Chapter 6: World of Sunshine Beyond the Clouds

Devastation in White Deer, June 1951

A tornado hit our home in White Deer on June 6, 1951.  Our first grandson, Ken, was visiting us at the time.  We had watched the dark skies and felt that stillness that comes before a storm.  We were all alert that afternoon.  Suddenly I saw a neighbor drive up to his cellar, so I called Robert.  Robert called back for me to get Ken and go to the cellar.  Next we heard a noise like a train.  We made it just in time to close the cellar door before the tornado struck.

White Deer High School, June 1951

After the storm, we began to look around.  We'd had two cars in the garage.  One car was gone without leaving a trace; the other one only had a few scratches.  The roof of our house was gone along with the front and back porches.  The ceiling had fallen in on one room and damaged the furniture in that room; the ceilings of the other rooms had blown away.  Some articles were missing but, strangely, part of the furniture remained untouched.  Window curtains could be seen in treetops.  Our neighbors’ houses on each side of ours were totally demolished.  There was great damage to the town, but only two people were injured.  No lives were lost because we'd had warning and almost everyone had managed to take cover.  School buildings

White Deer Grade School, June 1951

were severely damaged; for weeks the flagpole snaked toward the sky in a twisting reminder.  I've thanked God many times that the schools were not in session.

Rebuilding was an enormous task.  Everyone helped where they could.  Robert rebuilt our house.  Many did not have adequate insurance, but slowly the town reappeared.  The school library had been a casualty of the storm and I managed the huge job of reorganizing it.  Robert continued to teach science.  He sponsored junior and senior classes and always welcomed students into our home for extra study and assistance.  Robert's students knew he loved to drink Dr. Peppers, and they seldom failed to bring a carton.

 

After a severely cold winter, Robert and I decided we wanted to return to the warmer climate of South Texas.  In 1951, we left White Deer for Pleasanton where Robert served as grade school principal and I taught grade six.  Now we were alone without either of our children to help us blaze the path of acquaintances.  We would miss their ability to acquire new friends and help us all quickly settle into a new community.  Many questions entered our minds as we traveled toward Pleasanton.  Just what was in store for us?

As we rode down Main Street and turned the corner around the post office, Carolyn Evans, a favorite student from White Deer, saw us.  She came running, waving and calling, "The Corders! The Corders!"  Carolyn had gone to Pleasanton from White Deer to teach in a youth Bible school.  So there we were with Carolyn, who gave us a beautiful introduction at church where we later spent many happy hours.

After having taught in the primary grades for many years, I was transferred in Pleasanton to teach special subjects from grade five through grade eight.  During this time, I used a teaching method that was very well suited to me.  It was known as the “Unit Method,” and it soon became my favorite way of teaching.  It was based on study built around a particular theme such as "Nationalities of the United States," "Texas agriculture," or "The Presidents of the U.S."  Completion of a unit usually involved approximately six weeks, a grading period.  At that time, the children planned some sort of program or special event based on the information in the unit.

I've taught successfully in many ways, but there was one method introduced in the 1930s that I simply could not use.  For me it would have been utter confusion with no order or organization to it.  We were told to ask the child each morning what he would like to do that day and then help him to learn something relative to his request.  Perhaps this could have been possible if a teacher had very few students, but with many children to consider, it seemed utter chaos.  Fortunately, that particular method did not last long.

Parental concern and involvement, however, are probably more important than any special teaching method.  My most successful students had parents who cared and showed it.  It was in such a situation that the parents of one of my students invited our entire class to dinner.  We had just completed a unit that introduced the children to astronomy.  Our hosts had secured a large telescope so that we could all get a good look at the stars.  On a clear evening, just right for stargazing, Robert pointed out many interesting things for the children to see in the night sky.  It was not surprising that our hosts were the parents of one of my best students.

Robert (age 63) and Willie Lee (age 61)

 

After teaching in Pleasanton for seven years, our superintendent asked us to move with him to schools in San Antonio where he had accepted a new position.  We agreed.  Robert taught math at Lee High School, and I taught a first grade class of exceptionally intelligent students in Castle Hills for two years.

