From the Improvement Era, May 1954 –

The Face of Kitty Franklin

By Harold Heifer

Almost as soon as she had said it, Miss Barlow had regretted the assignment. It was just that it had been a routine that she’d always followed in her fifth grade class and one, she felt, that had created a zestful, creative atmosphere. After all, it was not only an exercise in English composition but also an intriguing challenge for one pupil to describe another pupil in the room.

But on this day, in announcing the “describe-a-classmate” essay project, she’d momentarily forgotten about little Kitty Franklin. Such a sweet little girl, too; really quite bright but quiet and reserved. With considerate, lovable ways — but such an awful shame about her face, so terribly pockmarked.

It didn’t happen very often these days any more. But she must have had smallpox or an unusually severe case of chickenpox. And those almost perforated-like indentations were the result.

But, of course, once Miss Barlow had announced the idea, as unthinking as it had been, it was too late to do anything about it. To back- track might make matters even worse. Little Kitty might realize right away that it was being called off for her benefit. And, of course, that would make her feel more self-conscious, more apart, than ever.

For a few moments after her tactical mistake had dawned on her, Miss Barlow had desperately tried to think of some excuse for abrogating the idea. But when the little Giles girl had remarked, “My sisters Betty and June who used to be in your room told me you always .did this,” that seemed to kill whatever chance there might have been of avoiding the project.

And, of course, what had made matters even worse was the Woodlin boy — of all people! — drawing Kitty Franklin’s name out of the hat. Miss Barlow had hoped that it would be some girl. A girl, Miss Barlow felt, would understand, would sense, how Kitty must feel about the condition of her face and handle her essay accordingly. Not that it wouldn’t be a difficult thing to do at best. . . .

But for Kitty’s name to have gone to Joe Woodlin — rough and tumble Joe, with his seeming lack of any sense of discretion whatsoever, always having to be called down for some bit of horseplay or untowardness or something. And the way Joe kept staring at Kitty as he wrote his piece — it made Miss Barlow swallow drily.

She tried to tell herself, well, it was only natural for the pupils to cast glances at the classmates they were describing. They nearly all did that. But, nevertheless, Miss Barlow kept hoping that a fire drill or something would occur to torpedo the proceedings.

“Jim Anders has yellow hair and a blue shirt,” Billy Morrison was droning out now. “He lives on Hanover Street. They have a big garage. He used to stutter, but he doesn’t

What had made matters even worse was the Woodlin boy — of all people — drawing Kitty Franklin’s name out of the hat. any more. He brings liverwurst sandwiches to eat for lunch almost every day. Sometimes he wrinkles his forehead when he listens, like he is thinking real hard. He is a good top spinner. His nose is kind of long but seems to come to a sudden stop. …”

These youngsters! What devastating observers they were! It was, by and large, Miss Barlow couldn’t help but think, good, clean fun, with the chips falling where they might. Only, of course, the presence of Kitty Franklin made it different. It would only be natural for her to be extra sensitive about things.

Now it was Ellie Winters who was reading her essay. “Sam Leland is a good ball player and can hit the ball far. He wears a heavy red sweater with a hole at the elbow. He spills the ink from his inkwell sometimes. Miss Barlow scolds him because he doesn’t write too good and is sloppy about things. I think his father is a fireman or something. . . .”

More than half of the essays had been read, now. Sooner or later she’d have to call on Joe Woodlin. It occurred to Miss Barlow that it would be best not to wait until the very end to call on Joe. For one thing, that in itself might call attention to it, might make sweet little Kitty feel more self-conscious than ever.

Marilyn Johnson was reading now: “Susie Goldson is almost my best friend. She goes to camp for two weeks in the summer. Her folks are pretty rich and live in a kind of big brick house. They have a big collie dog. Susie isn’t so smart in school, but she is good about sharing her lunch. She got something in her eye the other day. She can’t seem to understand fractions. …”

Miss Barlow always had had the feeling that there was something just a bit stuckup about the Goldson girl. But everyone in the class seemed genuinely to like little Kitty. It was such a shame to do anything at all that would in the slightest hurt her feelings. . . .

Still, there wasn’t anything to do about the present situation. The best thing to do was to get it over with now. The longer that she refrained from calling on Joe, the more conspicuous she might be making his essay reading.

So, in a voice that she tried to keep as casually natural as possible, she said now: “All right, Joe Woodlin, I don’t believe we’ve heard from you yet.”

Joe stood up, his hair unruly as ever, his shirt rumpled, some sort of earthy smear under his chin. In that raspy voice of his, he began:

“Kitty Franklin is a girl who sits in the third row. She wears gingum dresses a lot. At least they look like gingum dresses. Her hair is real dark ”

Miss Barlow stole a quick glance at Kitty. She had become tensely erect, there was no doubt about it. Miss Barlow felt herself growing the same way.

The almost uncouth-like Woodlin boy rumbled on: “She isn’t very tall or very short. Sometimes she coughs quite a bit. …”

Miss Barlow felt herself holding her breath.

She never was sure afterwards whether Kitty’s eyes had become moist-like or whether what made it seem so was her own eyes reacting that way. But she knew that probably as long as she lived she’d never forget these words by a boy named Joe Woodlin:

“She usually sits off to herself when she eats her lunch. Everybody seems to like her. She is real nice. I like her, too. She is about the prettiest girl I ever saw. She has so many dimples.”