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Minds Influenced by the Same Things Think Alike

Last week, I posted some thoughts on two book series that had sparked my early interest in reading and influenced my careers in teaching and writing American history. I’ve since learned that I’m not the only one so influenced by the Hardy Boys series of mysteries or the exciting history recounted in the Landmark books.

Shortly after I posted that essay, Charles Moore, who has been following my blog for a while, contacted me to suggest that I might enjoy a blog post of his that he wrote a couple of years ago. I checked it out and was so impressed that I read it twice! In a gesture of friendship and for the sake of the possibility that his essay might encourage someone else to read and write stories about their own life and genealogy for future readers, Mr. Moore gave me permission to reprint his story here on my blog. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. If so, please let us know. (You may contact him or view other blog posts of his at Thanks!


by Charles Moore

I could spend a whole afternoon reading the Hardy Boys. I would get lost in their world, it was magical. The ability to escape in a good book is not to be taken for granted.

I could spend a whole afternoon reading the Hardy Boys. I would get lost in their world, it was magical. The ability to escape in a good book is not to be taken for granted.

I have read several blogs recently that discussed books and reading. The subject of reading is one that I think about frequently as I am always in search of something to read. For me, reading is a pleasure and a way to make time pass very quickly. However, this was not always the case. So I would like to share an event in my life that shows how memory can be woven into a family history. Here is my small example of how you can write a memoir. It is the stories about us and our ancestors that will interest future generations.

Mrs. Alice Moyer was my third-grade teacher at Broad St. School in Plattsburgh, N.Y. At that time, I did not know her first name as all of the teachers were addressed by either Miss, Mrs. or Mr. Even the teachers addressed each other in this manner. I only learned her first name years after when I read her obituary. With her death, another person has gone without me ever expressing my gratitude. Mrs. Moyer was one of the best teachers I was ever to have at any level of my education. Her influence and talent for teaching forever changed my life for the better. Such people are rare and as such leave a deep impression on a developing person.

When I entered third grade, my reading ability was not even on a first-grade level. I had major speech impediments. I had spent my second-grade year trying not to be noticed by the teacher. It is safe to say that my second-grade teacher was the exact opposite of Mrs. Moyer. Second grade for me was a nightmare. It did not take long for Mrs. Moyer to spot my problems and notified my mother.

Mrs. Veronica Moore is my mother. A child of the depression and hard times she never got a chance to finish school. I do not think she made it much past junior high. In fact, the same could be said about my father. They were hard working people that had to earn their wages with a strong back. Education was the goal for their children, and nothing was more important. “Get an education” was the mantra I was to hear over and over.

Mom and Mrs. Moyer had a meeting, and the plan was laid out. Soon I was in speech therapy and would be for the next three years. We had large classes in those days, which 30 or more students were common, with only a teacher in the room. The classes where I went to school were grouped into three sections. The division was along the student’s ability. The “A” group were, of course, the better students, the “B” group were more the average students and the “C” group were the students that were struggling. Now the teachers never called these groups by any names but it was easy for us students to figure out. Even with a large class and having to attend to the different needs of each group, Mrs. Moyer found almost every day 30 minutes for one on one reading session with me. My third-grade work load was hefty. However Mrs. Moyer, was such an accomplished teacher it was one of the best years I ever had in school.

The home front was under the command of my mother. A library card was secured for me. The wonders of the library were now mine to explore and enjoy. I got to pick out the books that held some interest for me. Mom made sure that I had time to read them. I had to do a book report on the books I read and turn them in for school. On a chart in our classroom everyone has listed the books they had read and done a book report for. While I was far from the leader, I was right in the middle and held my own. Also, mom would buy me a book that I could keep and read anytime I wanted to. This was when I ran into the Hardy Boys. Their adventures kept me buying their books for a few years. Also, I liked Tom Swift and many others. Money was tight in our house, yet they would buy me my books. I can remember mom bringing me to the local bookstore and looking and looking for that special book I was to take home.

When I was in sixth grade about to go into junior high, I tested out for reading on a high school level. I have never looked back. Reading is a habit I have kept over the years. I use libraries now mostly for research. I prefer to own my books and not borrow them. Some are like old friends that I have visited more than a few times.

This is my effort at a memoir. They need not be long or in great detail. Just write down your stories as they come to you. In a few years, you will have written a full memoir to pass on. If you wonder why bother, would you not want one from your parents, grandparents? Start writing.

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