Wonderful letter in Ashland Press this last Saturday

MEMORIES OF ONDOSSAGON

 

By DAN JOHNSON

 

My first formal teaching assignment was a position at Ondossagon High School for the 1961-62 school year. I was assigned three classes of 9thgradeEnglish and two classes of beginning Spanish in addition to monitoring a study hall for one hour each day. My contracted yearly salary was $4,400, to Be paid in 12 equal monthly payments of $366.66

 

Looking back to that distant time, little did I know when I accepted that teaching assignment, my true education was about to begin. That said, despite the many challenges that were associated with my early teaching experiences, the three years I taught at Ondossagon were in many ways, the most beneficial and rewarding of my entire educational career. For that reason, I will always be indebted to the Ondossagon community and retain fond memories of a time long ago when I too was an "Aggie."

 

This narrative about an unplanned visit to the Ondossagon school building years ago was taken from a book of memoirs written shortly after that visit. Aware that those long-ago adolescents who shared my time at Ondossagon are now senior citizens about to partake in a much-welcomed reunion,

 

Perhaps this writing will spark some memories for that soon-to-be special gathering. In the summer of 1991, my wife and I decided to take a short trip and spend a leisurely day visiting the Apostle Islands. After a brief stopover in Ashland, intended to reacquaint ourselves with a home we had shared many years ago, we began the scenic drive along the south shore of Lake Superior. This familiar stretch of highway passed by the Ondossagon High School, a special place with special meaning, the starting point for my 30-year career as an educator in Wisconsin.

 

As we turned north on Hwy 13 and were nearing Ondossagon Road, I found myself deep in thought remembering my long-ago acquaintance with the Ondossagon School District. Aware that it had dissolved a year or so earlier, I wondered what had become of the school I had known so well years ago. Realizing that 27 years had come and gone since I'd said goodbye to Ondossagon, my growing curiosity urged me to spend a few moments visiting my past.

 

As we neared the country road leading to Ondossagon, I caught a glimpse of the vacant building in the distance. Time being of little importance, I thought, why not? A quick turn and a short drive passed some unknown farm buildings and we arrived at the school.

 

As I parked the car and quietly studied the building, my thoughts went back to a time years ago when I sat in that same parking lot debating my future. Having accepted a new teaching assignment in another school district, I had formally submitted my resignation from Ondossagon. I told myself I had made the right choice for me and my growing family, but I hadn't realized how hard it would be to say goodbye to a community that had given me so much. Of greater concern, I was leaving a special group of students who made my task of going to work each day a fun experience, the true goal of every teacher. Then again, I thought, the decision had been made and there was no turning back.

 

We left the parking area and drove to the back of the building quietly studying the remains of the old school. Aside from the need for general upkeep, the structure looked pretty much as I'd remembered it. A little messy perhaps, but no noticeable vandalism had yet taken place. Still, the various bits of farm machinery scattered around and next to the building looked out of place. Satisfied there was no more to see, we were about to continue our planned journey when by chance I noticed an opened door in the back of the building. My interest sparked by the possibility I might do some exploration, I parked the car and approached the open door hoping to meet someone who would give me permission to look around inside.

I shouted loudly into the darkened interior waiting patiently for someone to answer my call. With no response to my persistent greeting, "Hello," I found myself faced with a dilemma. Hesitant to trespass, yet wanting to go into the old school building, temptation beckoning, I decided to take my chances and enter the school prepared to explain my presence to anyone I happened to meet.

 

As I walked through the open door, I paused a moment peering into the darkened interior. The quiet ghost-like stillness inside the empty building seemed so different from what I remembered. As my eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, I took note of various items scattered around the floor. Discarded books, papers, and other school-related debris lay in disarray — seemingly abandoned in the confusion of closing down the school.

 

With sunlight streaming in from uncovered windows allowing me to find my way, in a short while I was at the bottom of the well-worn stairway that led to the 2nd floor. Walking up the steps, I paused a moment, surrounded by the quietness of the empty building. Viewing the vacant classrooms, I tried to recall the names and faces that went with each: Mr. Strom, Mr. Larson, Mrs. Lamoreaux, and Mr. Schmidt, a good guess I thought.

 

My classroom was the corner room facing Lake Superior. It had been specially equipped for teaching foreign language. As I walked through the opened door, I gazed around the room feeling a sudden strangeness as I studied my surroundings.

 

The once-familiar classroom was at best a distant memory. No chairs, desks, or any furniture, hardly a trace of the sophisticated language laboratory that once occupied a large area on the far side of the room. (In the early 60s, the newly-installed language laboratory at Ondossagon was a modern teaching tool in its infancy. Designed as an aide in teaching and learning foreign language, it was among the first of its kind to be established in northern Wisconsin. As a Spanish teacher, I had the good fortune to be trained in the use this unique teaching tool that became commonplace in most schools in later years. Again, a reason to feel indebted to the Ondossagon community).

 

Feeling nostalgia as I looked around the empty room, I found myself opening a chest of memories as I scanned the once familiar surroundings. I slowly walked around remembering names, faces, and happenings of a time gone by. I stood a moment by a corner window and gazed at the empty shoreline of Lake Superior, remembering the many times I stood at that same window and watched as large ore boats sailed in and out of Ashland harbor. I thought for a moment how nostalgia is such a great thing, it lets us remember another time, perhaps more pleasantly than it once was.

 

I was about to end my visit when I glanced up at the PA outlet mounted on the wall. Kindling a spark of remembrance, my thoughts raced back to an unforgettable moment, November 22, 1963. It was Friday afternoon and classes had just begun. As I stood in front of the room teaching 9thgrade English, our lesson was interrupted by the shocking announcement that our president had been shot while visiting in Dallas, Texas. Alarmed by this unexpected announcement, our class abruptly ended, with textbooks closed we sat in silence waiting for more news of this tragic event. A minute or so passed and a second painful announcement filled the room. Our country's leader, President Kennedy, was dead.

 

A stunned emotional stillness filled the room as we all came to grips with what we had heard. What followed was a confused display of mixed emotions, a few whispers, but mostly silence. A further announcement stated that school was to be dismissed as soon as the buses were ready to transport everyone home. We sat in silence and waited. In a short time the busses were ready and the school day came to an end. I stood a moment and reflected on that tragic event, thinking of all that had happened in the years that followed. I wondered what had become of all the young men and women who sat with me that eventful November afternoon as we listened to the news that our president had been assassinated, wondered if they too remember that sad moment in time we shared together (Now approaching half a century).

 

With my wife Loretta no doubt wondering of my whereabouts, my pleasing journey back in time about to end, I took one last look around  the room. Noticing an eraser and a long-forgotten piece of chalk, I felt a sudden urge to mark my visit.

 

Pausing a moment, searching for words that fit the occasion, meaningless words to most I thought, yet fitting, I scribbled my goodbye on the dusty chalkboard, "Gracias por las memorias." It was time to move on.

 

 

Dan Johnson (Ondossagon, 1961 -1964) lives in Harshaw, Wis. After leaving Ondossagon he moved to Tomahawk, retiring from the Tomahawk school system in 1991 after serving 27 years as a teacher, coach