Brooke was writing recently on her blog about some of her most memorable teachers and profs:
I'm so curious about good teachers and scary teachers and whether you went to school when kids still got paddled and whether you remember things in vivid detail from grade school the way I do.
I told Brooke in my comment that I'd probably have to write my own blog post to answer her question. ;) So here it is. :) It's been hard to write specifically about teachers without getting sidetracked with school memories in general... I will try not to digress too much!
For the record, I do have some very vivid memories from my early school days (in the mid/late 1960s), and yes, corporal punishment was still a thing then. I remember my Grade 1 class being taken into the principal's office, where he opened his desk drawer & took out The Strap and showed it to us. I guess it was meant as a deterrent to bad behaviour, and for me, anyway, it was effective. ;)
Kindergarten was not mandatory or included as part of the public school system back then, but my mother paid for me (and then my sister, a year later) to attend a private kindergarten that was run out of the basement of the Catholic church. Unless the weather was bad, I walked there, sometimes with a friend, but usually by myself, about six blocks, across a highway. (You have to remember this was smalltown rural Saskatchewan in the mid-1960s and not at all unusual for the time & place.) One very vivid memory I have of kindergarten is that whenever there was a funeral going on in the church upstairs, we were all told we had to be VERY QUIET -- we spoke in whispers and tiptoed around, lol.
I loved my Grade 1 teacher, Miss MM. She was young and kind and pretty, and she got married that summer and changed her name (to Mrs. H.). We spent several art classes that June making flowers out of kleenex to decorate the wedding cars. (Does anyone do that anymore?? -- decorate wedding cars and/or make flowers out of kleenex??) Apparently there was some discussion between her and my parents about whether I should skip first grade, since I already knew how to read. My parents decided I should stay with kids my own age (and thank goodness -- I got enough bullying because I was "smart" -- I imagine it might have been a whole lot worse if I'd been thrown in with older kids...!), and Miss MM would give me "enrichment" work to do so that I wouldn't get bored. I didn't know this until my mother told me years later. I do remember her calling me up to her desk and asking me to do things for her while the other kids worked on something else. I never questioned it, but it did make me feel special. I Googled her a while back... she eventually became principal of the school. (I Googled her again while writing this & found an obituary for her husband, who died last year. It said they were married in August 1968 -- yes, the summer after I finished Grade 1!)
My favourite teacher of all time was probably my Grade 4 teacher, Mrs. D. It was actually a mixed Grade 4/5 classroom, in a portable (we called them "huts"). I was also in a mixed 5/6 classroom in a hut for Grade 5... I suppose some kids might have found it distracting, but I always enjoyed being able to listen in on what the older group was doing. ;) (There weren't enough kids for two separate classrooms, but to put us all together would have been way too many kids, so I guess this was their solution... and class sizes were generally pretty large as it was back then.) Mrs. D. was pretty, with long blond hair, and young -- back then, you could teach after attending a "normal school" for a year or two after finishing high school. She wore mini skirts (!!), and had a charm bracelet with a beer stein charm that her husband had given her for her 21st birthday. She turned 22 while she was our teacher, and we had a birthday party for her. Back then, it was customary that the teachers would read aloud to us from a book, a chapter at a time, right after lunch, and during that year, she read us all of the "Adventure" books by Enid Blyton. She did a great voice for Kiki the parrot. :) She had a beautiful singing voice, and sang in the choir at the church my family attended. She curled mixed doubles on a team with my dad & my best friend's dad, and I was beyond THRILLED when they won a bonspiel and she came to party afterwards AT OUR HOUSE, and I got to show her my bedroom!! All of us adored her. We were the last class she taught at that school before she & her husband moved to an isolated community way up north. She eventually had two boys, and I was incredibly sad to learn that she died of cancer in 2007 at the far, far too young age of 58. :(
I didn't have a male teacher until Grade 7, when we began having different teachers for different subjects. One of them was Mr. S., who taught us math and lived down the street from us. His wife was our 4-H group leader who taught sewing for two years to me, my sister and a couple of other girls from the neighbourhood. He was tense and explosive at times, and he did not get along with one girl in particular, who came on the bus from a native/indigenous community about 35 miles north of us. (They had their own elementary school, but had to be bused to our town for Grades 7 & up. Not many of them finished high school. I can imagine the long twice-daily bus trips alone would have been quite a deterrent.) She had quite an attitude, and used to chew gum in class, which was verboten, and drove him up the wall. One time, he had her spit out the gum into his hand -- and then stuck it into her hair!! I believe she complained to the principal's office, although I don't remember what if anything ever came of it. Nevertheless, it was shocking to us -- both that a teacher would act that way, and that a student would dare to challenge a teacher's authority like that. I can only imagine the outcry if a teacher tried to do that to a student these days!!
