Marching down Pennsylvania Avenue

 

A School Boy Patrol

Private’s badge

New to my blog?  To better understand why this story was written. please read “A Child of the Greatest Generation” in the August 09 Blog Archive. 

more reflections

     In the 1940s and 50s, you would see them everywhere: before school, after school and during lunchtime.  Virgil Shack, from the city’s police department, had them stationed everywhere, to minimize that hazard of an elementary or junior high school student being hit by a car or truck.

     Virgil’s army had privates, lieutenants, and captains.  You could tell their rank by the color of their badge, blue for captains, red for lieutenants and silver for patrolman or privates.  In the center of the badge was AAA, the American Automobile Association, the sponsor of Clarksburg’s School (Boy) Safety Patrol.

     At Linden Grade School, in the fifth and sixth grades, I was a member of the School Boy Patrol, as we were known.  I was stationed at the crosswalk near school, facing busy Pike Street, just in front of the Dairy Queen.  Another school boy patrolman was located on the opposite side of the street.  We both were easy to spot.  We wore 2 inch wide, very white, belts that were connected to a like white shoulder strap running across the chest, to which our badges were proudly displayed.  And we carried an eight foot broomstick-like pole with a white three foot canvas flag attached at the top. The message on the flag was STOP.

     When our classmates wanted to cross the street we would lower our flags, parallel to the crosswalk, as a signal to oncoming cars to STOP.  This was a private or lieutenant’s job.  Captains were in charge of the team and took down the license plate number of cars that violated the signal to STOP.  As a driver, you didn’t want to hear from Virgil Shack, a well known member of the Clarksburg Police Department.  Putting his boys, or a student, in jeopardy on his watch wasn’t recommended.

     Virgil had his army well organized.  After World War II, each spring, the AAA sponsored a School Boy Patrol Day in Washington DC.   Kids would flood into DC from all over the east coast for the opportunity to spend a Saturday in the nation’s capital, and to march in a parade down famed Pennsylvania Avenue.

Vigil wanted his boys to march in the parade. 

·        The problem: How do you get hundreds of boys to Washington DC? 

·        The answer: Rent a train.

·        The problem: How do you raise enough money to rent a train?

·        The answer:  Have a Tag Day!

     What’s a Tag Day?  Here’s how it worked.  Virgil had thousands of three inch tags printed which said Send your School Boy Patrol to DC or something like that. Through a hole in the top corner of the tag was a double string that a person, with pride, could loop over a shirt or jacket button after making an appropriate contribution to the patrol boy seeking a donation to help rent a train.  In exchange for a tag: a nickel, dime or even a quarter would be placed in a slot of the sealed lid on a cardboard cup.

     In two Saturdays, Virgil’s boys flooded downtown and neighborhoods raising enough money to rent a train to haul hundreds of preteen-aged boys to Washington, DC.  I made two visits to our nation’s capital with my grade school friends.  What an experience!

     We left late Friday night and, after a noisy trip east, just after dawn an excited, wide eyed and highly energetic group of school boys arrived at Union Station in our nation’s capital.  There we were joined by an invasion of thousands of other excited, wide eyed and highly energetic school boys, all proudly wearing their patrol belts and badges!

     Among the days activities I looked forward to included lying on the cool green grass of the Capital Mall, quietly watching the playful squirrels frolic, checking out the Smithsonian Museum and its many wonders, then climbing each and every stair to the top of the 555 foot Washington Monument, reading the marble plaques that adorned the interior walls on each landing, and of course walking back down. That’s something you can’t do anymore.   At one time I even knew exactly how many stairs there were from the bottom to the top of the monument.  When you were 11 or 12 years old, knowing things like that was important.

     Late in that evening a weary group of very tired boys re-boarded the train for a very quiet return trip home, arriving early Sunday morning.  Most of us headed straight to bed, exhausted, but excited about what we saw and did in our beautiful nation’s capital.

Oh yes, I even marched down Pennsylvania Avenue.