EDUCATION

EAGLE CREEK'S ONE-ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE

Text by Bruce D. Itule Photographs by Don B. Stevenson “We're about to start,” teacher Jim Hazzard says, looking at his watch, realizing it already is 8:00 A.M. “We're 30 seconds late. Let's go.” He rings a six-inch brass bell, and the children of Eagle Creek Elementary School rush into their classroom. “Catherine, will you lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance?” “Let's talk about anything new,” the teacher tells his pupils after the pledge. “Anything new happen on the creek?” Hands jump. “Bobby.” “I heard a bird call last night. It was real loud.” “Keith.” “I saw six cats and five dogs.” Hazzard changes the subject. “Let's have a little humor. “Catherine.” “What's worse than a 300-pound witch?” No response. “Being a broom.” The pupils snicker as Hazzard calls on Jake. “Why did the boy ghost whistle at the girl ghost?” No answer. “Because she was so boooo-tiful.” And so starts another day for the eight boys and one girl at the school on Eagle Creek in eastern Arizona, one of the eight one-room public schools operating in Arizona. The people of Eagle Creek are cattle ranchers, for the most part, living on isolated, bushy land at 5,000 feet elevation, 45 miles from the nearest store, telephone, or power line. Since before the turn of the century, when they had children of school age, they often sent them to Eagle Creek School. The number of pupils at the school fluctuates as cowpunchers come and go. Locals say that at one time there were more than 60. There have been as few as five. For 31 years, from 1954 to 1985, the school was closed.

Hazzard, who has taught in Eagle Creek since the beginning of the 1989-90 school year, starts his workday at about 7:00 A.M. By then he is in the schoolhouse, vacuuming the floors and emptying garbage cans. While the swallows nesting just beneath the eaves chirp wildly, and one of the school's two Kohler generators hums in the background, Hazzard writes assignments on the blackboard. A propane heater provides warmth. There is indoor plumbing in the white stuccocovered adobe schoolhouse, but until several years ago, teacher and children had to use the outhouse 50 yards west of the school and across the half-mile-long runway maintained by one of the area ranchers. “You have to look both ways and up when you walk to the outhouse,” Hazzard says with a smile. “We still have to use it when our water lines freeze.” Hazzard finishes what he calls his “domestic chores” just in time to greet the children as their mothers bring them to school. There are no school buses or meal programs in Eagle Creek. Mothers load their children, along with snacks and lunches, in their pickups and bring them to school. Some of the youngsters live on ranches as far as 10 miles away and must cross the flowing creek three times to get to the school.By 8:15 A.M. the pupils are at their desks, working on daily assignments, but it doesn't take much to get them talking. “It's so borrrrrrring being the only girl,” Catherine Smith says, looking up from her textbook. “They tease me all the time.” Keith Cannon, whose father manages a nearby ranch, discusses his future. “I have to catch up on all my work so I can get an A,” he says, pushing his baseball cap up on his forehead. “I want to be a cowboy like my dad when I grow up. I also want to be the world's best baseball player. Also, I want to be a lawyer. So if I don't getmoney from baseball I can get my lawyer money and buy a ranch.”

Hazzard, who has a Ph.D. in educational psychology from the University of Arizona, works with each child. If the pupils are studying social studies, for example, he will call one, two, or three of them to his desk to read from their textbooks while the others work quietly at their desks. All of the pupils generally work on the same subject at the same time. Their textbooks, assignments, and tests are based on their grade levels. Pupils work at the grade level they have achieved, which means some are studying grade-higher material. “Everything is individualized, and I stress reading,” Hazzard says. Hazzard's eyes are never still. While he follows along in his instructor's manual as Jacob Cannon reads from a social studies book, his eyes dart to the other children. Occasionally he disciplines them, telling them to get back to their reading.

