I may not be the best typist in the world, but I’m not terrible.

I consider the personal typing class I took in high school one of my most helpful courses, even though it was only a half a year and was done on old, manual typewriters.

But my first experience with typing dates to the early 1960s. My dad had just gone from being a fifth-grade teacher at Lincoln Elementary School to principal at Pierpont. To be frank, I was more impressed that he also taught gym at the school.

With four young boys in the family, he also spent summers washing buses. Now that was cool. Not sure how many of today’s principals wash buses.

One day, for reasons I have long forgotten, he brought us to work.

I remember us invading the secretary's office. She let me try her typewriter.

I was fascinated by hitting those keys and watching the letters appear on a sheet of paper.

Aaaabbbbcccxxxxx. A great writer in the making right then and there.

Dad said something to me like, “Now don't bother her.”

But the secretary smiled and said we were OK and let us play on her typewriter for awhile longer.

I'm sure after awhile we discovered the playground or the gymnasium or something.

We spent a lot of time in Pierpont when I was growing up. It was a long venture down Route 7 from our house in North Conneaut.

I decided early in life I didn't like fish, until we attended a Pierpont Fire Department fish fry. I remember the big grills of chicken they would barbecue, too, along with beans and fries and the like.

This, of course, was before I decided to end my association with meat.

Speaking of meat, when my mother was hospitalized, Pierpont residents loaded my dad up with food for his big family. I remember a pot roast that was so good, it tasted nothing like what we bought in the store.

We spent many a Friday night at Jim and Ruth Carr's home, right across from the school.

Jim was the custodian at the school and was a good friend of dad’s.

It was our first experience with milk that came directly from a cow and not detoured by a factory and store.

It was also so cool to be able to cross Route 7 to visit the playground. Both dad and Jim had keys to the school and we could go over and play basketball whenever we wanted in the gym. We had the place to ourselves.

We would walk the halls. My aunt and mom’s best friend both graduated from Pierpont, back when it was a high school, and their photos were still in the hallways.

Jim and Ruth recently died, within a few months of each other. They lived long lives, despite having to put up with the Lebzelter boys on a regular basis.

I spent a few weekends with the Carrs. While there I shot a gun for the first and only time, except for the ones that had caps.

A favorite childhood memory was attending my school's fall festival, with the lady who had the pockets full of prizes, the fishing pond, the sloppy joes and chocolate milk and old comic books for sale.

But I was twice as lucky because we would go off to Pierpont's festival as well.

The principal at my school struck terror in our hearts and we avoided him at all costs. When he was angry, his stringy hair would fall across his face. He reminded me of Adolph Hitler. One of the most traumatic instances of my childhood was when my mother hosted some sort of PTA function at our house. I came home to find my principal talking baby talk to brother Gary. (Gary, by the way, turned 50 this past week.)

Anyway, at Pierpont's festival, all of the kids made an effort to go over and say hi to my dad. “Hello Mr. Lebzelter,” they would say coyly. Dad would respond as if each and every one was his favorite student.

Pierpont was one place my dad was actually cool.

After several years, Dad was transferred to North Kingsville. Maybe because I was older, we just didn't have the same relationship with the community.

Even a few decades ago, there were cost-cutting decisions. Dad eventually became principal at both schools. After a few years of heavy traveling between the buildings, he called it a career and retired.

Now Pierpont Elementary School will be closed.

I am sure there are thousands of people after reading of the pending closing whose thoughts went back to their relationship to the school and community, too.

A great niece, Tabitha, is enjoying learning at Pierpont these days. I hope she enjoys it while she can.

No doubt many people will remember my dad's years at Pierpont. And maybe a few recall his four hellion boys screaming through the hallways and causing great disturbances those many years ago.

Anyone I knocked over back then, I hereby apologize.