Someone once asked me about school. I told them that I hated school. I love to learn, I just hated school. I loved math and history, tolerated science, hated English and spelling. Then they asked me about my grades. I said that I hated school so much that I made straight A’s, was a Beta Club member, and president of the Beta Club my senior year of high school.
When students told me they hated school I inquired of their grades. Usually, their grades were bad and most had failed or taken summer school. I would say, “You must really love school to fail and take the class again.” I said if they really hated school they would make A’s. They would quiz, “Why?” I replied, “You graduate quicker.”
I often spoke at high school Baccalaureates, college students, civic organizations, and preached since 1983. When introduced as Dr. Hopper, I got rounds of laughter and sometimes ovations. I would tell them that the D R stands for Documented Redneck.
I would tell students that I started school in 1959 at Beloit Kindergarten in Beloit, Illinois and graduated Beeson Divinity School at Sanford University in Birmingham, Alabama in December 2002.
Hopper tradition proves we deplore school. Mom went to the seventh grade and quit to hoe and pick cotton. Dad went to the eighth grade and quit to cut and load, by hand, pulpwood. My younger brother, Glenn, and I we were school runaways. My sister Diane and other brother David were not as bold and daring as Glenn and I were.
When I started kindergarten in Beloit, it was mandatory, and I loved it. My teacher was a beautiful young blonde and reminded me of Beaver Cleaver’s teacher on the television show “Leave it to Beaver.”
I got to finger paint, go to the creek, and catch tadpoles. The best part was it was only a half day. There was no homework, tests, or any pressure. It was wonderful until I started the first grade a Beloit Elementary.
In first grade I had the oldest and meanest teacher. She had to be at least a hundred years old and was a robust Yankee tyrant. This first grader from central Alabama did not speak as did the other students. I was a shy introvert, and she was a fun making bully. She shamed my Southern drawl, criticized my reading, and analyzed by inability to skip with both feet.
After school started, I saw my teacher at a sporting
event. When I saw her in that old
gangster car, an old Buick with bullet hole fenders, I was terrified. Momma worried and warned us about the evil
ninety miles to the east in Chicago. The
St. Valentine Day Massacre happened many years before, but momma still fretted. I thought that that
Gangster Yankee teacher was going to kill this little Johnny Reb.
We lived three or four blocks from the Elementary school. I would walk to school and eventually I got fed up the “Attila the Hun” and sometimes I would enter the breezeway of the schoolhouse and return home crying.
When the snow came, I would walk to school in the snow. On extreme snow days day would drive me to school. He would put me out and I could beat him back to the house hiding under the kitchen table for long periods of time.
In March of 1960, we moved back to Alabama the Beautiful. My cousin Floyd took me to school in Jemison. My teacher was a Ms. Shirley, and she looked a lot like the one in Illinois. I was terrified. She made fun of me because after three years up North, I picked up the Yankee brogue.
To complicate matters, I asked to be excused to go the restroom. Welcome to the South and outside toilets. I had an outside toilet at home, so it was no big deal although the inside ones in Illinois were nice. Returning to the classroom, Attila the Hun’s sister asked me a quest on the subject I missed will in the toilet. I could not answer her, and she made me sit on a stool in the clothes’ closet with a dunce hat.
The school is six miles from home so I couldn’t walk home. But the school bus circled with a quarter mile of the house so I would get off the bus and walk home. We had only one vehicle, so I got to stay home claiming various ailments.
After being threatened within the inch of my life by momma I
did not pull the ailment scam. I did get
off the bus where I normally escaped but it was on the way home. I felt sick but I had cried wolf so many
times did not believe me.
Turns out I had the mumps. Momma sure
did feel bad.
I honestly do not know had I got in the second grade, but I did. I had Mrs. Nellie Glasscock for second grade, and she was like a sweet grandmother. In the third grade we did not a permanent teacher until Christmas break. God blessed us with a beautiful blonde angel named Mrs. Avis Harden. I went to making excellent grades. She was inspiration for the rest of my schooling.
My brother Glenn was a first grader when I was in the ninth grade. Most of the teachers we had had taught mom. They were old. Glenn would run away from school. He made across the railroad tracks or a mile or so from school like an escape convict appended and returned to prison.
My fondest memory is ninth grade civics class. Danny Pike, a friend sat behind me. Mrs. Miller was cousin to the Huns and was very strict. Danny had a special touch to get my attention fearing the wrath of Mrs. Miller. He whispered, “Your brother is at the door.” There was my little brother with saddest face and expression that said, “I want to go home.” I was his last hope. Glenn will be sixty-five this October.
Glenn was head and shoulders taller that his first-grade cell mates. When his ancient teacher threatened to give him a baby bottle he was not as quick to make an escape. We finally told momma years later about her baby runaway. I think she was more sympatric than angry.
Jesus’ parents were relieved when they found him in school. He ran to school where the Hoppers were runaways.
Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover. When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom. After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it. Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.” Luke 2:41-48 KJV