Menu? But somehow the parents consulted each other on their party lines (most people didn’t have private phone lines), contacted Mis Rosenthal and things were sorted out. Efficient Miss Rosenthal created a schedule. Each Mommy knew when Teacher would visit. I vaguely remember her visit to my house. My mother had died and my aunt was running the household. She was frantic. But somehow she got a meal together, Miss Rosenthal arrived promptly, ate hurriedly but well, smiled,  said a few things between bites  and was gone in time to make the afternoon session. 

 

     Miss Rosenthal ate well that year.

 

Miss Rosenthal Shares Her Feelings

 

     Again, we kindergartners, Class of “50, were called to gather around and sit cross-legged on the floor. Our teacher sat on the rocking chair. Initially she didn’t say anything, just looked at all the well-behaved children with expectant upturned faces.

 

     “How does Miss Rosenthal look, girls and boys?” It was an unexpected  and confusing question. Huh? Miss Rosenthal looked like Miss Rosenthal.

 

     One of us tentatively responded, “Sad?”

 

     “Yes. And do you know why Miss Rosental is sad?”

 

       (in unison) “No, Miss Rosenthal.)

 

     “Miss Rosenthal’s radio stopped working last night. It’s broken and can’t be fixed.”  And do you want to know why I’m especially sad?

 

     “Yes, Miss Rosenthal.”

 

     “Because this is just before the Holidays.”

 

     “Oh . . “  *

     [ * In 1950, a transformative time, people often went to the movies weekly, many went multiple times. There was television, but development had been halted by the War,  and it was wanting and  expensive. Our first TV was a Crosley. For $400!  (about $4500 today) we had a wood cabinet  encasing a black & white 10-inch screen. All this for only part of the day! Radio was still the electronic media  source for news and entertainment. And the home radio was often a large piece of furniture prominently placed in the living room with space for encircling chairs. Though I did run home to watch “Howdy Doody” and “Captain Video”, most of my early media-memories are sitting with family round the Radio. (President Truman informing the nation that the two oceans no longer made us invulnerable, “The Shadow knows . . .”, etc. So the idea of the large vacuum tubes not lighting and no sound filling the Void  was awful. Jack Benny excepted .]

 

     The silence in the classroom was deafening,  but our teacher finally said, “I just wanted to share my feelings with you girls and boys. Always know it’s good to share your feelings. Now let’s go back to play and have a good day.”

 

     So we got up, resumed play, went home and told our Mommies & Daddies. 

     And it came to pass, that our parents, mainly our Mommies, got back on their phones and got together. Again.

 

     And it came to pass, the week before the Xmas Holidays, we entered our classroom to see a very large box wrapped in gift paper with a bright red bow atop. Our teacher was standing next to it. Her hands were resting on, almost caressing, the box. She was smiling. We put our jackets in the clothes closet, and without instruction gathered 

round. 

 

     “I wonder what’s in the box? Shall I open it?”

 

     “Yes!”

 

     And she did, slowly, carefully. First she pulled out a card. Then she read it. Of course, it was from our parents, thanking her and wishing her a Merry Xmas. Then, with some difficulty, she pulled out a lovely large gift-wrapped object. She unwrapped it.. 

 

     “Oh!”

 

     “Oh!!!

 

     Miss Rosenthal had a brand new radio.

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     I sometimes wonder what happened to Miss Rosenthal. I suspect she did very well.