Here, according to my estimation, I did some of the best teaching of my entire career, but it certainly got off to a slow start.  My students were not only bright, but some of them were determined to take over the class.  It had been announced at the beginning of the school year 1959-60 that there would be no spankings administered throughout the North East District.  My new group of children seemed determined to test the new rules and it didn't take long to see that something had to be done.  I wanted to write to the parents and ask permission to spank is necessary.  My principal agreed to the letter.  I wrote:

Dear Parents:

You have sent one of the most intelligent groups of students to me this year that I have ever taught.  I know you want me to bring out the best in each of them.  However, there are a few in the room who are getting too much attention.  To help them and others, may I have your permission to spank your child if needed?

Every parent returned a letter the very next morning saying, “Spank my child if needed!”  No spankings were ever needed.  Something must have happened at home overnight.  Once again, I had evidence that a child's success in school is determined by the parents’ attitude and involvement.  It was a great year for all of us.

I've been asked many times if I spanked my own children.  Yes. Was it right?  Was it wrong?  I don't know.  Certainly spanking can be abused, but there were times when it seemed to take more than words to teach obedience and respect to my young children.  I can still hear my mother saying, “Love them and listen to them and answer their questions before they start screaming for answers."  Then she advised, "Be systematic in discipline.  If you promise discipline for disobedience, be sure you follow through.  Don't just threaten."

Kenneth often walked home from school with some older boys.  One day, on the way home, they threw rocks at an old house and broke several windows.  Shortly, a lady who I had never met came to our door.  She told us about the broken windows and demanded that the boys all be punished.  Although I've worried since then that we may have been unduly influenced by the lady's demands, Kenneth was spanked.  Robert and I discussed the situation and decided that the fact that he was following the older boys was no excuse.  We had no doubt he had been there when the windows were broken.  He needed to learn to think for himself.

Spankings in my own childhood made quite an impression too.  There was no temptation greater to us children than to slip into the forbidden cottonseed bin and bury ourselves up to the waist.  There the mood was set for us to tell our childhood secrets.  Papa had warned us to stay out of the bin.  He feared we would sink too deeply in the seed and suffocate.  Within a few days after his warning, Papa saw signs of our disobedience.  Yes, we had been in the cottonseed bin again.  Now Papa was firm and systematic -- that was one of the two times he used a peach tree switch to help me remember.

Another time he administered a little “peach tree tea” was when Mama was away from home helping a lady in childbirth.  Papa was asleep on the porch when, all of a sudden, he heard a loud crash in the kitchen.  Papa rushed in to see what the calamity could be.  Although I was the culprit, my older sister Daisy had her share of the "tea" too.  I had dropped a pan of dishwater and the floor was a mess.  At that time, we thought Papa was horribly unfair – and, looking back, probably this spanking was not so well considered or as useful as the first one.

I loved my father deeply, but I was truly afraid of his temper.  Mama always took care of the discipline problems when Papa was away from home, and she never reported our misconduct to him or threatened to tell him of it upon his return.  Although his demeanor was generally quiet and gentle, she may have sensed an undercurrent of potential violence and elected to protect us from it.

 

During my second year at Castle Hills, our principal called a teachers' meeting to announce that libraries would be established in the 17 elementary schools in the North East District.  Then he said, "If any of you have 12 hours of library science and if you are

Olmos Elementary Library, circa 2007

interested in the position, I would like to have a conference with you."  I had the required hours for the job because I had worked in the college library while attending school, and it had been my responsibility to reorganize the library in White Deer after the tornado hit our school.

They offered me positions as librarian at both Castle Hills and Olmos the following year.  I chose Olmos, and that is where I spent my last five years in the public school system in San Antonio, Texas.  I loved serving as librarian and organized the Olmos Library for over 1100 students.  It was a far cry from that first one-room schoolhouse.

 

Through the years, Robert and I had occasionally made note of the problems caused for children by aging, senile teachers who were unwilling to leave their positions for younger, more efficient people.  For this reason, we agreed early in our careers that we would retire on or before schedule no matter how much we thought ourselves exceptional.  We retired in 1965, after his 38 years and my 34 years of teaching.  It was two years earlier than our mandatory retirement.

