Tag: manners

The only good answer, then and now

Good teachers are the ones who can challenge young minds without losing their own.
-Author unknown but approved by every good teacher I know.

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Grade school, 1959, in Mount Pleasant, Texas, included reading, writing, arithmetic, recess, and repeats of last week’s cafeteria fare. “Meatloaf? Must be Tuesday.”

Education set among pine trees, stifling humidity, and a rigid educational hierarchy.

N.A. Mattingly at South Ward Elementary challenged young minds with math and history classes while prepping the Bulldogs for crosstown elementary school football showdowns against West Ward and Annie Sims.

His weathered face reflected life on the farm. As did his green 1950s GMC pickup always parked at the curb near the bicycle rack. His ever-present smile and patient personality revealed his love for challenging young minds.

School dress codes then favored mainstream conservative looks in clothing, haircuts, and politeness. “Yes, Ma’am” and “Yes Sir” were the only responses to a teacher standing between you and a lecture on manners.

Frequently repeated recess stories among young minds were mixtures of mischief and Mr. Mattingly’s paddle, should we get caught, rumored to reside in his bottom desk drawer.

That was the same year my fifth-grade world started shrinking with a simple purchase at Raney’s top of the hill neighborhood grocery store on South Jefferson. A revolutionary device reflecting 1950s space-age fascination, the small red-and-white rocket ship looked like a toy. It was, however, much more. It was a radio.

Music in most homes then came from boxy radios like the one Mom used to tune in Miss Lee’s hometown news on KIMP. Or our first television, a large, cabinet-style, black-and-white affair. Both were operated exclusively via parental guidance. With the TV, that was Dad utilizing his remote control. The one where he sat comfortably in his chair and said, “Son, get up and turn that big knob on the right to channel three.”

So, this pocket-sized rocket radio was my first taste of selecting entertainment. In the backyard, in my bedroom, or better yet … in the classroom.

Unlike most transistor radios of the era, this one was a “crystal radio,” meaning it required no batteries. Don’t ask me how that worked. I didn’t know then, and I’m still clueless. All I knew were three things. Connecting the alligator clip wire to something large and metallic brought it to life. An earplug provided private listening. And stations were selected by sliding the tuner in the rocket’s nose.

The next morning at recess, I clipped it to the barbed-wire fence separating the back side of the South Ward playground from a cow pasture, the spot where we gathered to chew on “sour doc” weed stalks. I slipped the earplug firmly in place and slowly moved the tuner until static faded into music. I was listening to my own private radio. At school.

Back in class with the rocket radio in my pocket, I discreetly attached the clip to the metal window frame next to my desk, and channeled music right into the middle of math class. The local AM station was loud and clear, but with a little searching, I found KLIF, the Dallas rock-and-roll station.

Resting my head in my hand hid the earplug while I pretended to be deep in multiplication tables. Secretly multiplying my listening pleasure with Elvis Presley, Ricky Nelson, and Buddy Holly.

Clever, yes, but it soon proved to be an imperfect setup. Signals wandered, and intermittent bursts of static interrupted the music until one loud, ear-piercing pop caused me jump. Right in the middle of Mr. Mattingly’s, “… seven times nine is … how much?”

An experienced teacher adept in classroom auditory awareness, Mr. Mattingly stopped mid-stream of memorization techniques to ask, “Everything OK, Leon?”

“Yes, sir,” I humbly offered. “I heard something …. outside the window … I think.”

The bell rang, and I headed for the door. But not before Mr. Mattingly motioned me to his desk.

“Yes, sir,” I questioned politely.

“I’m glad you’re OK,” he smiled. Then, nonchalantly resting a hand near the dreaded desk drawer rumored to hold the storied instrument of punishment, he added. “Tomorrow, how ‘bout you leave that radio at home?”

My enthusiastic response was the only acceptable answer – back then and now.

“Yes, sir.”

