School Days at Waretown’s Little Red Schoolhouse

By Adele Sattler Shaw, President and Historian of Waretown Historical Society

Waretown’s Little Red Schoolhouse Museum is a replica of the school that served our community for 83 years, from 1875
until 1958, when Waretown Elementary School opened on Railroad Avenue. The original Little Red Schoolhouse was
built on land donated by the Birdsall family, who produced generations of important local sea captains. The schoolhouse
stood where Waretown First Aid Station is today, at the corner of Bryant Road and Route 9.

Ida and Mary Go to School

The oldest student photograph belonging to Waretown Historical Society was taken in 1901 (above). My grandmother,
Ida May Wilkins Letts, was among the group (front row, seated, first on right). So was Mary Bareford Hussong, a
wonderful source of memories of old Waretown (front row, seated, third from right). Their recollections of school in
those days are echoes of a world apart, whispers of another age.
When Ida and Mary attended, Waretown’s schoolhouse (left)
did not look like our replica of today. It was one large room,
made of unpainted cedar clapboard siding, weathered gray. A
huge bell tower rose up from the cloakroom at the front
entrance, which faced Chapel Street. The bell announced the
start of the school day, and the end of recess. A big pot-
bellied stove sat in the middle. Wooden benches were placed
on each side of the stove, with girls on one side, and boys on
the other. Children from first through eighth grade learned
together, sitting in groups by grade level. Out back, there
were two outhouses, side by side—one for the girls, and the
other for the boys.
Ida said that the children’s families took turns every week
bringing wood for the stove. If your family brought the wood that week, you got to sit closest to the stove! Also, if the
wind was blowing just right, smoke vented back into the classroom. School was dismissed early when that happened.
School never closed for winter weather. On snowy days, Ida and her older sister Laura (second row, standing, first on
right) still attended. Their father walked ahead of them, breaking a path in the snow. They followed in his footsteps, all
the way to the schoolhouse.
Mary recalled that the teacher picked two students every morning to get a bucket of drinking water from Abraham
Waier’s old mill pond. It was an honor to be chosen for that job, but Mary admitted, “We didn’t always come right
back!” The full bucket was placed on a shelf. Everybody drank out of it all day long, using the same dipper.
The kids loved the nearby mill pond, and would play there before school and during recess. One teacher rang the bell
early enough to give them time to get back from skating or wading, so they wouldn’t get in trouble for being late. Mary
tried to take a shortcut across the mill stream one day, wearing her best dress. She noticed the log for crossing was green,
but didn’t think anything of it—until her feet slipped out from under her, and she got a dunking!
Besides the mill pond, the school kids loved spending recess at
the shop of Thomas Gray, Waretown’s village blacksmith. His
little shop was right next door to the school, and the kids
congregated there on rainy days. He had a wonderful way with
people, and children especially loved him.
The blacksmith told the kids stories of tall ships sailing the
world from Waretown’s harbor. He also entertained them with
silly spelling games. Mary remembered how he asked if she
was a good speller. When she said yes, he asked her to spell
“Blind Pig.” When she did, he replied, “Oh, no, Mary—it’s
blnd pg: take out the eyes and the pig can’t see!”
Mr. Gray also taught the kids how to play a strange wailing tune
by blowing thought the nail holes on a horseshoe. He made rings from horseshoe nails for the girls. He kept a huge
garden, and would send produce home with a child if he knew the family was having a hard time.
One early teacher, Stokes Collins, came in on horseback from Barnegat every day. Lona Giberson Penn was another
teacher. Every now and then, she’d forget her false teeth, and had to leave school to go home and get them.
When school let out for the day, many girls loved staying after, helping the teacher clean the board and prepare the room
for the next morning. That task was an honor. In the same way, boys vied for the privilege of ringing the school bell.
Sometimes, a bell ringer pulled too hard on the rope, and the bell would “catch on the upswing.” When that happened,
somebody had to scramble up into the tower and release it.
The railroad arrived in Waretown in 1873. The depot was
built right across the street from Waretown’s Schoolhouse.
The train brought the mail, and paying guests for Waretown’s
hunting and fishing lodges. These guests were interesting,
wealthy people from far away. The Bayview hotel, on today’s
Bryant Road, [where the pavilion is now located] sent a
special car to the depot to pick them up. All the children’s
heads would turn to the window when trains squealed in.
What lesson plan could compete with that?

