Conference turris::womannotes-v3

    
    Well, in 9th grade there was Mr. Arnold, who taught me more about
    writing than I'm *sure* I ever wanted to know - but he taught me by
    letting me do it and trip over myself and get confused and hit walls
    and then try again.  He had a teriffic sense of humor, and was
    extremely easy-going.  In his class we could just read or we could talk
    or we could write or have him critique our works (and I mean critique
    as well as correct.....the one paper I got back which said "KUDOS!!!"
    on top meant more to me than all the other A's I'd ever gotten
    combined).
    
    Teachers who encourage us to work in the areas in which we are strong
    are wonderful, powerful shapers of the future.  And by showing us where
    we are weak, we learn to exercise those aspects as best we can to
    strengthen them also.
    
    If I ever get a book published, I'm going to dedicate it to him....
    
    -Jody
    
    p.s.  I am *positive* that certain teachers, by their nature and their
    methods, have POISONED certain subjects for me.  There are some things
    that I have LEARNED I will "Never be able to understand" from having
    heard it so many times.  
    

    
    	My sophomore year was Ms. Cunningham for English.  Which was
    	always my favorite subject.  I remember people saying how I
    	was going to hate her and how much of a witch she was.  Well
    	I loved her.  Shakespeare was great in her class.  After we
    	were done with the books, we'd watch a movie version of it,
    	and I remember when we watched Romeo & Juliet, Ivanhoe and
    	Wuthering Heights she cried right along with the other girls
    	in the class.
    
    	And she was the first one who told me I should be a poet.  Of
    	course at that time I laughed it off because I didn't think 
    	what I wrote was that great.  But 7 years later I'm writing
    	and have had two poems published.  I still need a lot of
    	'polish' when it comes to my poetry but if she hadn't told me
    	then that she thought I had potential, I may never have tried.
    
    	I'll never forget her or her class.
    
    	JJ
    

    Poison teachers.....
    
    The quality of the teacher became extremely important to me in college.
    I did very well in the classes where the prof was approachable, where I
    really like the teaching assistant....etc.
    
    I did very poorly when I didn't like the teacher.  I will never forget
    the prof who taught me fluid dynamics/heat transfer (a very difficult
    subject).  Attempt one came my junior year, ad it was the first time
    the guy had taught undergraduates.  Of course, he couldn't believe how
    stupid we were (What?!!! You don't know how to solve this simple
    differential equation????  Test next tuesday on diff. eq.  Of course
    the problem was that no one had to deal with one for at least a year so
    we were very rusty.)  I promptly failed everything that came my way and
    had to drop the course.
    
    Luckily, the head of the undergraduate program was very concerned about
    the students, and the guy was taken aside and asked politely to chill
    out.  I tried again the next year, and even though the prof was much
    more understanding of us (and the TA spoke English), the damage had
    been done, and I passed fluids by the skin of my teeth. I could have done 
    better, but the damage was done, I was convinced that I was too stupid to 
    do well.
    
    It is unfortunate, because that information is very important and it will
    be necessary to relearn it when I go back to grad school.
    
    Lisa

    Boy, does this bring back a lot of memories!
    
    My favorite teacher in high school was the drama teacher, Mrs.
    Marsters.  Drama opened up many doors to me and helped me through some
    awkward social situations.  I had a ball working backstage and dancing
    in the musicals!  For the first time, I felt that I actually belonged. 
    Theatre was also something that my sisters weren't involved in, so for
    the first time, I was blazing new territory!  Sadly, Mrs. Marsters 
    contracted Alzheimer's and passed away last year.
    
    My teacher-from-h*ll was Mr. Wheeler, my 4th grade science teacher. 
    One day I was doing something other than paying attention, so he walked
    over, pulled me out of my chair and made me stand in the front of the
    class with him, holding his hand.  When he wanted me to answer, he
    would squeeze my hand.  No wonder I never liked science after that.  I
    can't remember whether or not I told my parents about it - I was so
    scared and embarassed!
    
    I enjoyed graduate school the most, because I *wanted* to be there to
    learn.  Some of the teachers were duds, but the majority were
    outstanding.  It took me that long to learn that I had an aptitude for
    math...I had steered clear of it during school.
    
    All told, I wouldn't want to go through it again.  Once was quite
    enough for me!
    
    Judi
    

       Well, let me take the time to honor Mrs. Gibbs. She taught 6th grade
    and was one of those people that made the pursuit of knowledge exciting
    to young people. She treated us with respect when all the other
    "grown-ups" treated like kids. She made learning even history, fun. She
    knew just how to challenge that awkward age child without harming their
    self-concept.
       I also had a high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Puckett. He was
    another gift to the field of education. There were never any stupid
    questions in his class. He made a hard subject exciting.
          For me personally the two most influencial teachers in my life,
    other than the two aforementioned, were my parents. Both educators, and
    a great parenting team. My Mother retired from 30 years of shaping
    young lives last friday.  
         Here's to the unsung heroes of the classroom!
                                                                M...
                                                                    

    Mr. Boita, who taught me Algebra 1 and Trigonometry in high school.
    
    Twenty years later, I was able to bypass Algebra and go straight
    into Trig in college. In spite of the rust it's coming back
    to me fairly easy. Thanks, Peter.

To Mrs. Gill, who took a frightened, self-destructing high-school freshman, 
and over the course of a summer (and through the remaining years of high
school) turned her around to a girl convinced she could succeed if she
would only try.  I never had her for a class, because she didn't teach
classes, but she taught me more about living than any other teacher I've 
ever had.

