Mason Jar of Marbles

When Principal Walter Jones of the East Stone High School walked into Miss Bertha Sprole’s classroom with a small group of tardy boys tagging along by his side he made an announcement that was not unusual for the beloved educator in his dealings with members of the student body. The six boys had taken their seats and waited for the verdict from their principal.

“Miss Sproles, please try to excuse these boys from being tardy. They forgot the time while playing marbles during recess. As a champion marble player myself I’m afraid I too forgot the time on occasion. But boys, don’t make a habit of being late from recess hereafter.”

My re-creation of this moment in time would have happened back in the 1940’s when shooting marbles was a common activity for many young boys and girls. My older brother Ralph was especially talented with marbles, and it wasn’t uncommon for him and every one of his friends to walk around with full pockets of their winnings, although playing “for keeps” was not always allowed. And every school playground had at least one ring cut into the earth for this memorable game.

I spent my early formative years living in a country house located between Powell Valley and Wallen Ridge and my family was fortunate that our nearest neighbors had children that matched the ages of our little clan. We lived in a virtual playground together and I recall that everyone always had a collection of beautiful marbles for display and for competition. And among that collection we all had our favorite “shooters”, possibly a steelie (metal marble) or a “cats-eye”, that we held in special regard.

For those of you unfamiliar with the art of shooting marbles, it is a very simple game. A designated number of marbles would be placed inside the ring, with each competitor contributing the same number. The goal was to displace outside the confines of the ring as many as possible of these target marbles before losing your turn by accidentally having your shooter pass outside the perimeter of the designated ring. As long as you could eliminate a marble with a shot and remain inside the ring then you earned one or more turns. An experienced marble player could put a spin on their “shooter” that would impact the target orb and then spin in place to remain inside the ring.

The art of marble shooting lasted well into the 1960’s but seems to have faded in popularity, possibly due to the fact that schoolyards and playgrounds rarely contain a patch of bare ground that could accommodate a ring. My brother Ralph wanted to make sure that his grandchildren learned the art and so he created a mat with a ring that could be placed on any smooth surface for conducting a game. When he had interested family members around you would find him kneeling on the ground giving each a coaching tutorial, and possibly fudging a little to let a young one win.

Recently, during these “dark” days of seclusion, I asked my niece if she remembered the blue-colored Mason jar that was always on the sill of our kitchen window. She most certainly did, and she assured me that the jar now had a home with a family member. The jar was filled to the top with colorful glass marbles that had survived several generations.

During my mental inventory for this article I remembered that jar of marbles and the happy hours of drawing a circle in preparation for a game. A game with simple rules, that only needed one or more friends and a handful of marbles. For me these are memories as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.