Early Graduates of Waretown School

Back in those days, it was not unusual for boys to leave school
at age 12 or 13 and go to sea. For example, in 1873, Tom
Stackhouse went to sea at twelve to work the coasting trade, shipping lumber with Waretown’s Sea Captain William
Burden on the schooner Eva Holmes. Tom survived the shipwreck when the Eva Holmes sank near Hatteras in 1881,
during a huge storm. The crew was picked up by a passing ship and dropped off in New York. Tradition says they
walked all the way home to Waretown.
Mary’s uncle, William Bareford Jr, wasn’t so lucky. In 1879, he was an eighth-grade student at the Little Red
Schoolhouse, but wanted to become a sailor. He asked another Waretown Sea Captain, William Chambers, to bring him
along on his next voyage.
Mary’s grandparents worried about the dangers of the coasting trade. They asked William to plow their entire cornfield
before the ship left, hoping he would never finish in time. But William was so determined to be a sailor that he actually
did it, all by himself. His parents felt obligated to keep their promise. Reluctantly, they let him go.
Sadly, Chambers’ ship, the Hershel, disappeared in a hurricane that August. Neither William nor Captain Chambers were
ever heard from again. William’s mother never stopped hoping her boy would return. Every night, for the rest of her life,
she kept a candle burning in the front window. The little flame was a light to guide him home.
The Birdsall Brothers, Jacob, Amos, and Samuel, also left Waretown school and went to sea. Following in the footsteps
of generations of Birdsalls in Waretown, they built a family fortune on the coasting trade. Amos went on to become the
second president of the First National Bank of Toms River. Samuel became a prominent legislator and judge. Jacob’s
fleet of vessels was chartered by the Federal Government during the Civil War.
In Ida and Mary’s day, Waretown students who wanted to continue their education after eighth grade boarded the 6am
train for high school in Lakewood. By 1911, however, a high school had been built in Barnegat, and five Waretown
students enrolled. Our graduating students went to Barnegat until Southern Regional High School opened in Manahawkin
in 1957.

Painting the Schoolhouse Red

In 1890, and then again in 1912, Waretown School went
through a series of upgrades. The large belfry/cloakroom
was removed. The bell tower was made smaller, and placed
on the roof at the south end of the building.
The front door was moved away from Chapel Street, to face
the east side of the building. A larger cloakroom was built
around the new entrance, complete with a hand pump for
indoor drinking water.
Moving the entryway allowed the school to be easily divided
into two separate classrooms: grades one through four in one
room, and grades five through eight in the other.
Desks were purchased—single desks for the boys, and
doubles for the girls. Coal fired “Smith Heaters” were put in
each room, and bigger windows that met state regulations. This was when the school got its familiar coat of red paint, and
began looking like today’s replica. Its first paint job cost just $50. By 1923, Brookville’s school closed, and their
children joined us as well.

