A Murder in Mayberry

Part 4/4) Connected by a Thin Thread

You already know I can't resist a flashback.

Matthew Jenkins, Jr. was not one to stay put. He traveled all over the world and never envisioned himself returning to North Carolina. Lacey led him back. She always loved the mountains of home and when she got sick, it was all she could talk about. She wanted to go home. Though he figured enough time passed no one would remember them, Matthew was not one to look back, and he did not want to risk it. When some colleagues he worked with on previous assignments mentioned retirement and their options, Riverview seemed like the answer to Lacey's dream to return home. Matthew had taken care of his girl all his life, and he was not going to stop doing it now when she needed him the most.

Matthew Jenkins knew it was a risk to return to North Carolina, but he also knew the world was a small place and no matter where you are, you risk running into someone who might know you from before. This happened to him that summer at Riverview Retirement Center, but as most former teachers know, you never forget your students, especially your first class.

Almost sixty years earlier, the new teacher that fall in what was a small, two-room school in Sylva, NC was a twenty year old graduate of Appalachian Training School for Teachers in Boone, NC. Now called, Appalachian State University, ASU is known for graduating teachers. ASU has been turning teachers out for so long they have at least one teacher in every school system in the state, all 115 districts.

The new teacher was ready to save the children, starting with the children in one of the lowest socio-economic counties in the western part of the state. Like the founders of the Appalachian Training School for Teachers, Dr. Blanford E. Dougherty and his brother Dauphin D. Dougherty envisioned, the new teacher headed right to the impoverished school in the mountains where she was so desperately needed.

Though the young teacher graduated in the top of her class, she was from the wealthiest family in her small town and never wanted for anything, and so she was ill-prepared for her new adventure.

In the rural, two room schoolhouse, students came to school dirty and clothed in the same dress or overalls everyday. They knew the teacher was different. It took her weeks to get used to little girls who sniffed her as she leaned over them to correct their writing. Little boys were more open, "You sure do smell nice, teacher," they would say, or "You smell better than my mama's biscuits with apple butter."

The boys were quite enamored of the teacher whose hands were as smooth and delicate as a baby's butt. All their hands were rough from farm work. There was one young boy, later to be her favorite, who she broke from the habit of winking at her by telling him it was not appropriate even when, in his words, "That's what all the cowboys do when they see a pretty lady."

That first winter at the new school was the worst. Incidences of poverty prevailed. None more profound than when the students returned from Christmas break. The teacher spent the break with her family and returned with visions of sugarplums still planted in her head and the reality of her students temporarily suspended. Being somewhat naive about how the other half actually lived, the first assignment was for students to come to the front of the class and tell what Santa brought them for Christmas. One waving hand shot up.

Sallie Mae Mayes came to the front and proceeded to rattle off a list of benevolence that would shame Scrooge: "I got a dolly with a red dress, a new Sunday dress of my own with real lace round the collar and the waist, new black, patent leather shoes all the way from Charlotte, so many chocolates and peppermints, I still have some leftover though I eat one everyday, my own pressed powder with a pink powder puff, some paper dolls all the way from Paris, France, some books to read to my teddy bears, and a blue muff to go with my blue-dyed, real rabbit fur coat."

"Thank-you, Sallie Mae for volunteering to go first," said the teacher, "Now who wants to go next?"

All eyes in the room looked down. The teacher scanned the room and selected a quiet, angel of a girl in the front of the room, "Come on up sweetie, don't be shy, this is something we all need to work on, our public-speaking skills."

The little girl dressed notably in a pair of shoes with lost straps, came to the front and quickly rattled off a list of her own of what Santa brought her. "Santa brought me a doll with a green dress, a dress for Sunday church, a new coat and muff, some paper dolls from Paris, new shoes, and some candy. I still have some left over and I'm gonna eat them after school when I get home."

"Where's your new shoes?" asked Sallie Mae.

The little girl hung her head down and looked at her obviously hand me down, too-big shoes turned up on the ends like clown shoes and replied, "Well my mama wouldn't let me wear them today because a' the raining and they woulda got mud on 'em like yours do, Sallie Mae."

Sallie Mae shut up.

The next three "volunteers" were girls with some variation of Sallie Mae's bountiful list until the teacher changed the topic and suggested they finish the presentations later in the day, maybe after recess. No kid seemed to notice when Santa was not mentioned the rest of the day.

After all the students left for the day, the winking boy stopped long enough to lean over the young teacher's desk and say under his breath, "You know, Sallie Mae is the daughter of the town whore and her mama spoils her pretty good." He finished with, "I like you ma'am, but sometimes you sure are stupid."

You never forget that student and the teacher, Miss Beatrice Livengood, saw him almost 60 years later at Riverview Retirement Rehab Center where she was still receiving once weekly physical therapy. She was not certain about this point, but she thought he was with the little girl with strapless shoes all grown up but still as delicate and beautiful as ever. Miss Beatrice Livengood was pretty sure her former teacher's pet knew her too because Matthew Jenkins winked at her.

Author's Note: Inspired by a true story told to me by the friend who lived this story.