A suspension: The pledge of allegiance controversy in Edmonton schools, 1942, by Harley Reid
Date: November 1942
I was twelve years old and in grade six at McDougall School in Edmonton. It was a Friday morning, November 13, 1942. I was standing on the outside steps of the boys' entrance and my world had flipped upside down. The school principal had walked me outside the building and handed me a letter addressed to my parents. Then, without saying a word, he opened the door and disappeared inside the school.
That morning it had taken me two minutes to run to school from my home across the street.
Now, as I looked around, my house seemed 100 miles away. It was barely visible through my tears. I couldn't move. Was I going to a World War II prison camp or the firing squad at the Prince of Wales Armory? The thought of crossing the now deserted schoolyard frightened me. I finally walked slowly home.
Mother was crying when she finished reading the letter that suspended me from school. My tears came again as I tried to tell her what I could remember of the brief morning. She decided to wait until Dad came home from work. Then, after supper, she would tell him the news and I could explain what happened. Mother then called the school and made arrangements for her and Dad to meet with the principal on Monday, November 16.
After supper Dad got the news and read the principal's letter. He did not show much emotion. I don't think he was pleased, but he heard me out.
When I entered grade six in the 1942-43 school year, we started a daily routine of saluting the flag and reciting the Oath of Allegiance. Monday to Thursday mornings we stood by our classroom desks and said the Lord's Prayer. Then our teacher would call us to attention. We saluted the flag that was mounted on the wall above the front blackboards and recited the Oath. Each Friday morning the entire school gathered in the main hallway for basically the same routine. Some Fridays we would have a singsong and we always finished with "God Save the King"
In the classroom under the teacher's stern gaze, fooling around was hard to get away with. But come Fridays, with 250 school kids from grades one to eight in the hallway, there was ample opportunity. I always looked forward to Friday morning assembly. It was like an extra recess to me. Twelve-year-old boys love to make twelve-year-old girls giggle. Funny faces and loud rude noises helped. With raging hormones in charge, and my twelve-year-old brain in neutral, I enjoyed the laughter and temporary fame. That is, I did until one particular Friday morning.
Part way through an Oscar worthy performance, I felt a hand on my shoulder and a familiar voice bid me to join him in his office. The principal opened the Academy's envelope and I lost. He spent some time explaining how important the assembly was to the Second World War and warned me that there would be serious consequences if I were caught again.
Next Friday came and my love of theater overcame the principal's warning. I wasn't even smart enough to cover my tracks. Thinking I was bulletproof, and knowing the young girls could not possibly live without laughter, I soldiered on. The curtain came down quickly with the now familiar hand on the shoulder routine and the invitation to the office party.
The principal strapped me twice on each hand, and then lectured me again on the importance of the daily flag ceremony. Without thinking I informed him I did not have to salute the flag. I was in the Irish Republican Army. My statement seemed to upset him. He peered over his glasses and very softly said, "You return to your classroom, Mr. I.R.A., and I will deal with you later." Time passed and before I knew it, the principal was leaving me on the steps.
My parents' scheduled meeting with the principal on Monday, November 16 was delayed until the following Thursday. It had started snowing in Edmonton on the Saturday and by the Monday morning, 19 1/2 inches had fallen. We had drifts up to fifteen feet high, and the city stopped moving. It took three days to open up the main roads, and school resumed Thursday morning.
There was one benefit for me in the storm. The suspension papers were still in the principal's office, and after my parent's meeting, they were never sent.
I returned to school on Friday morning. Before the hallway ceremonies began, I had to apologize to the assembled students and teachers. As my hand touched my forehead in salute and I recited the Oath that morning, I had mixed emotions. It felt good to be back, and although I received no formal notice, I knew I was out of the I.R.A. forever as I repeated the Oath of Allegiance: "I salute the flag, the emblem of my country. And to her I pledge my love and loyalty."
Twelve-year-old grade six students were not aware of the Edmonton Public School Trustee's concern for the flag saluting ceremonies during the World War II years. What began voluntarily in some schools during 1940 soon was adopted by the trustees as their own and they passed a resolution encouraging the activity. Not content with their control of the situation, that resolution was rescinded and they voted in September 1940 to make the flag salute compulsory. Still not happy with their creation they made the regulation even more forceful on May 12, 1941. Then at the October 8, 1942 board meeting the final adjustment was made. In the future Principals were asked to submit to the superintendent the names of families that did not cooperate in the exercise. The names of these student families were reported to the R.C.M.P.
They in turn placed those names in the hands of the City Police under whose jurisdiction such cases would fall. Principals were also directed to suspend from school all non-cooperating students despite pleas from parents who objected on religious grounds. It was not until April 11, 1944 that changes in the School Act forced trustees to permit children of objecting parents to stand at attention and remain silent while the ceremony was carried out.