“Answer this question,” he tells Jacob Cannon, an incredible reader who slices through a reading assignment as if he were a television anchorman reading the news. “What are the countries that border Switzerland?” Jacob answers quickly: “France, Italy, Austria, and Germany?” Jacob also has no problem defining landlock, avalanche, neutral, and glacier.

To the right of Hazzard, Jake Cox is working on one of the school's three Apple computers. The children have been told that the one who solves a problem the quickest on the computer will win an icecream sundae. “I'm trying to pick up a load of hogs and take it to Norfolk, Virginia,” Jake says, peering from under his black felt cowboy hat. “I have 30 minutes to do it.” In the back of the classroom, Marlene Ruprecht, the full-time teacher's aide hired by Eagle Creek's three-member school board to help Hazzard, is working with pupil Michael Goodwin. Besides grading papers, Ruprecht teaches art and music. She also handles special-education duties.

By noon the children are fidgety, awaiting the half-hour lunch period that begins in just 15 minutes. Promptly at 12:15 P.M., pupils and teacher take their lunch boxes or sacks outside. They eat together at a picnic table.

During the break, Hazzard explains why he took the job at Eagle Creek after years as a counselor, teacher, and school administrator. "I considered this to be a challenge, to teach nine grades at the same time," he says as he eats a sandwich on a T-shirt-warm but windy day. "I also like to shoot and bow hunt. This year I got a deer and a javelina with a bow. I can step out the back door and target practice."

Hazzard is a typical one-room schoolhouse teacher. His rewards are not based on quantity. They come from serving a limited number of people who live far away from a town but still demand quality education. The other one-room schools in Arizona also serve remote rural areas. One is in Blue, which, like Eagle Creek, is in Greenlee County. There are two one-roomers in Pima County, San Fernando Elementary in Sasabe, close to the Mexican border, and Zimmerman Accommodation near the top of Mount Lemmon north of Tucson. There's Apache Elementary in Cochise County, Hackberry Elementary and Yucca Elementary in Mohave County, and Crown King Elementary in Yavapai County.

None, though, is as isolated as Eagle Creek where comfort is measured by a good well, a

ONE-ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE

full propane tank, and a working generator. "It's an hour and a half to Morenci when the roads are passable," Hazzard says as his pupils finish their lunches and rush toward the playground next to the school. "That's the reason the school is here. This area is so isolated. We keep a two-day food supply and an extra set of clothes for the kids in a storage room in case of bad weather. The creek next to the school can rise pretty fast, or there can be quite a bit of snow."

Because travel time is lengthy, school is held only Monday through Thursday. The day is lengthened to get in the required hours. All of theclasses begin promptly at 8:00 A.M. The lower grades are dismissed at 2:15 P.M., the middle grades at 3:15 P.M., and the upper grades at 4:15 Р.М. After lunch, the children head back to their books. Depending on the day, they are taught art, music, and drug education or library skills in the afternoon. The children in the upper grades study literature.

Afternoon also is a good time for the children to work on the Eagle Creek Review, the weekly newspaper that Hazzard helped them start during his first year at the school. The paper, which is reproduced on a copy machine, allows thepupils to write unedited prose, tell jokes, and draw pictures. The children write in longhand, cut out their material, and paste it onto a blank sheet of paper divid-ed into two columns. People living along the creek who get the publication each week find out

such tidbits as:

SPECIAL REPORT

by Brad

Today Jacob Cannon saw an Aircraft carrier floating down Eagle Creek. But there was skeletons on it. I don't know if it is true though. I am going to ask my dad if I can ride Buck this weekend. I want to prac-

tice roping dead limbs. The reason I want to

practice, is because when we was branding last weakend I axedentily roped a cow instead of a calf.

NEWS

by Keith

There is going to be a fair this week in Safford AZ. There are going to be lots of rides, games, exibits, and contest.

I might get in the greased pig contest. And I might go on some rides but I am not sure I will.

We are going down to Morenci to get our pictures taken.

