Unforgettable Margaret Bancroft
The following is excerpted from a personal recollection by Mrs. W. L. (Polly) Culbertson of Pottstown, Pennsylvania.
Some specific recollections of childhood have remained clear throughout my lifetime, so vivid are they. Such is my memory of the afternoon, nearly 50 years ago, when I first was taken to call upon my aunt’s friend, Miss Margaret Bancroft, in Haddonfield, New Jersey.
Shortly after the ferry had gotten underway, my aunt began to tell me of the school Miss Bancroft had founded for children whose minds or bodies have been injured before or at birth or crippled later by terrible illness. She told me that I might see, at “The Lindens,” some of these children and, if I did, I must realize that, while these children might not look, speak or act like the children I knew, nevertheless, they felt just as did my friends and me, and that I must act with the same courtesy and kindness I liked shown to me.
She continued to tell me that Miss Bancroft had begun her teaching career in the Philadelphia public schools and that it had been the presence of a little boy in one of her classes – a little boy who could not keep up with the rest of the children, a forlorn child who was permitted to attend school only to relieve his poor widowed mother to earn their livelihood – that had focused Miss Bancroft’s attention on the problem and aroused her interest in the field of special education. Prior to this, only in rare instances were handicapped children given any training, and when they became a public charge, they frequently had questionable housing and inadequate physical care. But now, with the experience gained from teaching the little boy, Miss Bancroft knew that a handicapped child can learn with individual training and time.
Her ideas and methods were so in advance of the time that she had many criticisms and discouragements and, had it not been for the admiration and support of two wonderful Philadelphia physicians, Dr. W.W. Keen and Dr. S Weir Mitchell, Miss Bancroft might not have been able to found the school that bears her name.
“Indeed,” my aunt said, “Miss Bancroft did not get understanding and encouragement even from her own family. Although her parents’ support depended on Miss Bancroft’s teaching, her father felt the way her salary should be spent was his say-so. And he objected most strenuously to his daughter giving up the security of a monthly paycheck for the preposterous venture of a private “special” boarding school for handicapped children.
“In fact, Miss Bancroft’s father actually forbade her to use her last four dollars, cached – for safekeeping – in the ironstone coffee pot, for such a scatterbrained venture as a trip to New York, where Dr. Mitchell had advised her to go to interview the family of her potential first boarding pupil. That four dollars, Mr. Bancroft had stated, must be used to pay for a barrel of flour. When his daughter tried to explain how much a “special” school could give these children, his reply was, “Be just before you are generous.” And, for him, the matter was closed.
“But it wasn’t closed for Margaret Bancroft, who had not only a determination equal to her father’s, but also a fierce belief in her cause. So, at three o’clock the next morning, silently she dressed in the dark, took her precious four dollars and walked through the black night and winter cold to catch the first milk train to New York. Returning that night, she brought back to Haddonfield with her, Cora, her first boarding pupil.
It was hard for me, on our arrival, to rationalize my mental picture of Margaret Bancroft, stealthily taking her money from the coffee pot, with the elegant Miss Bancroft who welcomed us to her home and her school. Looking at her with the utter candor of a child, I could not help but feel the strength of purpose that lay behind the Quaker calm of her face, in her clear eyes and the firmness of her handshake. Her soft wool dress of Navy blue lined with taffeta swished as she crossed the room to greet us, and tucked under the knot of her heavy hair was a rose. On other times, in after years, whenever I saw her, she was just as carefully gowned, and she always wore a flower in her hair and, frequently, one on her dress as well.
“The children like my flowers,” was her only explanation. And, that was more than reason enough for Margaret Bancroft. No detail was too small, no task too large, for Margaret Bancroft to do for “the children.” Into her direct and intimate care each little new one came. No nurse was assigned, nor teachers chosen, until the child had been with Miss Bancroft personally day and night, for a week. During that time, she studied the child, his moods and reactions, his likes and fears. And when she had drawn her own conclusions, she would send the child, in care of her young assistant, Jenzia Cooley, to Philadelphia to get the opinion of the famous neurologist, Dr. S. Weir Mitchell. With each child would go four sheets of paper: one for the doctor’s neurological diagnosis, one for the prescribed medicine and treatment, one for the diet and, last but not least, Miss Bancroft’s own summation of the child.
On these occasions, Dr. Mitchell would invariably say, as he handed the precious papers back to Miss Cooley, “Jenzia, Margaret Bancroft has a better knowledge and understanding of these children than anyone I know. I feel humble beside her.”
Miss Bancroft, however, was never satisfied with what she knew or what she could give of her knowledge. She was always seeking more. She particularly valued her later association with Dr. E.A. Farrington, who not only also loved and understood the children, but whose knowledge of medicine and psychology could confirm with science what Margaret Bancroft seemed to know by intuition.
Other young teachers in nearby Philadelphia were impressed by the growing knowledge of her work and inspired by her speeches in which she preached the gospel of freedom for these children from neglect and ridicule, freedom from indifferent teaching, and freedom from physical defects and disabilities that an awakening medical profession could now correct.
These young teachers came to Bancroft School to observe, to absorb and to adopt. Helene Devereux, Mollie Woods and many others who have made a name in special education learned from this pioneer teacher before they opened their schools and, so carried on the work so dear to Margaret Bancroft’s heart.
The more special schools that were established, the better she felt she had succeeded. She advocated state inspection for private, as well as public, schools and tried to educate the public on the need for heavy endowments for those special schools so that clinics could be operated in connection with the schools, and classes for observation and practice in the training of special teachers could be established.
Miss Bancroft’s long years of devoted service came to a close at her death in January 1912. The continuance of her school, however, was assured by the terms of her will, which provided that all her personal property – including the school property in New Jersey and the camp property in Maine – should pass on to the nonprofit Bancroft School corporation and be administered by trustees for the sole benefit of children placed in the school’s care.
More and more, people are aware of the wisdom she brought to public attention long ago. For those who personally benefit and for the parents and families who see help and a better future for their beloved ones, Margaret Bancroft must always be, as for me, a most unforgettable person.