Diane Fortuna - In Memoriam: Rena C. Hayden 汉译

From 1908 to 1948, a remarkable woman, Rena C. Hayden, ran the John Lewis Childs’ Elementary School, K-8, with impeccable taste and, albeit, an iron hand. As principal, she hired and fired the staff for its classrooms as well as for its kitchen; personally policed the schoolyards at recess, making miscreants walk single file behind her; disciplined, and on occasion, expelled unruly students; and came knocking loudly on parents’ doors in her capacity as sometime truant officer. She stood no more than 5’1”; was stocky, with an enormous chest and delicate, small limbs. No animal rights activist, she wore hats with birds on them, tailored suits with a stole of little foxes draped over her shoulders and sensible leather shoes. Her voice, when she had to raise it, sounded to her pupils like the wrath of God Himself, and her bulging blue eyes commanded attention. Awestruck teachers referred to her as R. C. H.; awestruck children whispered her name. Both teachers and pupils withered under her terrible gaze.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

For forty years, Mrs. Hayden personally oversaw the education of nearly every kid in town. They learned English grammar by diagramming sentences, writing by practicing the Palmer method; they learned to read by sounding out their letters, arithmetic by working with flash cards at school and at home. Those that would not or could not master these skills were remanded to summer school, and if that did not help, they were unceremoniously left back. She commanded so much respect that few parents ever disagreed with her judgments. Strong in character and social in purpose, she led the Pledge of Allegiance. and the 23rd Psalm at assemblies, headed the John Lewis Childs ‘contingent to the Mummer’s Parade at Thanksgiving and marched in the very first ranks of every Memorial Day celebration. During the early years, many of her charges left school upon completing eighth grade; she had only nine brief years to teach them to think clearly and independently, to polish the many diamonds in the rough she believed them to be, to inspire them with the highest ideals of American culture.

That was her public persona; in private, she acted otherwise, with kindness and discretion. I know one anecdote about her spontaneous generosity; there must have been others. In 1927, Robert C. — one of six children — lost his mother. He was nine years old. His older brother and sisters quit school. So Bobby quit too. An enterprising youngster, he began hanging around the coal yards, going out on the deliveries, running errands, now and then getting tips. He was doing pretty well, when one fine morning, Mrs. Hayden came looking for him. In her severest voice, she asked, “Robert C., why are you not in school?” “I’ve quit school”, he replied bravely. “You can’t quit school at age nine,” she thundered. Thinking quickly for some kind of excuse, he stammered, “I haven’t got any clothes to wear to school.” Mrs. Hayden looked down at him — his shirt was worn, his pants ripped. Without hesitation, she opened her pocketbook and gave the boy a twenty-dollar bill. “Now you have money for clothes for school. I expect you to be there”. Bobby’s father, who was working from early in the morning to dusk, hadn’t realized that his son was truant or why. Ever grateful to Mrs. Hayden for her intercession, Mr. C. paid back the twenty dollars. Thereafter when she saw the boy in the halls of John Lewis Childs, she would greet him, but never did she make mention of his new clothes. Robert C. finished eighth grade. Now a man in his eighties, Robert C. told me that story himself. He reveres the memory of Rena C. Hayden.

Mayors and fire chiefs came and went; she remained, through World War I, through the roaring Twenties, through the Great Depression, through World War II. In April, 1945, when F. D. R. died, she turned out the entire school on the lawn in front of the original bell-topped school building. Solemnly, she lowered the flag to half-mast. Her eyes filled with tears; many of the teachers openly wept. Some of her pupils realized, perhaps for the first time, that like the fallen President, Mrs. Hayden had provided them with an example of commitment, strength and self-reliance. For an even longer time than he, through dark and difficult years, she had led the way. It was her forest hour. In 1948, she retired to the house on Jericho Turn-pike by the Long Island Railroad trestle; for a few more years she continued to march in the holiday parades. And then she passed indelibly into our recollections even as she receded into the town’s history.

She was as much a founder of the town of Floral Park as John Lewis Childs, who had owned all the land originally.