Okay everyone, come sit close. I have a story to share, and it begins right here in Chillicothe more than eighty years ago. It is the tale of Mrs. Bette Weber Gibbs, the brave young teacher who opened our town’s very first kindergarten class at Pearce Grade School in 1941. For the next 43 years she guided little ones through their ABCs, their first friendships, and their first discoveries, milestones etched in our town’s memory and remembered still to this day.

Picture Pearce on that first morning. The room set aside for kindergarten had spent years as a dusty storage closet, and a few bold mice thought it was still theirs. Mrs. Gibbs did not flinch. She climbed onto her desk, gathered sixty curious children around her feet, and opened a picture book while the custodian chased the whiskered visitors away. From that moment the children knew school could feel like an adventure and a safe place all at once. 

Crowds never slowed her down. For the first five years, Mrs. Gibbs also taught sixth, seventh, and eighth grade physical education, devoting half a day to kindergarten and the other half to gym classes. One year she taught fifty children before lunch and another sixty afterward. There were not enough chairs, so she pushed the tables against the walls, polished the floor, and invited everyone to sit in a big friendly circle. Half of each day she also hurried down the hall to teach physical education to older pupils, then rushed back to lead the Thumbkin song, practicing finger motions that helped with counting and coat buttons. “We did everything we could think of to make space,” she later laughed, “and somehow we fit.” 

Every classroom needed laughter. On a chilly November morning she raised her hand for the Pledge of Allegiance, but halfway through her words slipped into the Lord’s Prayer instead. Realizing the switch, she thought, “Well, I certainly need help today,” finished the prayer, shared a smile with numerous giggling voices, and began the pledge again. Moments like that taught children that even teachers made mistakes, and that kindness could always follow. 

Long before she became Mrs. Gibbs, Bette was a Chillicothe girl herself. She graduated Chillicothe Township High School in 1939, studied early childhood education in college, and hurried home because she believed the youngest learners deserved a joyful start right where she had grown up. Outside school she helped at the Weber Funeral Home founded by her great grandfather, sang in the church choir, and baked pies for neighbors who were ill. One evening at a dance in the Hub Ballroom she met Wayne Gibbs; together they later raised two daughters, Jami and Jaci, who sometimes glued construction paper shapes for Monday lessons. 

Some memories were too powerful to fade. On November 22, 1963, Mrs. Gibbs had just settled her class onto nap mats when news arrived that President Kennedy had been shot. Shocked, she sat among the mats and wept. Many years later a former pupil, Mike Orlandini, met her by chance in the Dallas–Fort Worth airport. They reminisced until she said softly, “Your class was the only one that ever saw me cry.” Four decades had passed, yet the feeling still quivered in her voice and in Mike’s heart. 

Over four decades Mrs. Gibbs watched kindergarten change from simple phonics and nursery rhymes to lessons that included science experiments, counting games, and stories about distant lands. She welcomed every new idea, saying, “If it helps the children, we will learn it together.” Her classroom always blended the old and the new, with familiar songs beside fresh discoveries. 

She loved bringing the outside world indoors. After bicycling along the Illinois River, she carried pebbles to class so children could sort them by size and color. When her brother Jack returned from sailing, she borrowed his small compass and let curious hands turn it toward every point on the earth. She saved for a quick trip to Mexico City and came home with a striped piñata and jingling maracas. That week the room rang with Spanish numbers and bright imagination. 

Many voices still praise her. Karen Sisk from her 1945 class said, “Every kid who passed through her door loved her.” Doug Munk from her 1955 class called her “a lovely lady.” Janea McCabe Gabel delights that her aunt was in Mrs. Gibbs’s first class and her own daughter in the last, a perfect circle of learning. Curtis Brockhouse became a pediatric nurse because, he said, “She showed me how adults could make children feel safe.” 

Mrs. Gibbs liked to keep a small box of encouragement slips behind her desk. One read, “Try something new every day.” Another said, “You can do hard things when someone believes in you.” When a child looked worried, she tucked a note into the backpack as a secret gift, and many parents later wrote that the notes stayed on bedroom mirrors for years. She always said, “A happy child learns,” and she worked to make school the happiest part of each day. 

In 1984 Mrs. Gibbs retired, dreaming of garden rows, travel, and story time with grandchildren, though she admitted September might feel lonely without the smell of new crayons. Sure enough, by the first cool day of October she was helping in a nearby classroom, cutting apple shapes for the bulletin board and humming Thumbkin in the hallway. Chillicothe simply could not keep her away from the laughter of children. 

Families treasured her influence. One household kept a scrapbook titled “Everything We Learned from Mrs. Gibbs,” filled with Thumbkin drawings, pressed maple leaves, and a photo of the jungle gym that once stood in the middle of the classroom. Another former student kept the tiny compass from the sailing lesson on his desk and turned it each Monday as a reminder to stay curious.

Mrs. Gibbs often called herself “a mothering figure,” ready to hug, to play, and to guide. She claimed she could recognize former students by their eyes even after twenty years. Imagine walking through the grocery store as an adult and hearing her gentle voice say, “I remember those bright eyes.” That was the magic she carried wherever she went. 

So, kids, the next time you sing in class or count on your fingers, think of Mrs. Bette Weber Gibbs. She believed every child who crossed her doorway had something wonderful to share with the world, and she spent her life helping them discover it. Chillicothe has spent generations proving her right, and now you are part of that shining legacy, too. If the first day of school ever feels scary, picture Mrs. Gibbs standing on a desk, mice scurrying below, reading a story with a smile as wide as a sunrise. Remember her whisper to so many hearts: “You are brave, you are kind, and you are ready to learn.” That promise was the beginning of every great adventure, in school and in life. 

Someone had to carry the torch, and for forty-three years Mrs. Bette Weber Gibbs did so with unwavering dedication. Chillicothe thanks you as our First Lady of Kindergarten.