After Grade 7, we moved to another town, where I attended Grades 8 & 9 at a K-9 school, and then high school. Over those five years (in the mid to late 1970s), I had three different phys ed teachers -- one man and two women. I was not at all athletic or good at sports, and I loathed both the class & my teachers. None of them seemed to have any empathy for or interest in those of us who struggled. I actually didn't mind doing solo activities that I could do at my own pace, like gymnastics or aerobics or archery, or cross-country skiing -- our school was a short walk from a man-made lake, and we could sign out canoes & skis on lunch hours & spares -- but unfortunately, those units were infrequent and short in duration. Team sports (or skills drills for those sports) dominated -- soccer, baseball, volleyball, basketball, field & floor hockey -- and I was regularly humiliated by both the teachers & my classmates for my ineptitude (and was almost always the last person picked for a team). My first phys ed teacher in high school gave me a D on my first term report card, which sent me home in tears. My mother wound up going to the school to speak with her. She agreed that so long as I TRIED & showed a positive attitude, I should get at least a C for effort. That was the one & only D of my entire school career. Nevertheless, my self-confidence (never strong to begin with) took a beating, and to this day, I have little interest in sports and have a difficult time motivating myself to be more physically active.
Our music teacher throughout high school, Miss M., was a no-nonsense Brit who commuted from the city to teach us. In addition to classes, she ran the after-school honour band that encompassed kids from schools all over town, and produced our annual spring musical. She was strict, but she knew her stuff, and we came to both like and respect her. She told us that her parents were killed in the Blitz during World War II and her father had made pianos branded with the family name. She taught at schools in the city's north end for several years before she came to us, and we were thrilled when she found out that Burton Cummings of the Guess Who (who was just then launching a solo career) had been one of her pupils, a decade earlier. She showed us her yearbooks to prove it :) and I have heard/read him mentioning her several times over the years.
I was blessed with some great English/language arts teachers. I wrote about Mr. N., my Grade 8 teacher,
here. In Grade 10, I had Mr. P., in Grade 11, Mrs. Y., and in Grade 12, Mr. P & Mrs. Y co-taught one large class. Additionally, Mr. P. was our yearbook advisor and Mrs. Y. was our school newspaper advisor. They weren't wildly popular with my classmates (too strict for their liking), but I respected them and I thought they were good teachers. Together and apart, they had similar teaching styles and curricula, which tended to reinforce certain lessons over time. One thing I remember in particular was that each year, they would spend a class going over how to write an essay with us -- how to structure an opening, how the body of your essay should provide proof points for your thesis, and how to wrap everything up with a conclusion. My appreciation grew even greater once I got to university and realized just how much better prepared I was than the vast majority of my class and dorm mates, who didn't have a clue about how to research or structure a proper term paper, let alone citations. (I spent a lot of time coaching them and lending them my high school English notes, lol.) About 10-15 years ago (when Mr. P was principal of the school), I did something I'd been meaning to do for a long, long time -- I sent him an email to express my appreciation for the excellent grounding he had provided me. I am so glad I finally did it, before he retired. (I wrote about Mr. P & Mrs. Y previously,
here.)
