By William Peck

The school at Hillside in 1940 was located at Yava, a distance of 4 miles toward Prescott from Hillside, and consisted of a one room, clapboard shack, propped up on some granite rocks that was its sole foundation. The wind howled beneath its board floor that had half-inch cracks between the shrunken planks. When sweeping the floor, it was unnecessary to employ a dustpan, because everything but large scraps of paper filtered through the cracks and blew away.

When it was cold and the wind was coming up through the boards, the kids with the highest test scores got to sit closest to the oil-burning stove -- which was great incentive to excel. 

The school board was duly ashamed of the facility and wished for a newer building. This was cause for an annual election that was foredoomed since the issue of funding was always accompanied by the proposal to move the school to Hillside. Unfortunately, there were exactly 21 qualified voters in Hillside and 21 in Yava. When the votes were counted, a tie resulted and the issue was shelved for another year, much to the board's frustration. 

One August morning, a couple of days before school was to resume, a fire sprang up beneath the school's porch and quickly consumed the structure. The cause was never explained. I was the popular suspect, but actually the idea never occurred to me. Perhaps the school board itself was motivated enough. 

Too bad it went, since so many fond memories went with it. In its final year, our class was composed of 11 boys and 1 lonesome girl, 2 if you counted Amy Randal, who was taking a high school correspondence course, supervised by our teacher, Ada Fishburn. 

Baseball was the leading subject taught. At recess we chose up sides, Amy as the captain of one team, Mrs. Fishburn, of the other. Both were sluggers, and we boys had to step out to the end of the lot when they were up to bat. Mrs. Fishburn's team always had the advantage. If they were behind, recess might last a few minutes longer. We older boys never understood why the younger kids were always chosen first. Female guile escaped us. 

There was a lean-to attached to the schoolhouse's rear with a dirt floor and a huge wood range that provided extra heat in the winter. Orange crates were stacked for cupboards and flour sacks provided the doors. These were stocked with "commodities," flour, sugar, baking powder, beans, bacon and lard, to mention a few. This was supplemented with fresh milk, butter and eggs supplied by the Yava kids and maybe a turnip or two in the spring. 

At 10:00 a.m., an older child and a younger one were selected from the roster and they escaped classes for the forenoon to cook lunch. This could consist of fresh-baked bread or maybe corn bread, beans or stew and usually some desert such as chocolate cake or apple pie, all made from scratch. There was a great deal of competition as to who could cook the best lunch but we all ate well. Learning to cook was probably the most valuable asset acquired in school, possibly preventing starvation among the forthcoming bachelors and newlyweds. 

We had our ups and downs. Our sanitary facilities were boys' and girls' outhouses. A bird had chosen to build its nest in one of the buildings and was being observed by the entire school. One day it was brought to the teacher's attention that the nest was on the ground and that the eggs were broken, the birds nowhere to be seen. Summary court by the teacher pronounced one young man guilty. For penance, he was commanded to dig a new outhouse hole for the boys; it being much more used than the girls', and was nearly full. It seems unlikely that he was guilty, but he sulked off with the shovel over his six foot two frame to commence the task. In twenty minutes he was back in his seat. 

"You haven't had time to dig another hole! Get back to work," commanded the judge. 

"Twarn't necessary, teacher," he defended, "I just swapped signs around." That boy had never before demonstrated such genius. 

Ada Fishburn was a true Annie Oakley. She had a 410 shotgun and would pick up the gun and one shell and pursue her supper. Quail were very abundant and was her favorite food. She was a true sportswoman and shot only wing shots, of which I never knew her to miss. She had an inch deep cleft in her forearm that she obtained by pulling the gun through the fence, barrel-first, catching the hammer on the wire, snapping it, and blowing a hand-sized chunk of meat from her arm. This salty old gal took a piece of wire from the fence, fashioned a tourniquet and drove herself to the doctor. 

She was also a student of Barney Oldfield, the race driver. One ride to Hillside with her was enough for me. She was scolding me for some misdemeanor, gesticulating in the air with both hands, when she overran a curve, running off into the brush. Undeterred, she made a U-turn and off we went again without a break in the conversation, spewing sand and rocks, onward, ever onward, at 40 miles an hour, an ungodly speed, toward Hillside. 

The ride to and from school was in the back of Clay's dad's pickup, equipped with what was my first encounter with a camper shell. There was no back door on the shell and the seats were mere plank benches along the side. It was frosty and dusty in the morning. I can remember us boys sneaking our morning cigarette in the back of the pickup after positioning our bodies to screen the rearview mirror. The road was dirt and boulders and we jolted along for 20 minutes to make the 4-mile trip. 

The old schoolhouse stood where Clayton Satathite's corrals are today, just east of the road at Yava, south of the Kirkland Creek bridge. The remains of Ada's teacherage still exist a hundred yards beyond. My, how small it looks today, but of course it was a smaller world in those days, one made larger than life by the interesting times that it embraced. 

(William Peck is a long time resident of Hillside.) 

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number: (pb059f10i4)
Reuse only by permission.
The old teacherage in Yava looked little different in 1980, when this photo was made, than in its heyday. The author remembers going to school in the Hillside/Yava area and reminiscences about the people and atmosphere.