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Badge of Glory

Bill Tope

    Karin knew the drill. She got in line behind all the other girls in Mrs. Lowenstein’s fourth grade class and awaited her turn to be observed, measured and judged. At the front of the line, near the blackboard, Mary Ann approached the towel arrayed across the floor, knelt on her knees and allowed Mrs. Lowenstein to gauge the distance between the hem on her skirt and the floor with a wooden yard stick. It was a rather primitive ritual, but this was 1964 and there was little room in the educational system for progressive thought, so-called. “You’re good to go, Mary Ann,” commented the teacher. “Good girl.” Mary Ann, her cheeks red, took her seat among the other students, who were all the boys in the class. “Next!” snapped Lowenstein.
    Next up was Kay, the class tomboy, who always dressed in denim jeans. Objections from some school board member mandated that Kay conform to the dress code, however, so she was forced to wear a skirt over her dungarees. This didn’t get her out of the measuring ritual, however, and down on the towel Kay went. “Kay,” said Mrs. Lowenstein reprovingly, “you’re more than an inch too short.” Kay’s mouth opened incredulously, then closed. “You know the rules,” her teacher reminded her. Kay’s mouth opened again but no words came out. Her face perceptively darkened. “Now, get on home and put on a decent skirt so you can fit in with the rest of the girls!” directed Lowenstein. Kay left the classroom without a word. Students had learned from hard experience that there was no negotiating with Mrs. Lowenstein. Kay slammed the door as she left. Mrs. Lowenstein’s mouth formed a hard, straight line, but she said nothing. And so it went, till nearly every girl had been suitably appraised ahd humiliated. There was but one girl left.
    “Karin,” said Mrs. Lowenstein with relish. “You’re next.” Karin could almost imagine the sadistic teacher licking her lips, salivating to bring the brunt of her authority to bear on the nine year old student. Karin stood before her teacher. “Well, get down on your knees,” ordered Lowenstein. Karin could hear some of the boys giggling across the room. Karin felt heat on her face, but complied with the directive. Lowenstein stuck her damnable yard stick against Karin’s knee and measured. “Aha!” she yelped gleefully. “You’re fully an inch and a half too short, you naughty girl!” Karin rose to her feet, shrugged. “Get home and get a decent skirt, or maybe a dress—that’s what proper young women should wear!” Lowenstein was ungracious in victory.
    “And just how am I going to do that, Mrs. Lowenstein?” asked Karin wearily. “Huh? What?” spluttered the teacher. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “I live two miles from school; I take the bus here,” said Karin, as though explaining a simple arithmetic problem to a slow child. “How do I get there and back? Both my parents work.” she explained. “Your mother...works?” asked the teacher, scandalized. “Well, you work, don’t you?” her student asked. “Don’t be impertinent,” snapped the teacher, frustrated at confronting the truth.
    Mrs. Lowenstein thought hard for a moment before snapping her thumb and forefinger and announcing, “I’ve got it: go down to Miss Washburn, the Home Ec teacher and have her let the hem out of that skirt.” Karin rolled her eyes but complied with her teacher’s wishes. A few minutes later, Miss Washburn appeared at the door of the four grade classroom and motioned Mrs. Lowenstein to join her. “Yes, Wanda, is there any problem with Karin?” “I couldn’t let the hem out because there wasn’t but about a half inch left. But I found a quick fix.” “What is it?” the other teacher asked.
    “Well, I’ll show you.” Signaling behind the door, Miss Washburn beckoned Karin to join them in the classroom, which she reluctantly did. The rest of the class immediately burst out laughing uproariously. There, appended to the hem of Karin’s skirt, was a four-inch band of gold-colored fabric, stretching all around the circumference of the skirt. Mrs. Lowenstein frowned at first, then perked up, determined not to make a bad situation worse. “There, that’s fine, thank you, Miss Washburn.” She turned to the little girl. “You see, Karin, you’re quite presentable now. Don’t you think your father would see the improvement in your apparel?” “I agree, Mrs. Lowenstein,” said Karin with surprising enthusiasm, her green eyes flashing. “And I believe my father would love it.” “Really?” asked her teacher, skeptical. “Yes! During World War II my father had one just like it, only in a Star of David; I’ve been pictures. He wore it at Auschwitz!”

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