I had just failed (F's, really failed) *all but one* of my academic courses.
Summer school was prescribed, with the admonition "at least one of Alison's
classes this summer should be something *she* does for fun" from the 
guidance folks.  I chose to join the stage crew, and Mrs. Gill was in charge.
She found out that I had a skill none of the others had - I could sew a
straight seam with even stitch tension.  And I sewed every drop we used
from that point forward until I graduated.  And she made sure everyone else
knew that it was a skill and a talent and valuable.  She gave me the first
thing I had to be proud of among my peers since I had been in 3rd grade.

"Her crew" didn't fail classes - they helped each other as they painted and
sawed and hammered and hung lights and sat through rehearsels.  "Her crew"
did things *right*, even if it meant doing it 2 or 3 times to get it that
way.  "Her crew" practiced their part of a show just as much as anyone else,
if not more, so that when it went live, you could do it by rote.  She
taught teamwork and planning and leadership by example - which is the way
it takes root and flourishes.

I've had a couple of other outstanding teachers, but she's one of two that
I can honestly say I don't think I'd be here today if it weren't for her.

Alison 

    
    ah yes...those wonderful (and awful) teachers.  They do shape
    the minds and lives of the young!  
    I was fortunate enough to have several very good teachers, 
    three of which were 'extra' special.  But probably the one 
    who impacted me the most in terms of getting out of my shell,
    showing me the challenge of learning, and in general making
    school fun, was my 9th grade Spanish teacher.  
    She was just 22 (not much older than us) ---but was only
    one class and a dissertation away from her *doctorate*!  And
    she was just as 'wild and crazy' as we were.  and, like some
    others have said, thanks to her, I can still remember much of
    the Spanish I learned!  (amazing after 20 years!!)
    
    I recently heard she 'retired' to move on to different things,
    and I wish I had kept in touch with her.  But its tough to do.
    I did manage to maintain contact for several years, and told
    her what a great teacher/person I thought she was.  Hope you
    have all done the same...nothing like hearing it from the students
    directly to 'make your day'!! 
    
    deb
    

    re .7
    
    Alison, thank you for your story.
    
    This is why I wonder at the wisdom of cutting arts and sports programs
    in the schools.  If the students aren't succeeding academically, what
    other outlets do they have.  If the parents can't afford private
    lessons, where are they going to go?
    
    I know that without theatre I would have just gotten by and gone
    through the motions.
    
    Judi
    

    
    	The theatre was the most exciting part for me too.
    
    	If someone were to ask me if I could go back in time and relive
    	one thing, what would it be?  I'd tell them West Side Story
    	my junior year.  By far the most exciting and fun thing I did.
    
    	JJ
    

    My favorite part of high school was art class.  I had always enjoyed
    drawing and in my sophomore year she finally taught me to oil paint.
     After that, she always let me do whatever I wanted in art (which
    was always oil painting).  She never made me do the projects that
    she made up for most of the class to do.  I was also allowed to
    spend any study hall or lunch in her classroom whenever I wanted
    to, and during my senior year I had art class every day instead
    of once or twice a week.  She provided me with some very happy times
    in an otherwise difficult period of my life.
    
    Lorna
    

High School ...spit spit..I didn't go too often and even when I did I wasn't
really there (never mind! ;-) ). But one of my teachers now works for DEC
(yes, there is justice). I think it's kind of comical, after all the
crap he gave me and the countless times he made me stay for detention that
we both ended up in the same place. He stopped by my office one day and it
was really quite a hoot.

Jenna

(admit it Zag, you didn't *really* think I would be a failure did you?)

    Well, *my* favorite teacher is the teacher I had last term, Spring
    1990, at Clark University.  The course was Women's Autobiography,
    in which we read a wide variety of journals written by women.
    Some were written as early as the 1200's, the last, I believe,
    written in 1989.  Some were translated from Russian, old English,
    and French.  I highly recommend the course, but the instructor,
    added so much excitement, provocation, discussion that she
    surely deserves most of the credit.  
    Maia
    

    I've already mentioned Mr. Rasmussen, but let me elaborate:  He
    was close to retirement, but still incredibly full of energy.
    He bustled around the classroom, fairly bursting with the ideas
    he had to impart.  He taught my English class my sophomore year,
    and let me do my term paper on Robert A. Heinlein.  We had to write
    a four hundred word essay every week, based on a quotation.  The
    only way I could squeeze out four hundred words was to really think
    about the subject all week, mentally laying out my essay.  The next
    year, I elected to take his "Epic, Myth and Metaphor" course, even
    though it meant staying late.  (We were on staggered sessions that
    year.)  That was the best course I even took.  I was a little
    disappointed that his friend, Moses Haddes (sp?), was on sabbatical
    that year, and so could not discuss _Three_Greek_Romances_, but I
    went to "The English and American Novel" class when some other
    professor from Brown was talking about Faulkner.  The culture went
    down our throats without any ramming at all.
    
    Then there was Mr. Renquin.  Sergeant "Red" Renquin had come out of
    combat in Korea, finished his education and gotten his teaching
    certificate, and stepped into my sixth grade class.  He then stepped
    through the connecting door to the only other male teacher in the
    school, teaching the other sixth grade class, and made a deal.  Mr.
    Renquin taught us all math and science, Mr. McDonald taught us all
    history, and each class used its assigned teacher for other subjects.
    He taught us alternate number bases, and made it fun.  He also
    loaned me his meterology textbooks and set up a weather corner in
    the room when he learned I was studying for my Meterology badge in
    Girl Scouts.  (I learned just how fast the barometer can drop when
    there's a hurricane coming.)  He even loaned me a French textbook,
    but that didn't work out.
    
