Fond Memories of a Volkswagen Bus

When I read that Volkswagen was going to bring back the microbus, I felt a surge of nostalgia.

For almost ten years, from September through May, Yvonne Council, my sister-in-law, and I drove a micro-bus around the countryside in east Dougherty County, Georgia, picking up little-five-year olds and taking them to Humpty-Dumpty Kindergarten. Yvonne and I owned and were co-directors of this school set in a three bedroom house with a large fenced back yard.

Yvonne had taught kindergarten for another company in Albany, and she observed well. She learned how to run this kind of business and when she decided to open Humpty-Dumpty, she became successful right away. My younger sister had begun the business with Yvonne, but I bought her share and Yvonne was happy with the deal.

We left home early and made a number of stops in our micro-bus until all seats were filled. Part of our route included housing area on the U.S. Marine Base. Most of our students were military and naturally we included all races in our student body.

VW micro-bus like the one we drove, but the paint on our bus was not so new.

We arrived at the school before the parents who dropped off their children arrived. I still think that five-year-old children are the most precious and precocious. They love without question and show their love. I remember the hugs I received as they left to go home with their parents. After those children were picked up, we loaded up the microbus again and dropped off the little ones into the arms of their mothers.

The years Yvonne and I ran Humpty-Dumpty Kindergarten were the happiest working years of my life. Having taught for five years in elementary school where frustration with rules of administration wore on me, it was a joy to recognize the needs of children and be able to specialize my teaching to help children with those needs. Parents paid for their kids to come to Humpty-Dumpty so they were invested in their education.

This was in the seventies and public schools in Georgia did not include kindergarten. We didn’t get rich, but we made enough to matter and both of us totally enjoyed our work.

During those years we worked together, Yvonne and I grew very close. My sister, Gay, had moved away and Yvonne and I became best friends. I miss her. I miss those afternoons in May when she and I drove out in the country and clipped limbs with magnolia blossoms to line the stage for our kindergarten graduation. We piled them into the VW bus and I was almost overcome with the fragrance before we unloaded them at the nearby elementary school. My partner had the mind of a decorator, but we had the budget of a soup kitchen. She made the stage beautiful with the blossoms and in that large auditorium, I could handle the overpowering sweet odor of the magnolias.  

That evening about 45 children, wearing their graduation clothes, sat in front of their proud moms and dads who made pictures before, during and after the ceremony. Of course Mrs. Beall and Mrs. Council had to pose with the children.

We had been rehearsing for months the songs and little poems performed by the children. Our Mrs. Barker played piano with her swinging beat. Oh what would we have done without Mrs. B.? She lived right next door so she could walk over every morning for our music time.

Those years at Humpty-Dumpty were also the early years of my marriage. Yvonne and my brother, Hal, lived next door and we spent so much time together. They had parties at their house and we always attended. Those two were really fun people. Often I would visit with Yvonne in the afternoon while she cooked dinner for her family. She would insist that I call Barry and both of us eat with them.

Finally the school board included kindergarten in the public schools, and we lost most of our students. Yvonne was ready to sell out, so I bought the school and that included the micro-bus. The blue paint had faded, lost its shine, like the color in an old man’s eyes, and each day I wondered if it was going to make the route. 

We enrolled four-year-olds to keep the school full, but I refused to become a daycare center. No babies, no diapers, and baby beds. Four-year-old children are adorable and eager to learn. Some were not ready for numbers or letters, so I changed the curriculum. I and my teachers read stories and we played educational games. 

Just walking into the school each morning made me smile. I worked all afternoon in the office planning lessons and creating interesting work for the kids. My cousin, Ethel Wright, was one of the teachers and her students adored her. Her husband, Bill, made some wooden shoes with shoe laces so we could help the children learn to tie their shoes. 

We did all we could to keep going, but after a short few years, I had to close the doors. We just did not have enough students to pay the bills. My teachers and I left the last day with heavy hearts. We loved what we were doing and, those parents who sent their children to us, knew that. We heard praise for Humpty Dumpty many years after our doors closed. In fact, just recently I received an email from someone on Facebook who asked, "Are you the Mrs. Beall who taught at Humpty-Dumpty?"

The micro-bus had seen its best days and we sold it. I didn’t need it anymore. But for years when I saw a VW bus, I felt a pang of yearning for those days at Humpty-Dumpty. Maybe when the 2022 electric micro-bus comes out, I’ll be ready to give up my Ford Escape. I might be ready for another micro-bus.

Yvonne made a splash in high school on the 1951 -1952  and 1952 -1953 basketball team. She was already married to my brother at this time.    

Will you take this baby?

We have no children, but children have always been an important part of our lives. Today while talking with Ann Stone, lymphodema therapist, as she worked on Barry's swollen leg, I remembered something quite strange that happened thirty five years ago.
At the time I worked with my sister-in-law, Yvonne, at Humpty-Dumpty Kindergarten. I adored the children in my classes, and at times I felt sad that we had no children of our own.
The truth came home to me when I had to have a hysterectomy. That was final! Now the whole thing was out of my hands. No children for me. BB said it was God's will. He had never been keen on being a father.

I arrived home around two o'clock one afternoon, went back to the bedroom and began changing clothes. The telephone rang and I answered.
A woman's voice said, "Is this Glenda Beall?"
"Yes."
"Would you take a baby that hasn't been born yet?"
"Well, I don't know." I couldn't believe my ears. This person wanted to give me a baby.
"Who is this? Tell me about the baby," I said to the anonymous caller.
"I can't tell you anything else. I just want to know if you will take this baby."
"Well, I can't say yes or no right now. I have to talk to my husband. I'd want to know more before I could answer. Call me back tonight."
"I can't. I have to know right now. Will you take this baby?"
Of course I had to tell her I could not accept a child from an anonymous voice on the phone. I had no idea who she was or who was having the baby or even if it would be legal to take this baby.
I never heard from the woman again. And I never knew who called. I suspected that an unmarried teen in our rural community had become pregnant. It had to be someone who knew us and felt confident we would give the child a good home.
I said to Barry, "If it is God's will that we have no children of our own, could it be God's will that we are to love the child of someone else? Was that strange conversation on the telephone God's way of saying, "this is your child?"
For many years that voice on the phone haunted me. What happened to that baby? Did it have a good life? What if we had taken the infant? How would it have changed our lives?
Another time we were chosen and asked to adopt a baby but we declined. What were we afraid of? Responsibility? The unknown personality or behavior of a child birthed by strangers? What kinds of traits would this baby inherit?

On Friday my niece will come and help us with things I can't do and Barry is unable to do. She spent some months living with us in her youth. She was adopted and adored by my sister and brother-in-law. Might we have had a daughter about her age now, or a son who would come and take Barry for physical therapy or help with chores around the house? I'm sure he would enjoy watching the golf tournaments on TV with his father.
What if? That simple question in a writer's mind often launches a novel.