Miss Lizzie

Though Lincoln was born south of the Mason-Dixon Line, Illinois was his home state; and his birthday is a statewide sacred day. But in one little Illinois town last week, Abe Lincoln barely got a look-in on his birthday. The town of Sheldon (pop. 1,035) had a private holiday to celebrate, and every lamppost on the main street proclaimed it: "Lizzie Richardson Day, Golden Anniversary."

At 7 a.m., for the first time in her 67 years, Sally Elizabeth Richardson visited a beauty shop. (To a photographer trying to snap her picture under the dryer, she exclaimed: "My goodness! I wouldn't want anyone to see me in pins!") Then, her grey hair neatly curled, Miss Lizzie stopped at the post office for her mail and was swamped by letters of congratulation from ex-pupils all over the U.S.

At Sheldon Grade School, where she has the third grade, Miss Lizzie found teachers and pupils waiting to place a golden crown on her head and install her on a "throne"--a school desk covered with yellow crepe paper. It was a school holiday--but the 230 kids all showed up anyway. All morning the townsfolk poured into the red schoolhouse to shake hands with Miss Lizzie, who has taught 1,294 boys & girls in her day--more than Sheldon's present population.

There were 300 guests that evening at the pot-roast supper in the basement of the Methodist Church--all the place would hold. Miss Lizzie, who used to be superintendent of the Sunday school, sat in the guest of honor's chair in her best black crepe dress with the beaded yoke, and an orchid, her first.

The state superintendent, the county superintendent, the ex-county superintendent, and a principal from Moline--he used to be a pupil of Miss Lizzie--were all there. (The ladies of the church, worried about the right way to seat them, had written to Emily Post, who straightened them out.) After the pie and Pur Yesterdays, sung by the girls' octet, it was time for "remarks." The state Superintendent, at the peak of his form, called Miss Lizzie "an honored member of an honored profession." Then they gave Miss Lizzie the presents everybody had chipped in to buy: a walnut desk, an armchair, an ottoman, a lamp and a radio. For good measure the board of Education tossed in a little brass schoolbell, which Miss Lizzie rang to end the banquet. It was also almost, not quite, the end to her 50 years of teaching: she plans to retire in May.

Back in 1897, Miss Lizzie had made $30 a month, with an extra $5 for stoking the stove in wintertime ("I thought I was a millionaire then"). Now Miss Lizzie was earning $1,900 a year. Said she happily: "If I had it to do all over again, I'd do the same thing. You can make more money at other jobs, but you can't always get the satisfaction. Children forget lots of what you taught them, but not the example you set for them."

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