In the middle of my sophomore year in Delano High School, while Daddy was selling mattresses all over the southern San Joaquin Valley, he discovered in Bakersfield a house that had a big shop behind the garage, and was for rent. He had been thinking the big city of Bakersfield would be a better base for his mattress business than the tiny town of McFarland. It was soon settled that we would move to Bakersfield, and he rented the house and shop. There were far less zoning restrictions in those days than now.
I really liked the house, though I was very sad to leave my school friends in Delano, and my church friends in Earlimart. The first time I ever viewed the inside of the house, I was astonished; I had never seen so many roaches. The house had just been fumigated before we moved in. Those nasty bugs lay in still, brown piles all over the place. They had to be swept out of the kitchen cabinets, drawers, off the counters, the window sills, the light fixtures; every available surface that wasn't perpendicular was two to six inches deep in ugly brown roach-bugs. I shiver to remember it. And that was only inside the house. The big shop out back was worse, I was told. I didn't even go out there until the boys had cleaned it out.
By the time the Christmas vacation was ended, we had settled in and Mama had transformed the formerly roach-ridden house into a neat and cozy home that worked very well for our family. And Daddy was very happy with his new shop; he was making mattresses and selling them like mad.
Bakersfield was a big town, a city even. It was a long way to school, so we had to ride the school bus for the first time since we lived on Fourth Avenue in Delano when I was in the fifth grade. By this time my brother Jim was in his senior year in high school, so he stayed in Delano with friends and relatives, and graduated in the spring. Ray was a freshman; I was a sophomore, and Richard was to walk to his fifth grade class in a near-by elementary school. Little sister Diane was not even yet in kindergarten. I think she was about three years old.
The first day in Bakersfield High School was such a nightmare for me that when I finally got home I ran past my Mama and flung myself on the bed, weeping. Mama came in and sat on the side of the bed, patting me and repeating, "What's the matter, Jean? What's the matter? What happened? Are you sick? Where does it hurt? Huh?..."
Really, I tried to gain control, but it had been such a horrible day that I felt if I kept crying maybe they wouldn't make me go back to that school again. But as Mama began to lose patience with me, I realized that was not going to happen.
She firmed up her voice. "Awright, Jean. You get ahold of yourself. Right now. You quit that crying and tell me what's the matter. You were all right when Daddy left you and Ray at the school office this morning. And Ray's been home for a long time... Why didn't you come home on the bus with him? I been worried sick about you, girl..."
I took a deep breath, and tried to speak. It didn't work. Every word I tried to say my voice cracked, and my throat hurt, and my mind raced... Eventually, I was able to settle down and tell her the main problems of the day.
Bakersfield High School was several times bigger than Delano High School. It was the oldest school in town located quite a distance from our home on Virginia Avenue. It had a huge and confusing campus and more than thirty buses. I had been in the office all morning getting signed up for my classes, and in the afternoon, had found my way around to my different classes. I was late to several of the classes but forgiven due to being a new student and everyone knew it was difficult to learn one's way around the campus. When you're a teenager, though, and have to walk into a classroom where everyone is already seated, and all those eyes turn to look you over, well... that is excruciating.
But I made it. I got through the afternoon well enough until it came to finding which of those thirty buses was the one I was supposed to get on. I think I had our address, bla bla bla Virginia Avenue, but I wasn't sure, and worst of all, I couldn't find Ray anywhere. Eventually, I had boarded a bus that someone said went out to Virginia Avenue. "In fact," said the driver, "we cross Virginia Avenue, so this is probably the right bus..."
He told me he would tell me when we got to Virginia Avenue, and he did. I got off the bus and it pulled away. Then I looked around. What now? Which way? I was at a cross roads, and since the bus had gone across one of them, I figured that must be Virginia Avenue. I started walking down the street. I didn't see anything familiar. We had only been living there maybe a couple of weeks and I hadn't explored around the area. I was carrying a huge load of books, with homework marked in each book associated with the afternoon classes. We didn't have back packs in those days.
Some girls ahead of me turned around and asked me where I lived. I felt really dumb, but said helplessly, "I don't know. Somewhere on Virginia Avenue..."
The girls were really friendly. "What does your house look like?"
"We just moved in. It's ... a big green house with a big shop out behind it. My Daddy has a mattress shop there..." My face was getting red; I could feel the burn. "I... can't remember the address."
The girls said their mom would help me find it, and she did. She took me there in her car. I found out I had gone the wrong way when I got off the bus at Virginia Avenue. By the time I thanked them and went inside the house, I was done. I had that major melt-down once I shut the door behind me.
I never did really like Bakersfield High School, although I never got lost again. I made a few friends but it was never the same as Delano. Most of my friends were friends from church.
The following summer, I attended a Bible Training Camp held by our church in Fresno, California. There I learned about a high school our church headquarters in Tennessee sponsored, and through the help of many friends and loved ones, I "temporarily moved" to Cleveland, Tennessee and attended Tomlinson Memorial School in the eleventh and twelfth grades. The Thornton family allowed me to live with them while attending school those two years, and helping around the house and being with their youngest daughter while they worked.
But all that is another story... without all the histrionics.
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