ABSTRACT
P.S. 9, the neighborhood elementary school, was the hub of my life outside of my home, from kindergarten through eighth grade. Within its somewhat gothic, brownstone walls, in a strict atmosphere reminiscent of a Catholic parochial school, its pupils received a rigorously excellent primary education. Boys and girls were classmates only until fourth grade, when the boys were transferred to another, all-male school, while the girls continued on until graduation. The teachers of its predominantly Jewish student body were all women, mainly from Irish-American backgrounds, most of whom, like our formidable principal, Miss Mulligan, were unmarried.
