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by Peggy Maslow (based on the Fun They Had)

To: Tommy2@AOL.com 

From: Margie@hotmail.com 

Subject: time capsule 

Hi! Where were you? Reading the book you found? Well, another book was revealed in the time capsule dug up today in the historic district near the school museum. One hundred years ago, a committee of former teachers who wanted the past history of education remembered buried it. Schools were changing all over the US. Finally one hundred years ago today in 2055 all schools closed in the US. 

Maybe you were watching the news on television or reading the nytimes.com web page. But I bet you missed it because you were so interested in the book you found in the attic. Besides a book in the capsule, "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," by JK Rowlings, there was a pen- a stick that has colored ink coming out of it when you put pressure on it. Also there was paper with lines so you can write words on it using the pen. There was a book full of blank pages of lined paper. They call it a notebook. What I am really excited about is the letters written on those pages by the members of Teachers Retired Advocating to Save the History of Education, (TRASHE.) If you don't know about these letters you might want to find them on the web site where they are being published: Space Capsule Letters

I almost forgot- there are letters from students who went to school also describing a typical school day. 

I've already read some of them and I can't believe the fun they had. 

Bye, Margie 

PS. I want to see that book when you are done. I have never read a book before. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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by Isaac Asimov 

Margie even wrote about it that night in her diary. On the page headed May 17, 2155, she wrote, "Today Tommy found a real book." It was a very old book. Margie's grandfather had heard about books like it when he was a little boy. He once said his grandfather had told them that there was a time, when all stories were printed on paper. 

They turned the pages, which were yellow and crinkly. It was awfully funny to read the words. They stood still, instead of moving the way they were supposed to-on a screen, you know. And then, when they turned back to the page before, it had the same words on it. It was just the same as it had been when they read it the first time. "Gee," said Tommy. "What a waste. 
When you're through with the book, you just throw it away, I guess. Our television screen must have had a million books on it, and it's good for plenty more. I wouldn't throw it away." 

"Same with mine," said Margie. She was I I and hadn't seen as many telebooks as Tommy had. He was 13. She said, "Where did you find it?" "In my house." He pointed without looking, because he was busy reading. "In the attic." "What's it about?" "School." 

Margie made a face. "School? What's there to write about school? I hate school." Margie always hated school, but now she hated it more than ever. The mechanical teacher had been giving her test after test in geography. She had been doing worse and worse. Finally, her mother had shaken her head sadly and sent for the County Inspector. 

He was a round little man with a red face. He had a whole box of tools with dials and wires. He smiled at her and gave her an apple. Then he took the teacher apart. Margie had hoped he wouldn't know how to put it together again. But he knew how, all right. 

After an hour or so, there it was again-large and black and ugly. It had a big screen, on which all the lessons were shown and the questions were asked. That wasn't so bad. The part she hated most was the slot where she had to put the homework and test papers. She always had to write them out in a punch code they made her learn when she was six years old. The mechanical teacher calculated the mark in no time. 

The inspector had smiled after he was finished, and patted her head. He said to her mother, "It's not the little girl's fault, Mrs. Jones. I think the geography sector was geared a little too quick. I've slowed it up to an average 10-year level. Actually, the overall pattern of her progress is quite satisfactory." Again he patted Margie's head. 

Margie was disappointed. She had been hoping they would take the teacher away. They had once taken Tommy's teacher away for nearly a month, because the history sector had blanked out. So she said to Tommy, "Why would anyone write about school?" Tommy looked at her with superior eyes. 

"Because it's not our kind of school, stupid. This is the old kind of school that they had hundreds of years ago." He added, saying the word carefully, "Centuries ago." Margie was hurt. "Well, I don't know what kind of school they had all that time ago." She read the book over his shoulder for a while. Then she said, "Anyway, they had a teacher." 

"Sure they had a teacher, but it wasn't a regular teacher. It was a man." 

"A man? How could a man be a teacher?" 

"Well, he just told the boys and girls things. He gave them homework and asked them questions." 

"A man isn't smart enough." 

"Sure he is. My father knows as much as my teacher." 

"He can't. A man can't know as much as a teacher." 

"He knows almost as much, I betcha." 

Margie wasn't prepared to argue. She said, "I wouldn't want a strange man in my house to teach me." 

Tommy screamed with laughter. "You don't know much, Margie. The teachers didn't live in the house. They had a special building, and all the kids went there." 

"And all the kids learned the same thing?" 

"Sure, if they were the same age." 

"But my mother says a teacher has to be adjusted to fit the mind of each boy and girl it teaches. Each kid has to be taught differently." 

"Just the same, they didn't do it that way then. If you don't like it, you don't have to read the book." 

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Margie said quickly. She wanted to read about those funny schools. 

They weren't even half finished when Margie's mother called, "Margie! School!" 

Margie looked up. "Not yet, Mama." 

"Now," said Mrs. Jones. "And it's probably time for Tommy, too." 

Margie said to Tommy, "Can I read the book some more with you after school?" 

"Maybe," he said. He walked away whistling, the book under his arm. 

Margie went into the schoolroom. It was right next to her bedroom. The mechanical teacher was on and waiting for her. It was always on at the same time every day except Saturday and Sunday. Her mother said that little girls learned better if they learned at regular hours. 

The screen was lit up. It said, "Today's arithmetic lesson is on the addition of proper fractions. Please insert yesterday's homework in the proper slot." 

Margie did so with a sigh. She was thinking about the old schools they had when her grandfather's grandfather was a boy. All the kids from the whole neighborhood came. They laughed and shouted in the schoolroom, and went home together at the end of the day. They learned the same things, so they could help one another with the homework. And they could talk about it. 

And the teachers were people. 

The mechanical teacher was flashing on the screen: "When we add the fractions 1/2 and 3/4. . - - " 

Margie was thinking about how the kids must have loved it in the old days. She was thinking about the fun they had.