    One day he had me check his scoring on our Idaho tests.  I worked
    right through recess on it.  Later, as I continued to work, I realized
    that the other kids were having one of `those' classroom discussions
    with him, claiming that he had a Teacher's Pet.  One claimed it was
    this kid, another claimed it was that one.  He denied all the accusations
    cheerfully.  No one suggested me.  Finally, during all this, I looked
    up, caught his eye, and grinned.  He grinned back.  We both knew that
    being his Teacher's Pet was not a position any of them would really want.
    
    							Ann B.

    
    I had many excellent teachers, plenty of good ones, and, of course,
    my share of total jerks (eg; the football coach that my high school
    coerced into teaching physics so that he could be on the staff and
    work with the football team - blech, I still find physics distasteful!)
    
    Probably my best teacher, though, was one of my earliest.  My third
    grade teacher, Dorothy Benham, is now deceased, and I miss her.  She
    was a tiny, wiry woman of about 60 when I was in third grade.  She had
    tremendous energy and a love for learning, knowledge, and discussion
    that was contagious.  After the end of the school year, about a week
    into summer vacation, I saw her walking down the street to my house,
    carrying two brown paper shopping bags.  They were a gift to me.  One
    was full of clippings for arts/crafts projects, the other was full of
    clippings for science projects.  I spent that summer growing crystal
    gardens, painting and mounting spider webs, collecting and labeling
    rocks and minerals, weaving paper baskets, and numerous other things. 
    By the end of the summer, I had completed every one of the dozens of
    projects in Mrs. Benham's shopping bags.  (I kept those bags around for
    years afterward!)  I entered my next school year with a sense of pride
    and accomplishment, and with a love of the arts and sciences that has
    remained with me throughout my life.  What a beautiful gift to give a
    child, and what a thing to treasure as an adult!  The world needs more
    people like Mrs. Benham, people who really know how to make a
    difference.
    
    /Rita
    
     

    Having just graduated from college, and therefore completing 16
    (agh) years of education in a row, I am really up on teachers.
    
    My two fav high-school teachers made the topic we were learning
    completely interesting- even motivating the "dumb" kids.  One of
    the classes was an English class.  Since I am an English Major,
    I've had plenty of experience with English teachers, and she was
    one of the best.
    In fact, I keep in touch with both of them, and just saw them last
    week at my graduation party!
    
    As far as college (and you'll all love this), 3 of my favorite 4
    professors were women who taught "women's studies" classes!!
    In fact, I became very good friends with two of these profs, and
    plan to keep in touch for a long time.
    
 
    Then there is the Head of The English Department who would smoke
    cigars on the 3rd floor of an un-airconditioned room and flicked
    his ashes on the floor.  He also faithfully brought a mug to class
    that had a naked woman masturbating on the side.  He was one of
    my least favorites.
    
    KarenKay
    Gettysburg College '90
    (temp)          
   

    Oh yeah....how could I forget.....
    
    Mr. Vogel....I think that was his name - he was our principal when I
    was in 4th grade.  He read out loud to us once a week - Roald Dahl
    books mostly - and also learned of my interest in rocks and lent me one
    of the schools rock tumblers.  
    
    And in college?  Professors Borden and Boyd.  Taught thermo and then
    some.  It seems those that struck me most strongly were those who
    noticed what I was, those who encouraged and listened and nurtured my
    skills....
    
    -Jody
    

Mrs. Deem, life science, 7th grade.

Poor Jo Deem.  Every kid in the school hated her.  Even her daughter,
Susan, with whom I was friends, hated her.  The problem was that
she had no tolerance or ability to deal with "problem" kids, and would
get very flustered when things went awry.  And she was disillusioned
about kids - nt surprising teaching in the worst school in town where
violence and drugs are a way of life.

I was the light of her life.  I *liked* science.  I stayed after class
to talk to her about it.  I was the student she dreamed about when she
started teaching.  I didn't make fun of her in class, I listened, and
learned.  And she was so enthusiastic about the subject - for all her
inability to handle students, she loved and knew science, and she knew
how to teach!  And she gave me her love of science, and she was my all-
time favorite teacher.

My father started teaching math in the school system where I went to
JHS, two years after I left.  He knew Ms Deem (he calls her Jo, which
I still find disturbing) and respects and likes her.  At his wedding
last April I found myself sitting with three of his high school math
students, and we were comparing teachers from when I went to that JHS and
when they did.  I asked them who thier least liked teacher was, and
sure enough, unanomously, Ms. Deem.  I asked why?  She was too hard, she
wasn't laid back, she was hyper and nerdlike.  *sigh*  So they still 
hate her... :-(

So while I was in NM, I stopped by the school to say hi to her.  I
walked into her classroom, and in front of a whole class of 7th graders
gave her a BIG HUG.  She was embarassed, and brought me out into the
hall, but once we were out, I could see she was very happy, and I could
see tears in her eyes.  I think my showing in front of her kids that there
are students who like and appreciate her made her really happy and I am
glad I did it!

So all you people talking about those wonderful teachers - tell them.
Drop by the school, let them know what you are doing.  Both my parents
are educators and I know that nothing is more gratifying to a teacher
than to have students come back years later, successful, and say "You
made a difference in my life."

D!

