Twelve months later than the original plans called for, Bill and Elly Greene of Irish
Ridge succeeded in propelling their youngest youngster off to school. The first attempt the
previous year failed on the first day of school when Neil, convoyed by sisters Esther and
Wilda, made his uncertain way down and across Brown's pasture and part way up the wooded
hill which lay in the general direction of the district school. Had Bill and Elly's coercion been
more complete or had Esther and Wilda been more attentive to their duties as escorts, this
seven year old may have made it over the hill and down to the Hoover Hollow School. But
such was not the case; little Neil, new pencil box, lunch pail, slate, and tablet, turned tail and let
out for home for another year of parent-petting freedom and jealous scorn from brothers and
sisters.
A year quickly passes for a seven year old country bumpkin however, with all the
exciting activities of boyhood and then August 30 and opening of the Hoover Hollow School
for the 1912-1913 school term. By this time, siblings have shamed young Neil into sheer
resolve to seek an education at whatever cost. So, with pencil box, tablet, slate, and dinner
pail, retrieved from a years storage, our school boy again headed out, escorted again by Esther
and Wilda, towards preparation for a possible run for the Presidency of the United States of
America.
Getting an education proved an elusive and inclusive term. To the casual observer, it
must be mastery, or at least an earnest attack of the three R's. In fact, more, much more, was
involved. Somebody neglected to brief little Neil about the need for self-defense. There was
more to be learned about how to avoid a mouthful of dirty knuckles or a well directed rock-
core snowball than to get an i before an e. when you put the evil eye of a square-jawed ruffian
outweighing you by ten pounds up against the authoritative frown of disapproval of a female
teacher, the choice is clear: if you don't get it in the ditch behind the schoolhouse, you get it on
the way home, the waiting is a sweat-maker.
A doting parent of the day dreamed his child would be adept in spelling to be champ
speller-downer, or in history to name the Presidents in their chronological sequence from
Washington to Taft with the years of their terms; this was the mark of the scholar. What pa or
ma did not comprehend was that "workup" outdistanced by far the prescribed curriculum
offerings. Workup was a form of baseball played with a softball manufactured in the home with
a walnut wrapped in waxed yarn salvaged from worn-out work socks, and a club of sorts to
substitute for a bat; "no gloves" was the rule. The diamond, located on a rocky slope behind the
schoolhouse, consisted of an infield limited to the area between the ditches; called for three
batters who would keep on batting as long as no one made an out on them. If, for instance, the
pitcher caught a fly, he and the ousted batter exchanged places.
The onus of this game was the big boys by sheer domination were up to bat first. It was
always a whole new ball game for each recess, and in a school where some went to common
school until the age of 22, it isn't really difficult to see how little Neil fared. The pecking order in
the baseball arena mandated Neil for the outfield, the area beyond the ditches. When you put
this all together, you get discrimination, segregation, and futility. Chasing a mighty swat from a
20 year old slugger among the rocks, bull-thistles, and ditches offers slim odds for getting up to
bat, no matter whether recess was 15 minutes or an hour. The only glimmer of hope was that
come drying up of the fields, the big lubbers would recess for the year to help papa in the fields
or that Papa and Mama Greene would make their frustrated son a new ball that he used to
purchase reprieve, a one-time shot at bat, a short lived period of ecstasy which ended with a
strikeout from a screwball heaved from a six-foot pitcher. So, out to the outfield for Neil.
After all, how many planting seasons are there? How many new balls will papa and mama make for a
kid during a workup season?
They called it the Hoover Hollow School. Originally the schoolhouse was located on the Harmony Hill section of Irish Ridge, in Crawford County, but so much dissent arose from the Hoover Hollow population that a compromise was obtained whereby the schoolhouse was located on a hillside halfway between Harmony
Hill and Hoover Hollow. Although complete tranquillity was never attained, nevertheless, the subject of location was never brought up again until the state law closed the Hoover Hollow School and it passed quietly into oblivion in the year 1955.
From the point of contribution to the picture of education, little can be validly measured. Of the several hundred who attended, few ever reached the point of eighth grade attainment for graduation, many after reaching the age of 21 withdrew.
Few, if any, ever attained a state of national prominence for either prideful accomplishment or violent misdeeds. We can only assume that if enough days, enough years of attendance were spent, each pupil must have left Hoover Hollow with some exposure to public education and considering the limited facilities, perhaps the schoolmaster
or schoolmarm may truly have been the eighth wonder of the world.
One of the teachers at this school was "Neil college trained Greene" and this year is 1931. Depression had struck the district, the township, the local banks, and the taxpayers. The farmer couldn't pay his taxes so the town treasurer couldn't pay the school district treasurer, the school district treasurer couldn't borrow from the bank because
there was a "bank holiday".
Considering operations of the Hoover Hollow School and $400.00 salary for teacher, with a school budget of $60.00 for supplies and $10.00 for fuel the district was able to maintain what was considered to be a valid budget. The 5 free library books from the Township Library Fund was a plus. Heat was supplied by a steeljacketed heater that
reached optimum efficiency around 11:30 a.m.; water was obtained for many years from a spring a quarter of a mile away; toilets were outdoor johns with large corporation catalogs serving as toilet paper, and order, if any, was provided with a local lumber yard stick. There were few promotions for good health, proper excise, diet, etc.,
but then, so what, who on Harmony Hill or Hoover Hollow wanted to live forever?
It was enough that the Hoover Hollow School was located halfway down the hill as it was, so convenient for hill or hollow folk alike, and above all, the school tax was not raised one iota.
Written by Neil D. Greene, student and teacher at Hoover Hollow School
