ALONG THE WAY

The Miracle of Recess: Eagles, Monsters and the Cavalry to the Rescue

WHEN I WAS IN THE THIRD and fourth grades in Pearce, on the eastern flanks of the Dragoon Mountains of southeastern Arizona, school was the most boring thing I had ever experienced. In fact, all the years since haven't produced anything as dull as those two long, miserable years. I guess I did about as well as the rest of the inmates of Pearce Grammar School, but it wasn't any fun.Not even recess. Oh, once in a while something good would happen-like the day an eagle with an injured wing made a forced landing just west of the schoolhouse. The old bird reared back and flapped his good wing and hissed at us, but he couldn't do much more than that. We were ringed around him seeing who dared get the closest when our ever-vigilant teacher rushed out and herded us back inside lest someone should be injured by the angry bird.

Then one noon hour, Henry Gibbons rode up on his big, black horse. Henry was an old cowpuncher, one of a vanishing breed who lived at the eastern edge of Kansas Settlement. What made this visit memorable was the live Gila monster lashed to the back of his saddle.

Henry gingerly removed the big lizard from the saddle and exhibited him to a most appreciative audience. He had a cord around the angry reptile's neck, so we all felt safe inspecting the creature at close range. Even the teacher took an interest in Henry and his rare exhibit. Henry warned us to be careful-explaining that Gila monsters were poisonous and that they could bite.

Long after Henry had departed, we continued to discuss the Gila monster. One lad claimed that if one got hold of you, you would have to cut off his head and pry apart the lifeless jaws to get loose. Another older boy insisted that just the foul breath of a Gila monster would rot the flesh off your bones. Nobody really believed this, but we still wondered.

But the best day was the time the U.S. Cavalry came to Pearce. It was during afternoon recess that we saw them approaching from the west. They came at a trot in columns of two, their guidons snapping in the spring breeze and their burnished brass and polished leather shining in the afternoon sun. The horses were well fed and well groomed, and the uniformed troopers in their cavalry hats looked really sharp, at least to a country boy.They came from Fort Huachuca on spring maneuvers. At that time, the fort depended on creek and spring water, and during the dry season the troops roamed the country on maneuvers until the rains came and livened up the creeks again.The troops halted and grouped just south of the school, and our teacher committed one of the few kind acts of her long career. She didn't call us in from recess, but let us stay out and watch the troops pitch camp. They unloaded the supply wagons and put up several large tents. Some watered the horses, while others put up picket lines and pitched their pup tents in neat rows.

Everything seemed to go so orderly and so quickly, and it was all so exciting. Then the bus driver was honking his horn and shouting that it was time for us to go home. On the slow bus ride home, I felt my future was assured. I would be a horse cavalryman. I could think of no higher calling.

The next morning the cavalry was gone. We inspected the campsite, but there was nothing there. The troopers had policed the area well and left only horse manure. Well, life is like that. The great day comes and is quickly gone and there is nothing left but memories-and, sometimes, horse manure.