    In 7th grade I had an algebra teacher, I wish I could remember her
    name!  One day we were going over some homework problems, and I was
    called on to answer, and I had not done the problem 'cause I didn't
    understand it.  But I tried to sleaze by, tried to fake that I knew the
    answer, and she saw right through me.  She got mad and made me leave
    the room and wait till the end of the class in the hall outside.
    
    Afterward, she called me back in and made it very clear that she was
    not mad because I did not know the answer to the problem.  She was mad
    because I tried to fake her out instead of *asking for help*.  That was
    worse to her than anything.
    
    She also used to make the whole class do calisthenics if she saw that
    we were not paying attention.  She demanded our best efforts, and got
    it.
    

    	Mrs. Curry. Sophomore (high school) English.
    
    	This was called a "college prep" course, which means
    	it was about as hard as you could get. I was in with
    	all the "brains," people I knew well but who were
    	much smarter than me. She encouraged me, and I loved
    	the class. During the poetry segment, we all had
    	to memorize 10 or 15 pieces of poetry, assigned by
    	her. I felt very good when I was able to recite or
    	write all the peoms she had assigned us. Some of the
    	others were not as enthused, why, I don't know.
    
    	Mrs. Lorrey. Elm St. Junior High School, Nashua, NH.
    
    	Mrs. Lorrey teaches social studies. My oldest daughter
    	Heidi was in her class. Heidi would come home from
    	school on a Friday and talk about the food they had
    	eaten in social studies. See, Mrs. Lorrey would teach
    	about a country or culture and then, on a given Friday,
    	bring food in from the country for the students to eat.
    	She really has a zest for teaching and living.
    
    	Every year, she takes students over to Europe during one
    	of their break weeks. In 1988, she took Heidi and 8 other
    	students to London and Paris. In April of 1990, she took
    	Heather (my youngest daughter) and 10 other students to
    	Paris and London.
    
    	She had to change plans back in 1988 because terrorist
    	activities made it unwise to go to her first choice:
    	Greece and Rome.
    
    	Quite a teacher.
    
    	Scott 

    Seems like a lot of us appreciate the teachers who gave us a challenge
    and encouraged us to believe we could do it!
    
    Mr. Thoms, 5th and 6th grade -- it was an open classroom and we had a
    great time learning without knowing we were learning!  I learned about
    calligraphy and animals and excellence and pottery and nature and
    sharing and creativity and writing and the love of reading and theatre. 
    I wasn't behind at all in 7th grade on ... as a matter of fact, I
    thought school was fun!
    
    Mr. Ca ... ack, can't remember his name!  But he was my English teacher
    in high school from the second half of 10th grade on, including AP
    English in 12th grade.  He was about 28 at the time, and looked young
    enough to be one of us!  But he was RELENTLESS about making us work
    incredibly hard to achieve the best grade we could.  An A really meant
    something.  My vocabulary and grammar improved tremendously, and I
    learned that writing was learned by rewriting.  The other kids groaned
    when they learned they were in his class (too much work!), but they
    respected him.  I felt stretched and it was great.
    
    Mr. Springer, music teacher in high school, for chorus, choir, and
    madrigals.  One of us.  He snorted when he laughed hard.  He taught us
    not only notes but how to produce GOOD sound vocally.  He was also the
    theatre guy, and he had such faith in us!  We did "Once Upon a
    Mattress" and "Carousel."  I was second female lead in "Carousel"
    senior year, which was a huge stretch for me because at the time I was
    painfully shy in public -- but I had a good voice.  Because I gained
    confidence in my voice, and he trusted me to carry off the role, I felt
    better about myself in general.  In class, he used to joke around and
    play uproarous songs with fake words ("Leprosy!  My god, I've got
    leprosy!  There goes my eyeball, into my highball!", like a vampy bar
    Tango song).
    
    I've often thought about going back to the school and saying thank you
    to all of them ... maybe I will.
    Pam

    I guess I was lucky, I had lots of excellent teachers and just a
    few awful ones.  I owe this in part, to going to a very progressive
    school district where what the school board said didn't matter as
    much as "Are these kids learning and enjoying school?".
    
    My first of many favorite teachers was one of my second grade teachers.
    I can't remember her name, though I am sure my mom and dad do--I
    told her my daddy thought she was pretty and asked her if she wanted
    to date him at our open house night at school!  She was very creative
    and innovative when it came to teaching.  Every Friday we had "open
    living"--there were various stations set up throughout our "open"
    classrooms and we could go to any of the stations of our choice
    for allotted time frames.  I took classes like German, weaving,
    counting on an abacus, etc.  Talk about a great way to learn!!
    
    Next came Mr. Deguire.  He was the teacher for the "Red group" (no
    grades that year), we were all 3rd and 4th graders grouped by ability.
    He helped us with all kinds of neat projects, one of which was
    publishing a weekly newsletter for our group.  At the end of the
    year we compiled our favorite pieces out of each newsletter to form
    a memory book.  I still have it and read it--big news included my
    friend kissing a boy, another friend moving away, and me breaking
    my arm.  
    
    Next came Mrs. Kucera who took the red group the next year.  I thought
    she was SSSoooo cool.  She wore clogs and wrap around skirts.  She
    believed in building self esteem and taught us all about warm fuzzies
    and cold pricklies, as well as giving out great awards for progress
    in any subject or attitude.
    
    7th grade I had Mr. Evans for life science.  He was the neat teacher
    in the Superman T-shirt and rainbow suspenders who taught us all
    about science as well as psychology, physics, etc.  I will never
    forget him telling us about a sensory deprivation tank, how they
    worked, why they worked, etc.  We even built all kinds of neat
    contraptions in class to prove theories, etc.
    
