School Stories, Part IV

Joe and I were married in December of 1977, while I was still Media Director and he was a school administrator.  In short order, he took a lesser position as Media Director of another school in order to stave off criticism.  Shameful of us to form a relationship while working together!

In any case, that very next spring, I had read something about an Illinois Boy Scout camp seeking summer employees--particularly a Program Director and a nurse.  Joe had been very active in Boy Scout camps in Indiana as a young person.  I mentioned the opportunity to him, and he ran with it.  As a summer job, it would augment our income by, maybe, $2k.  (Honestly, I don't remember.)  Our thought was that he could be the Program Director, and I could be the nurse.  I would have to take a Red Cross first aid course, but it could be done.  We applied.

The Scout executive that was doing the hiring was excited about the possibility of having state certified teachers as part of his staff.  He decided that I could be better used as a camp Ecology Director.  Great.  But there was a catch:  we had to attend a camping experience for the scouts.  National Camp School at Rocky River, Ohio.  (I could have the place name wrong.)  We had already missed the most convenient choice when we were told about it, so the only thing to do in order to jump through the Scout's hoops was to attend a camp during our responsibilities at school.  That camp experience was another whole post.  I'm pretty sure I've already written about it.
Bottom line:  the school admin figured out that we weren't absent for any "legal" reason, so docked our pay for the days we were gone.  Ouch!

That same year, on the last day of school in 1978--a Friday-- we would be going to Greencastle, IN, in preparation for the Indy 500 the following Sunday.   It was going to be a hot day.  My husband took our Irish Setter, Ann, with him to school so we wouldn't have to backtrack the two/three blocks home to pick her up before we left for Indiana at the end of the day.  The last thing I said to him that day was, "It's going to be hot today.  Don't leave Ann in the car."  Long story short, he did and she died...and then he had to come pick me up and tell me.

I weep even when thinking about this from so many years ago.  In the back of the car was the lifeless body of my beloved dog, wrapped in a garbage bag.  My immediate response, after beating on my husband's chest in a moment of raw grief and embarrassing myself with my staff, was that we would take Ann to my family's farm near Streator, IL, to bury her in the pasture that I loved from my childhood.  We arrived unannounced.  My mother asked why.  When I told her, through my tears, what had happened, she said if she had a gun she would shoot my husband.  I never quite forgave him for that whole thing because I didn't understand how he could have done this to my baby dog, especially since I had already warned him.  It was months before I could eat right or even ride in that car, knowing she had died in it.

We buried Ann, then went to the race, and home to our empty house.  And then I discovered that I was pregnant. I guess this isn't exactly a school story, but it was...sort of.