—Leon Aldridge

(Photos — Top of the page — Mr. Mattingly’s fifth grade class at South Ward Elementary School in Mount Pleasant, Texas, circa 1959. Your author is sitting directly in front of Mr. Mattingly, the kid wearing the striped shirt and dark sweater. Lower photo — My 1950s vintage “rocket radio” was sadly lost to history decades ago. This one pictured is very similar to the one I purchased at Raney’s neighborhood grocery in 1959 for about $2.98, if memory serves me correctly. You can purchase this one on eBay today for $323.00.)

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

It’s just the way my daddy trained me

“Things Money Can’t Buy: Time. Happiness. Integrity. Love. Manners. Respect. Trust. Class. Common sense. Dignity.” ― Roy T. Bennett, inspirational author

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“You don’t have to get up,” someone told me during an introduction and handshake meeting last week.

“Are you kidding,” I laughed as I rose to my feet. “That’s the way my daddy trained me. I don’t know any other way.”

Good manners will never be down and out in a civilized society, we agreed at the boomers coffee klatch last week. But random acts of kindness and courtesy once commonly taught in every home are gowing scare in public places.

“It’s not as much of a thing as it used to be,” one personality-less employee in a local business told me last week. Guess they didn’t like my facetious “thank you” for noticing their overwhelming lack of customer service and manners.

All debates aside, the boomers coffee klatch also agreed on one thing. Courtesy and manners still matter. We all get one chance to make a first impression. Often, before we ever speak the first word.

“You always dress that way for work,” I recall a member of management asking one of the new guys on a job many years ago.

“Yeah,” the newbie stuttered,

“And you always address your supervisors and elders with, “Yeah? Where’s your manners?” Before the young man could dig himself any deeper, the manager offered advice I’ve never forgotten.

“If you want customers and colleagues to perceive you as a professional, you have to dress and act like a professional. No one gives you respect for free, you earn it by the way you present yourself and the way you treat others.”

Manners were important to my parents and grandparents. Something for which I have always been deeply grateful. Learning manners requires no textbook and very little intelligence. Just treat others like you would like to be treated.

“Manners make the man,” Mom used to say. “Real men are considerate of others, especially ladies.” My father made sure I understood that one well one day at the Perry’s 5¢ and 10¢ store in downtown Mount Pleasant where he was the manager. Quickly stepping up to hold the door for a lady behind us, he smiled and said, “Please pardon my rude son. I’ve tried to teach him some manners, but he seems to have forgotten that today.”

A big one with my grandmother was hats. “A gentleman always removes his hat indoors,” she reminded me often. “Take that cap off,” she informed me the first time. “It’s rude to wear a hat inside. And don’t ever sit down to eat with a cap or hat on your head.”

The second time, she wasn’t as subtle. She snatched the cap off my head, handed it to me, and asked, “What did I tell you about a gentleman and a hat indoors? People will think you were raised in a barn.”

My grandmother also clearly illustrated “Please” and “Thank you.” She bought a strawberry ice cream cone one afternoon at Lockett’s Drug Store soda fountain in downtown Pittsburg, Texas and handed it to me. Just as I was about to enjoy the first bite, she abruptly took it back.

“Thank you,” she said to the young man who had just scooped the delectable delight. She then took a bite of it and said, “You must not have appreciated it, I didn’t hear you thank anyone.”

After a most humble “thank you” to both her and the soda fountain attendant, she returned the ice cream cone to me … minus one bite. The price for missing my manners.

“What do you say when speaking to someone?” I remember Mom asking.

“Yes,” I responded.

“Yes … what?”

I soon learned that “Yes, ma’am” and “Yes, sir” were the only acceptable words for a mannerly answer. As were “No, ma’am” and “No, sir.”

“Manners are not important just because I say so,” Dad told me many times. “They are a measure of how you respect people. If you show others respect, they will respect you.”

Someone asked me about a fellow employee in a workplace not long ago, “Why doesn’t she respect me when I ask her for something?”

Recalling the words of the supervisor I always remembered and my father’s words, I said, “Could be the way you ask. No one gives you respect for free, you earn it only by giving it.”

True enough, money doesn’t buy respect or manners. But if it did, a lot of people these days are apparently broke.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche,  the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.

© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2025. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.