    7th grade also brought one of the worst teachers.  She taught health
    class and was a total dud!  Mrs. Chandler was the football coaches
    wife and the most close minded teacher I ever had.  But of course
    the jocks all did well in her class!  I remember asking questions
    about sex, drugs, birth control, etc. only to get astonished shaming
    looks and very curt answers with strong opinions interlaced.
    
    9th grade brought my very favorite teacher.  Doug Hays.  He taught
    Congress and Presidency but at one time had been a drummer for 
    3 Dog Night.  He made learning so much fun.  We had mock elections,
    trials, trivia questions with history thrown in, etc.  He encouraged
    me (a "freak/hippy") to join student counsel so that other kids
    like me would be represented in our student counsel.  He was one
    of the few teachers in Jr. High and High School that could see past
    outward appearances, and accept you on a person to person level.
    I still keep in touch with him and have told him how great I think
    he is.  Won't ever forget his drums during assemblies--JAMMING!
    
    Then I had a terrible teacher--can't remember her name but I'll
    never forget her ugly attitudes.  I had just returned to school
    after relinquishing my baby for adoption (11th grade) when I was
    placed in a class called inappropriately "Family living".  It should
    have been called "Fantasy Living".  This teacher taught all about
    what it was like to have babies, raise a family, etc.  though she
    wasn't married, had never had kids, etc.  After her weird
    interpretation of childbirth (6 weeks after having a baby) I demanded
    to be taken out of her class.
    
    Next came Mrs. Kearney, one of my best friends.  She was the only
    person I confided in about going away to have my baby and giving
    him up for adoption.  Such a beautiful lady!  She taught me to express
    myself in journals and really helped me to overcome a lot of grief,
    guilt and sadness.  She is a great person, and though I have lost
    touch with her, she is always in my heart.
    
    Finally, my senior year I had Mr. Stringer.  He was gay and we all
    made fun of him but he gave me one of the greatest gifts of all.
    He taught me to be a writer!  He made us write, rewrite, rewrite,
    and rewrite again but that year I was published twice and received
    an honorable mention in a writing contest.  I wish I could apologize
    to him now for all the cruel things we said and did as kids.
    
    No one in college really stands out in my mind other than the dean
    of students.  He helped us all to have firm beliefs in ourselves.
    I remember him giving a little girl who kept bugging everyone on
    campus for money for candy, a dollar.  As he handed it to her (she
    was about 4) he said, "I am not giving you this dollar because you
    wanted it but because you were persistent.  You wanted something
    and you kept on asking and working for it.  Remember to be persistent."
    
    pam
    
    

Mr. Marks
   
     Mr. Marks was not a just a person who taught school -- teaching was
his VOCATION.  He had no other family and frequently slept at the
school, rather than drive home late at night and return early.  Mr.
Marks dedicated his whole life in service to the community.  He kept
score for the high school sports teams and wrote a sports column for the
weekly newspaper.  He held "brain bowls" for us and Play Days.  He
hosted a New Year's Eve party for the junior high and sponsored dances
that were REALLY fun -- i.e., everyone really danced and had a good
time.  On warm spring afternoons, the whole class would walk downtown to
the cafe and order milkshakes.  He had pizza parties for kids
on the honor roll and for those with perfect attendance.  

    He taught us how to square dance after school (from records) and
when we couldn't find enough boys, he danced with us.  He took some of
the boys with limited incomes -- these were kids who had never gone 50 miles
from our home town (never girls, though -- too much gossip I guess) -- on
summer vacations with him or to Disneyland over Christmas vacation.  He
brought in AAA guides and had us plan travel vacations -- he used every
opportunity to stretch our ideas out of our tiny hometown mentality.

    In class, we solved ciphers and codes and ACTED out our spelling
words -- encouragement for bad puns.  I can still see "A bunny dance"
(abundance) as he performed it.  I also remember that he had us practice
"correct introductions"  (Pretend you're introducing your mother to your
boss . . .)  He had us invent our own words for ideas that couldn't
be efficiently expressed in our native tongue - and gave prizes for the
best-sounding words.

     I had the best time in Junior High -- because in spite of the hormones
and the uncertainties, a few great teachers made school a fun, interesting 
and exciting place to be.

      And he did it for LOVE -- my *starting*  salary here at DEC is 
considerably more than he made this year after 43 (I think) years of teaching.     

     
Barbi

"Ma" Hart -- Mrs. Hart was "Ma" to everyone in school.  I had her for
geometry the year before she retired.  (One time, there was a new, very
by-the-book, white shirts and crew cut teacher that came to teach and
coach.  He was in Ma's homeroom as several of us came in after class to
ask some questions.  We started off with our usual "Hi, Ma!"  The first
take was caused by trying to figure out how Mrs. Hart had kids in high
school.  The second take was caused by his disbelief in our disrespect, as
he saw it.  He sputtered something about manners and respect but was cut
short by Ma who said, "You do it your way, I'll do it mine.  Now beat it,
I've got work to do.")  As a math student, I was pitiful.  But with
Ma's work and support, I pulled a B in Geometry -- the highest mark I
ever got in math.  About two months after she retired, we all piled in
a friend's car and went over to see her and wish her bon voyage on her
trip to Tahiti.

Dr. Turlish -- Out of a group of wonderful teachers at Bates, Lew Turlish
was in a league of his own.  He taught us literature with wit and humor,
everyone got an equal chance to develop their ideas, and he encouraged
bold and different strains of thought.  Most of the books I love the most
are ones that I read in his classes.  His Thomas Hardy seminar became
department legend.  It was three hours on Thursday nights with one
break -- half the time we skipped the break and stayed well past the
three hours.  The final class was held at Cooper's (a local restaurant)
complete with the world's best onion rings and beer.