Many months later, Robert and I were invited to attend the Olmos PTA meeting in San Antonio.  When the program began, I had a great surprise:  My principal began reading the story of my life in the schools of Texas.  Then I was awarded a certificate and a pin signifying a life membership in the Texas Congress of Parents and Teachers.  I was touched when a dozen red roses were presented to me from my children and grandchildren.  One of the Olmos teachers repeated a message from our daughter.  I was told that my family especially wanted me to know that no matter how I excelled as a teacher or how highly my professional and educational field regarded me, as a parent I was even more exceptional.

When the next school year began, I was asked to come back and work as librarian at Castle Hills until a vacancy could be filled.  I agreed to work just long enough for a new librarian to be found.  One month passed; two months passed; no librarian came to take my place.  Robert was getting more impatient every day.  Then, while leaving the school one afternoon, I fell and broke my wrist.

I suppose I had to break my wrist to really retire.  However, the broken wrist was no great deterrence to our travel, so Robert and I left on an extended trip to Florida within a few days.  This was one of the best trips of our lives together but certainly not our first.

 

During our early years together, Robert and I traveled with a great sense of freedom in the Sports Ford.  We cooked in the open and, if night caught us, we slept in the car or on cots alongside the road.  I was never afraid as long as we were together.  Later, we traveled with our children and, occasionally, we made it a two-family affair.

Our grandsons, Ken, Bob, Steve and Jim, often accompanied us on our travels in a trailer equipped with a kitchen and beds for five people.  We went to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, the Petrified Forest and Grand Canyon in Arizona, Yosemite National Park in California, The Great Salt Lake and Salt Lake City in Utah.  The Mormon Temple with an unpaid choir of more than 300 persons presented some of the loveliest music we had ever heard, and our swim in the Great Salt Lake was unforgettable.

We saw many things through our grandsons’ eyes that we would have otherwise missed.  Some of our richest moments came after we retired in the evening.  We discussed events of the day, played games with the boys or memorized bits of literature.

The wealth our grandsons gave us is immeasurable.  And the scare one of them gave me is also immeasurable.  One of the most wretched times of my life came while traveling with our grandsons before we had a communication system between the back of our trailer and the vehicle pulling it.  When we left one of the National Parks where we had been staying, I thought our seven-year-old grandson, Steve, was in the cab with Robert; Robert thought he was in the back with me.  After traveling about twenty miles, we discovered that he was not in either place.  That ride back to the park was agony for me.  When we reached the entrance of the park, there stood Steve and the caretaker.  Steve had a big smile and didn't seem the slightest bit worried, “I knew you would come back for me.”

The camper was neither convenient nor comfortable enough for some of the long trips we had in mind.  We wanted something that we could unhitch and park for weeks or even months in order to enjoy the seasons in different parts of the country -- something large enough, but not too large to trail easily behind our car.  A 23- foot travel trailer was the answer.  I remember the salesman saying, "This trailer is plenty big enough for two people, and there aren't any trailers made that are big enough for three."  We loaded our necessities into the trailer and leased our home in San Antonio.  Now we were ready for some serious traveling.

Austin, Texas, near our daughter's home, was a favorite place to park at the end of a long trip.  During these breaks, we did substitute teaching in the Austin public schools, took night courses offered by The University of Texas, and helped in the Austin Settlement Home, which served as a halfway house for disturbed teens.

 

One day Roberta called from the office where she was handling advertising art for the Engineering Department of the University of Texas.  "Daddy, would you be interested in traveling for the University of Texas?" she asked.  "The College of Engineering is looking for someone with your qualifications to visit Texas high schools with their new mobile display van.  It's designed to recruit engineering students.  Your background in science and math is perfect.  You'll be able to answer all the students’ questions."

"No," Robert said, "We're planning a different kind of a trip."  By that time, we had traveled almost the entire United States and were planning an extensive trip to the East Coast.

"Dean McKetta would like to talk with you," Roberta continued, "Will you just talk to him, Daddy?"

Robert agreed to the conference.  He listened, read the literature and acquired great enthusiasm for the idea.  But he was still uncertain that he wanted the job of taking this huge vehicle, christened "The Engineer," out on the road for almost a full school year.  It would be a difficult and sensitive task.  He would have to be driver, trouble-shooter, guide, student counselor and diplomat with high school principals and teachers.  He would also have to spend the next seven months away from home.

