A Passport To Paradise
by
School had been for some months in progress when the footsteps of Yetta Aaronsohn were turned, by a long-suffering Truant Officer, in the direction of Room 18. During her first few hours among its pictures, plants and children, she sadly realized the great and many barriers which separated her from Eva Gonorowsky, Morris Mogilewsky, Patrick Brennan, and other favoured spirits who basked in the sunshine of Teacher’s regard. For, with a face too white, hair too straight, dresses too short and legs too long one runs a poor chance in rivalry with more blessed and bedizened children.
Miss Bailey had already appointed her monitors, organized her kingdom, and was so hedged about with servitors and assistants that her wishes were acted upon before a stranger could surmise them, and her Cabinet, from the Leader of the Line to the Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl, presented an impregnable front to the aspiring public.
During recess time Yetta learned that Teacher was further entrenched in groundless prejudice. Sarah Schrodsky, class bureau of etiquette and of savoir faire, warned the new-comer:
“Sooner you comes on the school mit dirt on the face she wouldn’t to have no kind feelin’s over you. She don’t lets you should set by her side: she don’t lets you should be monitors off of somethings: she don’t lets you should make an’thing what is nice fer you.”
Another peculiarity was announced by Sadie Gonorowsky: “So you comes late on the school, she has fierce mads. Patrick Brennan, he comes late over yesterday on the morning und she don’t lets he should march first on the line.”
“Did she holler?” asked Yetta, in an awed whisper.
“No. She don’t need she should holler when she has mads. She looks on you mit long-mad-proud-looks und you don’t needs no hollers. She could to have mads ‘out sayin’ nothings und you could to have a scare over it. It’s fierce. Und extra she goes und tells it out to Patrick’s papa–he’s the cop mit buttons what stands by the corner–how Patrick comes late und Patrick gets killed as anything over it.”
“On’y Patrick ain’t cried,” interrupted Eva Gonorowsky. She had heard her hero’s name and sprang to his defence. “Patrick tells me how his papa hits him awful hacks mit a club. I don’t know what is a club, on’y Patrick says it makes him biles on all his bones.”
“You gets biles on your bones from off of cops sooner you comes late on the school!” gasped Yetta. “Nobody ain’t tell me nothings over that. I don’t know, neither, what is clubs–“
“I know what they are,” the more learned Sarah Schrodsky began. “It’s a house mit man’s faces in the windows. It’s full from mans by night. Ikey Borrachsohn’s papa’s got one mit music inside.”
“I don’t likes it! I have a fraid over it!” wailed Yetta. “I don’t know does my mamma likes I should come somewheres where cops mit buttons makes like that mit me. I don’t know is it healthy fer me.”
“Sooner you don’t comes late on the school nobody makes like that mit you,” Eva reminded the panic-stricken new-comer, and for the first three days of her school life Yetta was very early and very dirty.
Miss Bailey, with gentle tact, delivered little lectures upon the use and beauty of soap and water which Eva Gonorowsky applied to and discussed with the new-comer.
“Miss Bailey is a awful nice Teacher,” she began one afternoon. “I never in my world seen no nicer teacher. On’y she’s fancy.”
“I seen how she’s fancy,” Yetta agreed. “She’s got her hair done fancy mit combs und her waist is from fancy goods.”
“Yes, she’s fancy,” Eva continued. “She likes you should put you on awful clean. Say, what you think, she sends a boy home once–mit notes even–the while he puts him on mit dirty sweaters. She says like this: ‘Sweaters what you wears by nights und by days ain’t stylish fer school.’ Und I guess she knows what is stylish. I ain’t never in my world seen no stylisher teacher.”