Dr. Nettels -- Elsa Nettels is a quiet woman who specializes in Conrad and
James at William and Mary.  A lot of the grad students made fun of her --
she wasn't outrageous enough for them, she was very precise in her speech,
she was an "old maid", etc. -- isn't it amazing that students of all ages
can be cruel to some teachers?  But, if you opened yourself up to her
teaching style, you quickly realized that she taught from not only an
extensive knowledge of her subject, but from a passion for what linked
these books to real life.  Also, once you got to know her, you were
privileged to hear her quiet, penetrating insights.

Ron

 Oh, I forgot Ms. Matthews, my senior year English teacher.  I never much
liked English _ i was good at it, but always frustrated at the closed-minded-
ness of English teachers.  They asked you for interpretations of books, but
what they really wanted was for you to feed back they interpretation they
came up with, not evaluate it on your own.  That for me made reading
worthless.

Anyway, I always hated the poetry section of English classes.  I always
did very well because I could figure out what the teacher *wanted* to
hear ("Oh, this symbolizes the conflict between man and woman..." etc.)
but it seemed pointless, and I never *really* understood poetry.  Then I
took Ms. Matthews class, and she didn't feed us interpretations - she
extpected us to come up with them on our own. And she didn't grade us
on whether she agreed with us, but on how consistent our arguments were
and how carefully we had examined the work.

For the last quarter, we had to do a short paper (combination biography
and poem analysis) every week on a different poet.  I did fairly well,
never taxed myself, but liked it.  For our final project, we had to do
an in depth analysis of the style of some famous poet, and a detailed
dicussion of one of their major works.  I was going to choose Elizabeth
Barrett Browning because it would be *easy*.  Ms. Matthews wouldn't
let me, said I had to leave her for someone who wasn't very good at it,
and assigned me what she considered the hardest poet on the list, TS
Eliot. I loved it.  I had more fun writing that paper than any other paper.
I got an A+ and a Best In the Class.  And gained a love of poetry, and
in particular of Eliot.  :-)

Went back and thanked her last year.

D!

    My brother is in his last year of school to be a certified teacher.
    I would love to extract some of these notes for him as a way of
    showing him that teachers can make a difference.  From what he has
    said the burnout rate is high.  If you wouldn't mind me extracting
    /noheader (won't show your node::username) please do a send/author
    me mail to say that it is okay.  Thanks!
    	Linda

         Testimonial

         ---

         When I was in school, Nina B. taught us music.

         Nina B. is a vision with blue-tinted snow-white 
         hair and silver-rimmed glasses and navy blue "little-old-lady"
         dresses...and Red-Cross shoes...and gnome fingers. Gnome
         fingers; that kind that were once [at least a century in
         the past] slim and straight but are now twisted like the
         trunks of well-wrought bonsai, curved around each other
         in seeming frustration. 

         She played a mean classical piano with those hands;
         don't ask me how, it should have been physically
         impossible...which leads me to believe it was done by
         magic or smoke and mirrors. Either would have been
         possible for Nina B.

         She had the whitest skin I have ever seen. There was not
         a blemish or a wrinkle...her cheeks sported the
         faintest traces of blush...her lips the faintest hint of
         rouge. Never any other makeup...and the clearest blue
         eyes I have yet to have glare at me for giggling at an
         inappropriate moment. [I always giggled at inappropriate
         moments when I was in High School...it must have
         something to do with puberty. Although I suspect I still
         giggle at inappropriate moments....it's just that these
         days there are few folks with the strength of will to
         stare me down over it.]

         Anyway, Nina B. taught us music. She didn't teach us to
         sing...she taught us music. She taught us measure and
         rhythm...and cadence...and phrasing..all before we left
         the elementary school.  Then she got serious and taught
         us Latin and breathing and synchopation. And if you were
         still hanging in by high school, she taught you
         madrigals and operettas and stage handling...and took
         you to far places [relatively speaking] to sing in
         concerts and festivals.

         And somewhere along the line, she also taught us to love
         it. Well, not all of us. We all learned to respect it,
         or we paid dearly. But a good number of us learned to
         love it...the music. We learned to smile and make the
         words speak and enjoy the humor or empathise over the
         tragedy. It was not enough to "sing" for Nina, one had
         to "live" the music. And those of us who became converts
         seemed to make the pain when she forced her fingers to 
         play the piano worth it for her.

         She was the wife of the local College President, and she
         certainly did not need to spend her days and nights
         struggling with 12 grades of mostly untalented students.
         But she did, anyway.

         She was a stern task-master. She brooked no rudeness or
         back talk what-so-ever...period. If you ventured across
         that invisible line of polite behavior, you were banned
         from chorus. I suspect the thought of being banned from
         chorus these days would have little or no effect on the
         larger percentage of students; but for some reason, it
         held great sway in the days of Nina B. For even the more
         [shall we say] questionable members of her choir.

         I remember Harold. He loved music the way animals and
         children do...it moved him, literally. He would sway
         back and forth and warble affectionately as the sound
         rose around and through him. And he sang as far off tune
         as anyone I have ever had the misfortune to sing with.
         At least most people who sing off tune start somewhere
         near the pitch and just wander away...you can entice
         them back by singing the correct tone in their ear. But
         Harold was truly tone-deaf. You could have stuck him in
         the middle of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and he would
         have gone about his business singing his own private
         melody without so much as an eyelash out of place. Nina
         B. would let him sing to his heart's content. And then
         before each concert, she would have a little chat with
         him...and he would sing ever-so quietly to himself and
         no one heard.