Finally he said he was willing to give it a try on one condition.  He would take the job if I agreed to accompany him.  Of course, I would go with him.

Toward the end of October 1967, we climbed up into the cab of the big truck and drove 68 miles to

Willie Lee and Robert aboard the Engineer

Lampasas.  The principal and his teachers gave us a warm welcome, and 170 high school students that were enrolled in math and science classes came to see the displays.  It was a hit.  About 40 boys came back during their lunch break to take a second look.  Later, in larger high schools, there were days in which we had over a thousand students scheduled and many more came on their own.

And so we were suddenly back again — in the Texas schools where we had spent our lives.  We were teaching again, but with totally different methods.  This was not the “ABC method,” nor was it the “Unit Method.”  This was a fifty-five foot truck-trailer rig containing a diorama of the College of Engineering.  Lighted, moving displays lined the walls.  The displays depicted, in models and photographs, the different fields of engineering — aerospace, civil, electrical, architectural, chemical, mechanical, petroleum, engineering drawing and engineering mechanics.  It had music, words, action, a telephone and air conditioning.

Engineering, as a subject, was not taught in high schools and most high school counselors were not equipped with adequate guidance materials on the subject.  "The Engineer" had been produced to fill that information gap.  It was the result of a joint effort of The Engineering Foundation Advisory Council and The University of Texas Ex-student Association.

University of Texas engineering graduates living in the areas were often contacted prior to our arrival.  These people occasionally joined us to serve as resource professionals during the display.  In Monahans, a petroleum engineer, a mechanical engineer and an electrical engineer spent several hours with us helping to explain our projects to the students.

I believe this combination of practical experience combined with the ability of the trained teacher of basic skills is one of the most effective teaching methods possible.  Students can easily become lost in the detail of particular class requirements, become frustrated, impatient, and lose sight of ultimate objectives.  Motivation is all-important.  The student's faith in his future and understanding of his potential can be continually reinforced by regular exposure to outside professionals in his classroom.

Although I was not the number-one source of engineering information, I helped handle crowds, passed out literature, consulted with teachers and students on scheduling, wrote the progress reports to be mailed back to The University of Texas, and slept with the truck driver.  I think I had made myself indispensable to the operation.

Teachers or students often invited us into their homes for dinner, where the questions continued into the evening.  And people in the schools were not the only ones attracted to the big truck.  It seemed that everywhere we parked, it drew interest.  Robert was always ready to show and tell.  A representative from the College of Engineering at Iowa State University called asking to see the mobile unit.  After Robert had picked the man up at his hotel and given him a full demonstration, he left hoping to find a way to fund a similar project for Iowa State.

We saw Texas from Brownsville to Amarillo, from Orange to Monahans.  An ice storm caught us between Texarkana and Longview, rains came at Corpus Christi, and spring flowers greeted us in the Panhandle.  We saw the inside of more motel rooms than I care to remember.  Although our truck stalled in traffic and our trailer threw a tire on the highway, we were never stopped by roads, weather or mechanical problems.  We never missed a scheduled school visit arranged weeks earlier, never became seriously ill, and never had a reportable accident.

By mid-May, 1968, we had visited 208 Texas high schools with “The Engineer.”  When the long, gray rig came home to rest, it was scratched, dented, autographed, a little weary, but a winner in every sense.  We had loved the job and especially loved being with students again.  But it was time to retire again, and we were weary of the road.

 

Back at home, I quickly became involved with my activities, but Robert seemed to have ants in his pants.  He needed a project.  Robert loved the soil and had always enjoyed gardening, but we really didn't have enough space to do it on the large scale that would suit him.  One morning, I suggested that he might like to find a larger place where he would have more room to play.  By nightfall we had purchased an acre of land located three miles from the Austin city limits.  Our acre lay between Easy Street and Joy Street.  Within a year, Robert had planted more than a hundred rose bushes.