Even though the cattle business fuels Eagle Creek, not all of the children are from ranching families. Jake Cox is the son of Western artist Tim Cox. Jake's mother, Suzie, is president of the school board. Three of the other children are in Eagle Creek because their fathers maintain the pumping stations that Phelps Dodge Corp. has in the area. At 1:30 P.M. everyone breaks for a halfhour recess. Pupils and teacher head for the wildflower-dotted softball diamond on the edge of the creek. The four-seat swingset next to it doubles as bleachers. The children split into two teams. Hazzard is the umpire and occasionally has to shag balls that are thrown past the 15-foot-long chain-link fence that tries to be a backstop.

"Can I spin it sideways?" asks pitcher Larry Smith.

"Anyway you can, just so you get it across the plate," Hazzard responds. He looks at his spectators. "We have a rule. If they hit it down the creek, they lose their turn. It's not an out, but they lose their turn. There's also a liability there. A child chasing a foul ball down the creek could get bitten by a snake."

The children never quit yelling.

"Catch it! Catch it!"

"He got it! Three away!"

"I pitch! I pitch! I called it last inning."

"You hit last!"

"No I didn't. I wasn't the last out."

"Run, run, Keith!"

"Stay, Keith, stay!"

Through it all, Hazzard gets in a little coaching.

"Get your bat ready. Open your stance a little. Watch the ball. Good, now run. Fair ball. Jacob, let's get out of the tree and around the bases."

After the afternoon recess, Hazzard dismisses the youngest pupils. Immediately, Catherine Smith takes off her shoes and socks in the coatroom and walks back into the classroom. "I always take my shoes off after school," she exclaims, wiggling her toes.

Meanwhile, Hazzard calls three boys to his desk to prepare for a social studies test.

"Tell us about the Industrial Revolution," he says to Bobby Goodwin, who begins reading. Hazzard stops him occasionally to correct mispronounced words. Then he turns to another pupil.

"Read to us, Jake, about some of the important inventions at this time."

He interrupts his pupil to ask, "What is a vacuum tube for in a television?"

"It's what we clean our TVs with," Jake responds.

The other children laugh.

Hazzard smiles. He explains what a vacuum tube is and tells the children that it has been replaced by transistors and computer chips.

Shortly after 4:00 P.M., mothers begin arriving to pick up their children. "This teacher is fantastic," says Robin Cannon, whose two sons attend Eagle school. "He has to be super-organized because he has so many grades. The children do better here because he gives them a lot of one-on-one, and the younger children pick up things from the older ones. This is a good set-up for children. Clothes are not a status symbol here. All ages play together. My husband went to a one-room schoolhouse, and he wanted that for his children. He's a cowboy who has lived on ranches all of his life."

Even after the children have left for the day, Hazzard still has hours of work to do. Like any public schoolteacher in Arizona, he must fill out state education reports and keep precise records. His school receives state funding based on the same formulas as big-city schools, and must follow the

ONE-ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE

same educational guidelines. It would be a mistake to think the three Rs here mean ridin', ropin', and rattlesnake skinnin'.

By 8:00 P.M., Hazzard, a bachelor, can relax in the double-wide trailer turned teacherage, which is steps from the school-house and comes with the job. "My position is enjoyable," he says, sipping a cup of coffee and trying to get decent reception on his generator-driven television set. "But it does get lonely. Still, there are advantages. There is no traffic or crime here. No vandalism. No thievery. No graffiti. It's beautiful here. You just need to be somewhat of a mechanic and willing to put in a lot of hours. And you really have to love teaching."

So ends another day at Eagle Creek. By the time Hazzard retires for the night, he'll have less time to sleep than he spends in the classroom each day. He'll be up before dawn, set for his daily keep-in-shape jog along the banks of the creek. He's uncertain if there will be enough children to keep the school open in the coming years. One thing is certain, however: as long as Hazzard is at Eagle Creek Elementary, the schoolhouse will be clean and ready to begin another day promptly at 8:00 A.M.