Back in the 1940s, two fifth graders we’ll call Pat and Mimi met in the cloakroom behind their Grant Elementary School classroom.
“That’s Henry-the-bully’s hat,” whispered Pat. “He wears it every day.”
Mimi reached for it. “Let’s hide the stupid thing,” she said. “He deserves a lesson!”
Suddenly, the girls spotted a large jar of glue. Two lightbulbs lit up in their heads. Pat grabbed the container. “Hold the hat open,” she instructed, and then poured in the contents and set the gooey mess back on the shelf.
Barely able to control their giggles, the girls quietly returned to their desks. The next day, not a word was said—but Henry wore a new hat.
Grant Elementary School 1938 second grade picture, featuring a very young Margot Schevill (top row, third from left) and Doris Fisher (second row from top, fifth from left), among others
Grant School, venue of that dastardly deed, was a kindergarten-to-eighth-grade public school, fronted on Pacific Avenue, with back steps leading down to the “Gold Coast” of Broadway. The building served the denizens of Pacific Heights for many years, until 1973, when it was bulldozed for seismic concerns. Ironically, the demolition crew found the structure extremely solid; it would have withstood a severe quake.
Twenty-four years later, in 1997, the San Francisco Unified School District realized it was not only losing income from the long-vacant lot, it was also paying “unused site” fees to the state. So the city decided to auction off this valuable plot. Developer Mitch Menaged paid $14 million for six lots, on what he called “the crown jewel of San Francisco real estate.” Magnificent homes now grace the property, but many Bay Area residents remember and miss the old school.
“Grant was an easy choice for those of us who grew up in Pacific Heights,” says author/collector/vintner John Traina, who gave the “farewell address” at his eighth grade graduation. “We felt sorry for those friends who couldn’t make it at Grant and had to go to those little private schools [that we now try to get our children into].”
Retired attorney Rick Bradley was one such friend. “I was screwing up,” he recalls. “I was doing so poorly at Grant that when we had a test I’d go to the bathroom and come back when the test was over. In the fourth grade, my mom took me out of there and sent me to the San Rafael Military Academy, where some of my schoolmates were Dick Blum, Gordon Getty, and Warren Hellman.”
John Traina fared better at Grant. “I remember Miss Ryder,” he says. “She taught my father, and had a crush on him, so I had an easy time in her class. It was nice, having a neighborhood school—like living in the suburbs. And it was coed. I really liked that.”
“My older brother warned me about Miss Roseman,” relates textile author/expert Margot Schevill, “and how mean she was. So when I got into her third grade room, I sang a song in front of the class, ‘An Apple for the Teacher,’ and I handed her an apple. Then I became her pet.”
Architect Adolph Rosekrans, who won an American Legion award at Grant, has more earthy memories. “We used to have water fights in the men’s room,” he confesses. “Miss Geise would come in and ring her loud bell at us. We’d hear her coming, and we’d jump up on the toilet seats in the stalls, so she couldn’t see our feet. When she left, we’d sneak out the back door.”
He won’t tell who it was, but Adolph also remembers locking a friend in the classroom closet. “The friend began pounding on the door, and the teacher said, ‘Oh, Miss Ryder in the next room must be hanging pictures.’ ” Eventually, the “friend” was rescued—but not by the culprit.
Adolph had to write a note to his parents telling them what he did, but has no memories of his mother (Alma Emma Spreckels) scolding him.
“I remember the cafeteria,” says psychologist Cynthia Soyster. “I hated the prune salad. But I can still sing our song, Grant School forever, cheer for the blue and white . . .”
Then there’s Dr. Jordan Wilbur, former Traffic Captain at Grant, now a world-renowned oncologist. He recalls, “We used to play dodgeball on the rooftop. The thing was to get the ball to go over the edge down to Broadway, in a way that the teacher didn’t know you did it on purpose. Then you could go after the ball, and you didn’t have to do Phys Ed for ten minutes.
“There was big rivalry between Grant, and Burke’s and Town schools,” he continues. “We all knew each other from dancing school and other activities. The word in those days was: ‘clowns go to Town, jerks go to Burke’s, and those who can’t—go to Grant.’ ”
Our historic grammar school’s no longer around to be competitive, but those of us who went there know that Grant will live forever—in our heads and hearts, and maybe even in a certain bully’s hat.