         And I remember Benji Kreiton. He was a year older than I
         and he was tall and handsome and he was the very first
         boy I ever loved. He was really very gallant about
         it...he was as unsure of himself as I was blindly sure
         of myself so we made a good, if incompetent, pair. Nina
         B. saw it coming and nurtured it and guarded it. She
         would pair us off singing against one another to great
         affect...he had a lovely tenor voice...and I had a
         blossoming baritone. She thought we made a lovely
         couple. He went to Bowling Green and married some rather
         pretty thing that I met some years later at the local
         drug store on mutual trips home to visit family. I went
         to New Hampshire and married a tall Swede. I think we
         were both happy about it.

         I remember The Waits. It was some sort of signature
         madrigal that we started every concert with. A
         deceivingly simple little ditty that had to be sung with
         one and one-half breaths...a study in control. When you
         got The Waits down, you passed some test and became one
         of the "chosen" so-to-speak.

         I remember Bruce. Bruce was a bass...and a hell raiser.
         He had no compunction for anyone or anything...but he
         sang for Nina B. And when he was a senior he got to play
         Poo-Bah in Gilbert and Sullivan's "Mikado". Bruce and
         the basketball team, [who all sang in Nina B's chorus],
         used to run interference for Nina B. Wherever she walked
         they preceded and followed, fanning out in an escort
         that prevented foreigners [read non-choral male
         adolescents] from bothering her. I am not sure if Nina
         knew she was being protected or not, but she had the
         grace to pretend she didn't anyway.

         And I remember Dan. Dan was student of Nina's from way
         before my time. He taught music at a neighboring high
         school and would come to help Nina when she produce
         operettas. He was a bass actually, but he could sing the
         purest soprano in falsetto. He would charm and cajole
         singing all the parts in tandem. We loved him and we
         envied him because he seemed to be in some sort of
         private club with Nina. In retrospect, the club was
         adulthood...but at the time it seemed much more arcane
         than the simple passage of time would lead one to
         suspect.

         When I was a senior, that all ended. The end of my
         Junior year, Nina B. retired and Miss Evans took over
         the chorus. Ninety members dwindled to 25 over the 
         course of one year. And boys in the back row took up
         hurling snide remarks over the lyrics when they were not
         hurling less palatable items. Several times
         Miss Evans left in tears and the Vice Principal would
         descend upon us for a lecture.

         You know, Nina B. never lectured once. And she certainly
         never fled the room in tears. She just looked
         over the tops of her bifocals and there was silence. And
         the silence would continue until she dropped he gaze. It
         continued one day for twenty minutes while she waited
         out the period bell after Bruce made a particularly
         questionable comment. The basketball team had a talk
         with him after that. He was most polite for the rest of
         the year. And the black eye didn't last all that long.

         If I could remember only one thing about her I would
         remember...

         The start of a madrigal. 

         Nina in the center of a semi-circle
         of 8 singers [one had to audition for
         madrigal singing] who were about to sing an 8-part
         melody acapella. She blew a single soft note on her
         pitch pipe. Each singer mentally placed his starting
         pitch in relation to that one note. [Humming was not 
         only not allowed it was forbidden fruit in the classic sense 
         of the word] 

         Her hands were held in front of her, within the confines of her
         sillouette...but raised to give direction. She would
         raise one hand just a faction....everyone took an
         invisible breath. She would close her eyes and nod a
         fraction of an inch...and we would sing, all eyes
         fastened on her for she varied the attack and phrasing
         and tempo each time we sang...no words or music...to be
         there at all you already knew them by heart. 

         And we would finish, still no murmur...not a movement. The single
         note would be repeated on the pitch pipe. And if we were
         true...there would be the ghost of a smile to reward us,
         before we practiced the piece yet again.

         ---

         One Christmas when I was home for one of my yearly
         familial visits, I went to a testimonial for Nina B. It
         was being held by the local Arts Council ostensibly to
         honor her for her decades of service in the Arts in our
         small town; in reality it was using her name to raise
         money to help fund its programs...but I have ever had a
         soft spot for Nina, so I went anyway.

         They had a widely ambitious program...modern dancing by
         a determined if plump young female...tap dancing by loud
         but out-of-time stompers...a lovely but totally
         incongruous-by-association presentation by the local
         string quartet...and some other miscellaneous offerings
         that have mercifully slipped my mind. And they presented
         her with a plaque.

         She was a frail little thing by then. Still blue-tinted
         and white...gnarled and perfect...but hardly able to get
         around and slow to remember and speak. They lead her up
         on stage and they plunked the plaque in her hands and
         then left her there before the microphone to say some
         witty thing, I suppose. She looked totally lost on the
         stage and I fancied that I perhaps understood her
         bewilderment...for where was her music? In all this
         fascade and pomp, where was her singing?

         Aside from giggling, I was always one for leaping before 
         thinking and before I thought I started to sing...by myself 
         from the back of the hall where I was standing. I sang
         The Waits. Benji was three rows in front and
         took up the tenor. Dan was way down front, but I heard
         the bass even where I was. A real soprano joined in and
         I thankfully sank to alto and as we wended our way
         through the verse and the refrain...every student that
         ever sang for Nina B. joined in and we walked to the
         front, our backs to the audience, singing just for her.

