Skipping School to a Grain Elevator

I often passed by a lone, tall, concrete structure off Highway 60 going into Morehouse.  One day, I asked my Dad how it got to be there, and what was it used for at one time.  He said the structure at was used to store and ship grain.  He called it a grain elevator.  I didn't understand why they named it an "elevator," but it satisfied my curiosity for the moment.

Several years later when I was a freshman at Sikeston High School, five or six kids wanted to go out to the old abandoned grain elevator a couple of mile out of town towards Morehouse.  I said that I knew just where that was, then realized they didn't care what the Freshman girl had to say.  They discussed a plan of action at lunch time, and they invited me to join them.  I said, "No, my parent would kill me if I skipped school."  Tom, my boyfriend at the time, was one in the group and he finally talked me into it.  I was so scared I was shaking.  The others laughed at me and could not believe I had never skipped school before.  Well, excuse me, but I did what my parents told me to do.  It seemed odd to me that the other kids were all so casual about doing something which they knew their parents would disapprove if they found out. 

Reluctantly, I met the group a few minutes after the sixth period and got into the car for what was expected to be an adventure.  I had seen that old abandoned elevator many times but had never seen it up close.  I remember when we got there, we parked the car on the back side so it would not be seen from the main highway going to Morehouse.  I cannot remember who the other students were on the trip; after all, it was some 50 years ago, but I do remember it was warm.  None of us wore coats, and it was a sunny day.

We just looked around at the structure first.  It was eight to ten stories tall.  After talking a few minutes, one of the boys wanted to climb one of the "shoots."  Now that was interesting!  I was wearing a large round skirt with a highly starched crinoline slip or petticoat underneath.  All the girls of the 1950s wore those multi-layered petticoats.  They made your skirts stand out a good 6 to 12 inches or more.  I talked Tom into waiting and letting us go up last.  One of the other girls that went ahead of us also had on her crinoline petticoat, and it was causing the guy on the ladder under her big-time problems.  It stuck him in the eye, scratched his face and was not much fun for him.  Just as I started up the tall ladder, the guy behind the other girl wearing a petticoat decided to climb back down.  After a few minutes, down at the floor level of the grain elevator, the boys decided to climb it alone.  In a short while, the boys yelled for us to look at them when they got to the top.  Then, as silly teenage girls, we made a big deal over their great accomplishment.  After they had climbed back down, it was time for school to be out, so we drove out to the Bulldog Inn and had cokes.  My parents never found out that I skipped school, but I did not want such a feeling of guilt again.  It was not worth an hour off of school.

In the early 1970s, I drove out to the grain elevator and took the above picture.  I was pleased that I still have the picture.  Even if the picture is not clear, the memory is crystal clear.  That was the first and last time I ever skipped school.  It was not, however, the last time I ever did something dumb.   You will hear more about some of those times in the future.