Today my students (high school juniors) wouldn’t stop talking and shouting long enough for me to explain the perplexing three to four page term paper on some aspect of American culture, society, or history. Finally, I did what usually works when they mimic the audience on a Jerry Springer show. I spread out the discipline referrals in a fan-like pattern on my desk and barked: “Who wants one? C’mon, who wants one?” That quieted them—at least momentarily.
Somewhere between expounding on parenthetical footnotes and the elegant (but utilitarian) “Works Cited” page, my mind began to wander. I started thinking about some of my old teachers from high school.
Quite a few were extremely eccentric. Kids love eccentric teachers. The phrase “that guy’s nuts, man!” is a glorious recommendation when it comes from a kid.
I went to prep school a long time ago (boarding school, actually). According to my students, that means I must be gay. Of course, for my students, reading and writing with proficiency translates to “gayness.” So does seriousness of purpose. Handing in assignments. Asking pertinent questions. Gay. So gay.
I had a religion teacher whom I’ll call Rev. Strickland. Rev. Strickland was already very old when I had him in my junior year. The best part of Rev. Strickland’s class was when we studied the Exodus story. He would stand up on a chair and pantomime Moses blowing his top when he came down from Mt. Sinai and saw the Israelites partying with a golden calf. Rev. Strickland would get very red in the face and start shouting “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” from his lofty position on Mt. Chair. That was fun. A favorite trick for provoking Rev. Strickland was to casually announce an uncertainty over the existence of God. Reverend Strickland would not tolerate agnosticism, much less atheism. Any suggestion that God might not be very real would lead to a tirade on how much we would love and fear God from our foxholes in Vietnam.
We had another religion teacher, Rev. Smith. He had actually served in World War I. Sometimes he would march up and down the room and sing “Mademoiselle from Armentier” or “It’s a Long, Long Way to Tipperary” in order to whip up a little Woodrow Wilson-style patriotism. I clearly remember him saying, “Boys, Jesus had a sense of humor. Oh, yes he did, boys.” I don’t recall the part of the New Testament evidencing Jesus’ funny bone, but I do remember Rev. Smith claiming it to be so.
We had a wonderful history teacher who would urge us (repeatedly it seemed), to “consider the Versailles Treaty.” I have duly considered the Versailles Treaty at various times in my life, as per his instructions.
A very demanding English teacher named Mr. O’Neill would give us almost daily quizzes comprised of one question. If you answered correctly, you would receive a “100.” If not, a “0.” He began teaching in 1930, right after he graduated from Dartmouth. When he was angry over our writing (which was most of the time), he would mimeograph an old boy’s essay from ‘36 or ’37 (the good years), and fling the copies of that superior work over our heads. The fluttering papers would be accompanied by several withering remarks: “Read that essay! That boy became the chairman of the department of English at Harvard! And you call yourselves high school students!” It was rumored that Mr. O’Neill had flunked a very famous American poet when that miserable excuse for a writer had been a boy in Mr. O’Neill’s class. I don’t doubt it.
I’ll be retired from teaching in just a couple of years. I won’t miss it. The reasons are too complex, too involved with changes in our society. More and more I’ve been thinking of my old teachers. They’ve all passed away, of course. I wish I could see them again. I wish I could clap for Rev. Smith as he sang “It’s a Long Long Way to Tipperary.” I wish I could puzzle over another one-question quiz from Mr. O’Neill. I wish I could tell my old history teacher that I’ve really been considering the Versailles Treaty. I wish I could see Rev. Strickland standing on his chair and exhorting the Israelites to stop their blasphemy. I wish I could see all of them again so I could say, “Thank you for my childhood. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for all your experiences.”
I feel something important and wonderful coming to an end in this country. I’m not sure what it is—but I feel it.
And I want to say to all my old teachers and friends: I miss you, miss you, miss you.
Donald Gallinger is the author of The Master Planets.
View Donald Gallinger's Official Website Blog: http://www.donaldgallinger.com/dons-blog.html
4 comments on Getting All "Mr. Chips" on You
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This makes me feel like crying. I think there's less room for eccentrics today. They're not airbrushed enough. Society has become something of a sorority house -- you have to be one of the "cute girls" to be popular. It cerainly makes things less interesting. It also gives us no practice in tolerance.
I, too, had great teachers like those. I had an English teacher, Brother David Rogers, who walked into class the very first day reciting "Jabberwocky "at the top of his lungs. He was/is one of the smartest guys I've ever known. He inspired me to become a teacher, myself, and I'd like to think I was at least eccentric. I think these guys are still out there, but they're becoming more and more rare. Pity the poor kids in school nowadays who will never know their kind.
This blog made sense. I too remember certain teachers from highschool. Some for their knowledge and some for their interesting insights. Thanks for the memories.
I have a few favorites that stand out in my mind. My sophomore and Senior English teacher, my sophomore Spanish teacher and my Junior History teacher. They made me work hard to get good grades and I remember them telling me to always do more than what is required. Today the English teacher is retired, the Spanish teacher is a Pastor and the History teacher is the High School principal.