In 1971, I became ill; a low-grade fever lasted many months.  I was anemic and my weight had dropped from 108 pounds to 82 pounds.  My joints ached constantly as if I had influenza.  In spite of antibiotics, numerous doctors and numerous tests, the symptoms continued and the exact cause of my illness remained a mystery.

50th Anniversary

I was still ill Christmas when Robert and I celebrated our 50^th wedding anniversary.  Our children gave us a reception and, in spite of my condition, it was a wonderful day.  Robert seemed quite emotional; I assumed that he, like myself, was filled with joy and gratitude.  Later, I discovered that I was one of the few present at that celebration who expected me to live throughout another year.

I had agreed to go in for tests again immediately following Christmas, so the next week found me in a hospital bed at Breckenridge Hospital under the care of a new doctor, a well-known diagnostician.  He decided, after another series of tests including a kidney biopsy, to treat me for an atypical form of lupus.  Twenty-four hours after medication was started, I knew that my recovery had begun.

It wasn't long until I was home again.  The members of our church brought food to our home for ten days after I returned.  I wanted very much to find a way to express my gratitude, and it wasn't long until a way was given to me.  I was asked to establish an organized library for the church.  Before I was physically able to go to the library, Robert brought boxes of books home for me to get ready for the shelves.  It was good to be around all of those books again.  When the library was dedicated, to my surprise it was named the Willie Lee Corder Library.

Throughout the next year my health continued to improve.  But I began to notice that within my world of sunshine, Robert was moving into deep shadows.

 

Robert's lack of energy was noticeable.  He began to work fifteen minutes and then return to the chair on our porch.  When I finally persuaded him to have a general check-up, two aneurysms were found.  One was ballooning on a major artery and required immediate surgery; the other, a small one, lay behind his heart.  The surgeon would leave the smaller one untouched.  Doctors told Robert to avoid any kind of physical stress, even driving.

I will never forget the anxiety of that day.  Feelings were hard to hide as I drove him from the doctor's office to the hospital in the five o’clock traffic.  I knew Robert sensed my concern.  When I started to leave him at the hospital to go home, he followed me to the car, picked me up and swung me around and around!  All I could say was, “Please put me down!”  I was so frightened.  That aneurysm could have burst at any moment.

Both Kenneth and Roberta were at the hospital before the scheduled surgery.  Robert was a realist.  It was obvious he considered the possibility that he might not come through the surgery.  He tried to tell our children how much his spiritual life had meant to him and how much he wished them to have the same understanding and comfort.  Neither of them could accept nor admit the gravity of the situation.  As the nurse came in to take him up in the elevator to the operating room, she said, “Okay, they're ready for you upstairs.”

“I know”, he replied, “I made arrangements upstairs a long time ago.”

Robert survived the surgery but his tenure in the rose garden was short.  His old energy was never to return and he began to have chest pains.  I rushed him to the emergency ward during one severe attack.  He stayed in the cardiac care unit for nine days under close observation.  When he was released, the doctors said, "No heart attack," and they warned him not to drive the car or lift heavy objects.  With his activities restricted, we knew we needed to consider moving to a place that would require less care.

 

On Saturday, July 13, 1974 Robert said, “I saw an advertisement of a retirement home in the paper this morning.  It sounds good.  Let’s go look.”  We found a suite we liked and agreed to give an answer the following Monday.  A few minutes after we returned home, Robert said, “I'd like some fried chicken with cream gravy for dinner.”  I prepared the chicken.  He thoroughly enjoyed the first helping and went back for a second.  That was our last meal together.

After the dishes were done and we were sitting on our front porch talking with a neighbor, Robert had a chest pain.  I went inside with him to get his medication.  When he reached the dining table, he slumped into a chair; his head went down on the table.  The neighbor and I tried in vain to get his medication under his tongue and called an ambulance.  According to my neighbor, it took twelve minutes in arriving, but it was too late.

I still remember Robert's prayer on the last Sunday we had together:  “Dear Father, we didn't go to church today.  We walked in your garden and said ‘Thank you’ many times for your protection and guidance in our home.  We have not been so good at service, but you have been a great and bountiful God.  Help our children to know the joy of your service.  May our mistakes in trying to serve be used to thy glory.”

He was buried in Austin at Capital Memorial Gardens, Section F, lot number 66, grave number three.