The first day of Grade 12, there was a huge buzz in the halls about the cute new guy in school. Imagine our consternation when the cute new guy turned out to be Mr. W., our math teacher. :) He WAS good looking, just 23 years old, fresh out of school, and he was wearing white jeans & a black polo shirt, all of which set him apart from all the other male teachers at the school. The reality of math class eventually diminished some of the luster, lol -- next to phys ed, math was probably my least-favourite and worst-marked subject. I missed a lot of school that spring, between band trips and
my trip to Ottawa with the Rotary Club, among other things, and had to write several make up tests. My math grades were borderline -- you needed a 65 average or better, or else you had to write the final exam in June. I remember writing a test I'd missed for Mr. W. and then sitting anxiously in the empty classroom while he marked it and then figured out my average. I JUST squeaked under the wire. I was so happy I could have hugged the guy. Unfortunately, he and some of the other younger, popular teachers lost their job after that year -- job cuts, and they didn't have enough seniority (last in, first out). One of my friends ran into him in the city at the theatre, years later. He was still teaching, in the city, and was now sporting a beard!!
At university, I was set on majoring in English... until (influenced in part by my Ottawa trip) I took a first-year introduction to Canadian political science with Professor FD. I enjoyed it so much that I wound up doing a double honours program in both English & political studies -- so thank you for that, Professor FD.
One of my favourite poli sci profs was Professor T. -- I wound up taking classes with him in second, third AND fourth year. He was (& I think still is) a go-to commentator on federal and provincial politics for local media (he'd be on TV every election night), and I still see his byline in the newspaper now & then when I'm visiting my parents. I believe he's now retired or semi-retired, with the title Professor Emeritus. One memory of those classes with him: Towards the end of term in second year, we did an all-day simulation, debating free trade with the United States. (Plus ca change...). We were all assigned roles and positions to research, and then spent a day doing the simulation, debating and negotiating. I was leader of the opposition, and delivered a speech opposing free trade. I have absolutely no memory of who won the debate, but I do remember three things about that day: (1) the guy who played the U.S. president placed an American flag and a jar of jelly beans on the lectern before delivering his speech (Ronald Reagan was president at the time, lol), (2) one of the key players -- a provincial premier, I think? -- was "kidnapped" by a rogue group of players & (3) we eventually adjourned to the student union pub, where a good time was had by all, including Professor T. :)
The difference a good prof can make was driven home to me in third year. I had to take two English classes, and for one, I took Shakespeare, which was, I think, mandatory. For my other class, I had the choice of studying Milton, or Restoration & early 18th-century literature. Milton seemed both daunting and boring from what I heard (especially on top of Shakespeare), so I opted for Restoration & early 18th century literature. (Yes, I managed to get an honours degree in English without ever having to read a word of Milton...!) I had absolutely no idea what was in store for me, and in the hands of the wrong professor, it could have been a deadly class. To be honest, I don't even remember the prof's name -- but he was British, with that wonderful dry sense of humour and a dramatic flair, and he was instrumental in bringing the material to life for us. Much of the material we studied -- I remember poetry and prose by Donne, Pope and Swift and the play "The Country Wife" by William Wycherly -- was very much of its time, in archaic language, full of topical references to people & politics and events of the day -- all of which would have been totally meaningless, had the professor not taken the time to patiently explain the background & all the allusions and references and jokes for us. I wound up enjoying the class tremendously and got a B+.
Finally, I found
an old post in which I wrote about one of my journalism school/graduate program instructors, who gave me a boost when I needed it. I was 22, fresh out of undergrad (only a few weeks between handing in my final essay & leaving for J-school, a year-long program which started in May and wound up the following April) and one of the youngest and least journalistically experienced students in the class (I got in by putting my name on a waiting list & then accepting an opening when it miraculously came up!):
...I remember doubting myself and my abilities, and wondering what the heck I was doing here. The first several months of the program, we had two main profs teaching us the basics of reporting [M&M]. Both of them were veterans of the newspaper business and longtime buddies, who initiated us into the mysteries of the newsroom (not to mention the bar at the press club). One was a gruff Lou Grant type (whose bark was far worse than his bite); the other was somewhat more kindly (but no less hard-drinking). He and I sat down to review an assignment that fall -- and I will never forget him telling me (with an encouraging smile) that I had "a real nice style," and to keep up the good work, I was going to make a fine reporter. Exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right moment.
Coming back for the winter term, I was shocked to read in the local paper that he had passed away over the Christmas holidays. Our class arranged to have a framed photo of him mounted on the wall of the lounge. The accompanying plaque read "Teacher, mentor and friend."
(Thanks, M. :) )