Little Red Schoolhouse Memories

Gladys Jones Britton was a student in the 1920s. She recalled special events, like spelling bees every Friday, and helping
to carry the long train on the dress of the lucky girl elected Queen of May. In Gladys’ day, “Each row of desks was a
class, and the double desks in the last row, next to the windows, were for older students. We never had a boy and girl sit
together.”
Gladys said that Rudolph Camburn drove in the students from Brookville, and Mrs. Herbert drove the older Waretown
students to Barnegat school. “She had a little bus which she painted the school colors, red and black.” Gladys also
recalled, “We had a Bible reading every morning to start the day. We saluted the flag, and said the pledge of allegiance.”
Henry Gerken was also a graduate of the Little Red Schoolhouse. He grew up to become a builder, and teach construction
classes at Ocean Township’s Vocational School. In fact, the replica building we have today was designed from Henry’s
memories and old photographs.
Henry spoke fondly of his boyhood in 1930s Waretown. He told us that during the Great Depression, older boys often
took their shotguns to school, so they could go hunting on the way home. Their help was needed to supplement the family
table. Henry also shared the story of a remarkable day at school: “Russell Horner lived across the street from the
schoolhouse [where Wa Wa used to be]. Russell collected pine cones to sell to florists. That was a big business back
then, especially around the holidays.”
Collectors got the prettiest cones by gathering them while they were still closed. Then, they would take them home and
heat them in a wood stove until the cones got hot enough to pop open. The cones had to be watched carefully, however,
because they popped with a pretty big bang, scattering hot seeds and burning embers all over the place.
Unfortunately for Russell, when one load of cones popped, flying hot embers set his house on fire. Henry said that he and
his classmates were sitting at their desks doing seatwork when they noticed the smoke, and soon, the whole house across
the street was ablaze. The excitement was so intense that the kids pushed up the big school windows and jumped out of
the classroom to watch the action.
Perhaps something else was kindled that day—Henry grew up to serve many years on the fire company.
Many other longtime Waretown residents have shared schoolhouse memories. Everybody remembered George Eayres,
the janitor, putting coal in classroom stoves on chilly mornings.
Everybody also remembered the outhouses. Lois Cotrell Ewing told me that, back in the forties, they used to play a
beanbag game with teams on each side of the outhouses. The object of the game was to toss the beanbag over the
outhouse to your teammate on the other side. Indoor plumbing did not come to the schoolhouse until around 1950.
Lois fondly recalled the Dick and Jane Reader, and that “science” was frog eggs in a quart jar, which the kids brought in
every spring, so they could watch the eggs hatch and the tadpoles grow legs. The teacher never asked for the jars—the
kids brought them anyway.
Mrs. Mae Miller was the teacher from 1927 until 1960, and her little dog came to school with her every morning.
“Spotty” had his basket in a place of honor under the coal stove. If you visit the museum today, you will see that we keep
a little stuffed dog in a basket at the same spot—waiting for a friendly pat from visiting children.
The school nurse came regularly to check hair, ears, and teeth. One by one, each child had to go to the cloak room and get
checked. But back then, everybody knew that babies came in the doctor’s satchel. When the nurse came in with her big
black bag, some of the younger students always whispered, “Is she bringing a baby?”
The museum is happy to have the same satchel on display. Come visit, and check for yourself.
The cloakroom was also the place where students were banished if they arrived late or misbehaved. Oscar Ridgeway
recalled a time when the teacher locked him in the cloakroom, so he ate everybody’s lunch. Another time, he “jumped out
the window and went home.”
Diane Stackhouse Malloy recalled that the school bell rang every morning at 8:45, and the late bell at 9am. She recalled
sitting in Mrs. Miller’s lap while she taught. Diane said, “Our library was a bookshelf.”
Lois had many pleasant memories of recess. Paul Bonnell’s family lived next door to the school. They had a big black
lab named “Poopsy,” who was sweet and friendly, and stopped by every day to play. Poopsy was so big the kids could
ride on his back.
Another recess tradition was Mrs. Burran’s Bayway Store, where the CVS is today. At lunchtime, you could either go
home to eat or stay in school and have recess. Lois recalled, “That was the time to go across the street and get your five
cents worth of penny candy, and eat it quick, before school started in the afternoon!”
Fay Bonnell Sprague remembered that school started at 9am, and ended at 3:30pm, with one hour for lunch. At recess,
the children played volleyball, tag, jump rope, hopscotch, and marbles. There was no constant adult supervision like
today. Fay recalled drinking water from the pump in the cloak room. Sanitation still hadn’t improved much, as
everybody drank from the same glass!
Emma Corliss Caufield remembered a large, shady oak tree on the school grounds, and that the kids loved playing beneath
it. The old oak was always “base” when they played tag.
Roger Williams remembered bringing a sled to school on snowy days, for coasting down a slight hill on Chapel Street at
recess. “One kid went too far and flew right over Route 9!” Thankfully, he was unhurt. Traffic then was far less
congested. Once, Roger brought a praying mantis egg case to show his class, and left it by a window. Two weeks later,
there were hundreds of mantis babies running all over the room. Mrs. Miller was not happy.
Evie Letts Brown recalled attending the Little Red Schoolhouse during World War II: Back then, soldiers were stationed
at the Bayview Hotel. That sounds strange today, because most people don’t realize how close World War II actually was
to the Jersey Shore.
From 1939 to 1943, German subs were on the prowl less than twenty miles out to sea. Their mission was to sink
American merchant ships, stopping us from re-supplying Great Britain. Local fishermen saw periscopes all the time. The
coast guard patrolled the beaches of Long Beach Island on horseback, and had a vessel guarding the inlet.
Evie remembers sitting at her desk in the schoolhouse, watching the soldiers perform drills across the street. She recalled
seeing the jeeps and army convoys come and go. The students also had their own safety drills—when sirens blew,
everybody hid under their desk.

Modern Housing Developments Bring Changes

By the mid-50s, Waretown was beginning to outgrow the little school. In 1955, grades five through eight were sent to
Barnegat elementary, and in 1956 the youngest students were taught in the Methodist parsonage across the street. That
same year, the referendum to build a new school was passed.
In 1958, as Waretown Elementary opened its doors, the doors of the Little Red Schoolhouse closed to students forever.
The rest of the story gets hard to tell—how the Board of Education donated the old building to Waretown’s First Aid
Squad in 1966, which they used for meetings. But the space was inadequate for a growing town, and provided no room to
house vital ambulances. Waretown First Aid Squad was forced to share space with the Fire Company garage across the
street.
A fundraising campaign was held for a new First Aid building. In 1969, the Little Red Schoolhouse was torn down. It
faded into memory, making way for Waretown’s modern First Aid Headquarters.

