TWO GENERATIONS OF HOME SCHOOLING

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When I reached the age of five, though, Mother did enroll me in public school. The institution, located in nearby Nambé, New Mexico, was backed by Cyrus McCormick (a well-known philanthropist) and headed by a marvelous woman named Mary Watson . . . and the quality of instruction was excellent. In fact, I was studying — and loving — such subjects as simple bacteriology, paleontology, and archaeology at the age of seven!

But local political maneuvering ended McCormick's influence, so the school's quality soon deteriorated. The atmosphere became repressive and the work boring. I distinctly remember an instance, in the "changed" classroom, when another pupil was stumbling — word by word — through a reading group recitation. Now I knew I couldn't help the struggling student without being labeled a showoff, so I fought my boredom by reading on in the assigned book. I was working through the text for the second time when the teacher called upon me to recite, and then — since I had no idea where to begin — she soundly chastised me for not paying attention.

Similar "noneducational" incidents occurred almost every day. For example, I was often the first pupil to finish our frequently assigned seatwork. Each time I asked the teacher what I should do next, she replied that I should check my work. When I finished that task , she would tell me to go over the paper yet again! I soon realized that there was little reason to be careful the first time I did my lessons . . . and consequently developed sloppy work habits.

I also developed a strong — and obvious to everyone around me — case of "schoolphobia". So, with the blessing of Mary Watson (she had by this time become New Mexico's State Superintendent of Education), Mother decided to teach me at home. She gave me only a couple of hours of instruction each morning — while she did the household laundry, ironing, mending, and cleaning — but I gained far more from that brief tutoring than I had while "working" all day in school.

At home, every minute of study counted. No misspelled word or error in grammar escaped my parent's sharp eyes. I had to be able to solve every arithmetic problem and answer every history question (not merely one out of every 25, as in my public school days). In addition, Mother always communicated precisely at my level, so I was never made to feel either confused, bored, stupid, or superior!

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