         And Nina. Nina put her little wooden plaque down and
         gathered us all into her hands...and we sang it again.
         And when we were done, she had a smile for us. We got
         her off the stage and we put her in her car and sent her
         home. The whole place was rocking with applause...Nina
         leaned over to Dan and winking at us in the back she
         whispered...

         "Well, it wasn't bad, but you were off pitch a quarter
         tone."

    
    What a wonderful story ... sniffle.  
    

    
    	ditto -1
    
    	sniff sniff....
    

    Thanks for posting "Testimonial", Mel; it's been a while since
    I've read it and it's one of my favorites of yours.  
    
    Incidentally, if you enjoyed "Testimonial" I can assure you
    (as I think Bonnie mentioned elsewhere) that there's lots more
    where that came from.  At the risk of violating some arcane 
    (and in this instance silly) corporate policy, I'd recommend
    that anyone interested in reading an as yet unpublished� 
    collection of her short stories contact (ask, beg, wheedle,
    cajole, whine, harangue, nag, etc.) Melinda and get her to
    send you a soft-bound copy of her collected works.  (Of course,
    you should be polite about the harangues, threats, extortions,
    etc.)
    
    Steve
    
    � Fer cryin' out loud, Mel!  If you won't publish the danged thing
      sell me the copyrights.  That way two good things will happen:
      1) the rest of the world will get a chance to enjoy some wonderful
      writing and 2) I'll get filthy rich.  Hey, I'll even buy you a
      *new* Mercedes with built in CD, stereo tape deck, and CB when
      the thing hits the New York Times top 10 bestsellers!

    
    You did it to me again, didn't you?
    
    [I am blushing....{grin}]
    
    I am almost convinced. Well, I am sort of convinced...
    
    [hey, here is your chance...this is one of the few times you will see
    me prevaricate in public....]
    
    Thanks, Steve.
    
    I *will* look into it....sometime...[soon]
    
    Mel
    

    re .26,
    
    Diana, as a fellow Eliot fan, I am curious about the paper you did...

    ...
    
    As to teachers, I grew up in China when the entire country was in a
    political turmoil, and the schools were either closed or in total
    disarray.  I stayed at home during most of those years and whatever I
    knew I taught myself, so I can't really remember much except the
    last two high school years.  By then the pattern had been set and I
    never felt like belonging to a classroom and the teachers never made a
    strong impression on me except constantly pestering me for doing the
    things the wrong way--"Your method is right, but it takes too long to
    work it out and there won't be enough time for thinking during the
    college entrance exam, and you always make a lot of arithmetic mistakes
    and you will be heavily penalized in those exams...  If you don't pass
    those exams and get into college, you are nobody... etc, etc".  All I
    can say is they meant well.  
    
    And they were right, I did poorly on my college entrance exam. 
    Luckily, I had the opportunity to come to the U.S. to pursue higher
    education.  There I met a few remarkable professors.
    
    Dr. Olin taught us freshmen calculus.  Again I was feeling
    uncomfortable in the classroom and in general about the lectures. 
    I was late for about 40% of the lectures.  That didn't bother him a
    bit.  Instead, he gave me a book to read and said that it wasn't too
    difficult, but it should make some interesting reading for me, and if I
    had any questions, I could ask him.
    
    It was the most difficult book I ever read.  It turned out the subject
    was really for the senior classes (but I didn't know that at 
    the time).  During the next few months we had session after 
    session of questions and answers.  Whenever, I began to doubt my
    ability, he would say something like if he didn't believe I could cut
    it, he wouldn't have bother to spend so much time with me.  Eventually,
    we turned this thing into a special study class with one student,
    namely me.  So one day, after the class was over, I opened some senior
    textbooks at the university bookstore, I was surprised I could read it
    without much difficulties.  I went back to Dr. Olin's office and told
    him that, and he gave me a devious smile but said nothing.  
    
    Dr. Stephenson was my EE advisor who gave me a partime job during
    my four college years.  A perfect English gentleman who always
    believed in me, and encouraged me to write my first paper on a research 
    project I did.  He also convinced the company that was funding the project 
    to let me attend a conference at Lincoln Nebraska to present my paper.
    Still, he took me out to dinner after I graduated.  I didn't have any 
    relatives coming to my graduation.  After all I was a foreign student.  
    I will always remember all the things he did for me.  He is now the
    head of the EE department.
                              
    Finally, there is Dr. Snider my Math advisor.  He is quite famous in
    his field (He does something called Group Rings, and among other 
    things, he was the first to come up with an example of a none 
    trivial primitive group ring).  He talks real fast with a strong 
    Southern accent.  After the experience with Dr. Olin, I got a kick out
    of reading books and asking questions, so I went to Snider for a book
    on Algebra.  As a result, I learned Group theory in this informal way.
    So more session of questions and answers.  When I asked him a question, 
    he would think intensely for a few moments followed by some frantic 
    writing on the blackboard, then he would tell me the answer real fast.  
    Then I would ask him again, and again he would go through the thing real
    fast.  Occasionally, he would get frustrated because I missed some
    trivial things.  He also has strong opinions on everything, e.g.
    Illinois was a good choice if I wanted to go with Algebra; no, I
    shouldn't apply for MIT or Harvard or Berkeley; some of the research
    carried at the engineering college were really trivial and no, I
    shouldn't marry anyone who can speak Chinese (followed by a story
    of a Chinese guy who married a Chinese and his English went from
    bad to worse).  But he did one thing few professor ever did.
    He treated me as his equal.  To him, I was not a mindless
    undergraduate student, but his colleague.

    So here is to my three mentors who made a difference, thanks.

    Eugene