New Life for the Old Schoolhouse

But yet, it wasn’t quite the end for the Little Red Schoolhouse. When
it came time to build Waretown’s Historical Society Museum,
members voted overwhelmingly to make it a replica of the beloved
old school.
Henry Gerken sat down with David Shaw, another Waretown builder,
and the two drew up plans and got them approved. The township
shared a plot of land at Waretown Lake, with a ready-made parking
lot. Engel Sprague, president of Waretown Historical Society at the
time, worked out a plan with the developers of Greenbriar to donate
building materials.
We held our groundbreaking ceremony on May 23, 2000. Generous
contributions began flooding in. Anne Gerken, our treasurer, spent
many hours applying for grants, and we were awarded with two.
When we were ready to begin construction, a wonderful thing happened—the whole town joined in an old fashioned
“barn raising” (above). Tony Fonseca, a local mason, donated the foundation. Young and old volunteered time to lend a
hand with framing. We had teenagers hammering nails next to senior citizens, and all of us knew we were building a
piece of history.
The police department helped with sheathing. Local companies donated and/or installed roofing, heating, air
conditioning, flooring, and an alarm system. David paid one of his own crews to set the trusses, then built the bell tower
in our back yard. Danny Collamer raised the bell tower onto the roof, and designed a metal framework that allowed us to
ring the bell. The entire construction was a true community effort, and did not cost our township anything.
As the Little Red Schoolhouse Museum prepared to open its doors, former students who had saved desks from the
wrecking ball gave them back to us. The First Aid Squad returned the old blackboard, which they had been using in their
garage. Even the original bell made its way home. Joan Field, our curator, arranged everything into welcoming and
attractive displays. Waretown Historical Society was proud to host our Grand Opening Celebration on October 30, 2004.
I was thrilled when Engel asked me to cut the ribbon.
I’d like to close with a poem written by Lillian Arnold Lopez, Waretown’s first historian and Piney Lore Poet. As I
shared before, Mary Bareford Hussong grew up here at the turn of the twentieth century. Mary loved talking about life in
the old days. Lillian carefully transcribed Mary’s memories, turning them into a sweet, rhyming story-poem:

Mary’s Schooldays
Mary went to a one-room school; I liked to hear her tell
How her teacher kept the order by ringing of a bell.
One teacher taught the whole classroom, from first grade to the eighth,
And they started out each morning with an exercise of faith.
Classes were alternated, so each had to wait their turn,
But that didn’t seem confusing for those who were there to learn.
They spelled, read, wrote, and ciphered; they learned the alphabet.
When they spoke their recitations, the girls vied for “teacher’s pet.”
They wrote their lessons on a slate with chalk, for lack of paper,
And the teacher got the ruler out if someone cut a caper.
Then recess came, and they’d take turns at the water pail and share
One dipper. They shared germs, too, but nobody seemed to care.
Then, outdoors for a chance to play some games and run around,
Or line up at the little house out back of the school ground.
They liked to watch big girls lock arms to parade before big boys,
Who seemed more interested in rough games and making noise,
For they played “Pom, Pom, Pullaway” and games like “Run, Sheep, Run.”
Sometimes, it seemed to Mary like the boys had all the fun.
For girls were then expected to play a “little lady” game,
Like “Cat’s Cradle” or “Jackstones,” or others just as tame.
(Of course, they got their exercise when they got home again,
For all kids had their chores to do, like filling the woodbin.)
At noon, they’d take tin buckets down, to see how they would fare –
There’d always be cold biscuits, and all else their folks could spare.
In Wintertime, when they got cold, they’d have to stand before
The iron potbellied stove that stood in the middle of the floor.
In Spring, they would walk by the mill, to take the longer way,
But her teacher seldom scolded if it was a pleasant day.
Then, Mary would recite the verse of “Daisy Dunton’s Fall,”
As she had learned it eighty years before – remembering all.
And, tho’ it had dismayed her when it happened, she’d repeat
How the string broke on her petticoat, and it fluttered ‘round her feet.
“This is the happiest time of your life,” Mary said grownups would say,
And she did have happy mem’ries of her one-room schoolhouse days.