Readin', Writin' and Money

Readin’, Writin’ and Money

I think we all understand the education of our children is a key element in the survival of a viable democratic Republic, i.e., a population that is ignorant about our history, philosophy of Government, responsibility of freedom, unable to effectively read or write, etc., will be unable to function successfully as a free and responsible citizen. For some time now, we, as a people, have been encouraged to throw more and more money at the education establishment in the hope of stopping the continuing downward spiral of education achievement. Good luck with that. Without knowing one wit about the educational system, anecdotal evidence abounds that educational achievement is inversely proportional to the money allocated to it. My personal anecdotal evidence supports this notion as well. For example, I went to a two-room school in Jordan Indiana, in my younger years, that had a pot-bellied stove for heat, an outhouse, a hand pump for water, lawyer-free discipline and not a piece of recreational equipment in sight and yet learned to read, write and do arithmetic. I also was taught our country’s history and how our government governs, and most importantly, how to be civil. I began to think about how badly our public education system has become when I was reading a small book about New England lighthouses by Bruce Roberts and Ray Jones. The authors were recounting a tale about the Matinicus Rock lighthouse, located some 25 miles out to sea off the coast of Maine, and included a letter by a lighthouse resident who was a girl of seventeen years (Abbie Burgess) and had written to her pen pal about the place, to wit:
“You have often expressed a desire to view the sea out on the ocean when it was angry. Had you been here on 19 January (1856), I surmise you would have been satisfied. Father was away. Early in the day, as the tide rose, the sea made a complete breach over the rock, washing every movable thing away, and of the old dwelling not one stone was left upon another. The new dwelling was flooded, and the windows had to be secured to prevent the violence of the spray from breaking them in. As the tide came, the sea rose higher and higher, till the only endurable places were the light towers. If they stood, we were saved, otherwise our fate was only too certain. But for some reason, I know not why, I had no misgivings, and went on with my work as usual. For four weeks, owing to rough weather, no landing could be affected on the rock. During this time we were without assistance of any male member of our family. Though at times greatly exhausted with my labors, not once did the lights fail. I was able to perform all of my accustomed duties as well as my father’s.
You know the hens are our only companions. Becoming convinced, as the gale increased, that unless they were brought into the house they would be lost. I said to my mother, “I must try to save them.” She advised me not to attempt it. The thought, however, of parting with them without an effort was not to be endured, so seizing a basket, I ran out a few yards after the rollers had passed and the sea fell off a little, with the water knee deep, to the coop, and rescued all but one. It was the work of a moment, and I was back in the house with the door fastened, but I was none too quick, for at that instant my little sister, standing at the window, exclaimed, “Oh look! Look there! The worst sea is coming.” That wave destroyed the old dwelling and swept the rock. I cannot think you would enjoy remaining here any great length of time for the sea is never still and when agitated, its roar shuts out every other sound, even drowning our voices.”
This girl of seventeen years, who could only go to school on the mainland whenever the sea permitted a boat to make the trip to the little school, and yet she, Abbie Burgess, wrote this beautiful letter. I have hired graduate Engineers who could not string two coherent sentences together and yet this isolated girl of 1856, without computers or modern technology, was educated to the extent that she could communicate with her fellow man by the written word that should be the envy of us all. How is this possible? I have never heard a convincing argument of how this can be other than a lot of very thoughtful people have placed the starting point for our public educational system decent at the same point in time when the “Progressive Movement” started in the 1890s. Could this be? I really don’t know either, but I do know that continuing to throw money at the educational system does not work and only demonstrates our collective lack of understanding on how to educate our children nowadays. This is particularly frustrating because, as Abbie Burgess’s letter demonstrates so skillfully, we used to know how to do it.