Teaching the Children Well

Teaching is a noble profession. And I actually went to college with the intention of becoming an elementary school educator. Other things distracted me, though, and eventually pulled me in a different direction. However, knowing how shaky I still seem to get whenever I’m put into a group setting, this was probably a good career move.

 

I just can't see myself standing in front of 30 munchkins every day, 5 days a week, and pretend to know what I'm talking without folding up like a cheap accordion somewhere in the process. So, to the hundreds of kids who may have been in my classroom if the states of Washington and California had ever  issued me a teaching credential, you may now go ahead and thank Providence I ended up in radio instead of slowing down your primary education.

 

Still, I sometimes wonder if I'd have done okay despite my doubts. I wonder if I'd have made a positive difference or a lasting impression after all. I don't know. I'll never know. I do know I was taught by a number of teachers during my schooling days and each made an impression. Some good, some bad. Some were pretty cool; some were at the end of their careers and clearly going through the motions. Many I enjoyed, the others I endured, and all were competent. 

 

One, however, was an outright bastard.

During my one year at American River Junior College I took a modern history class from a grumpy, foul-mouthed, surly old man named Gottlieb Baer. Professor Baer conducted his class using the Socratic method. There were no lectures; he merely railed at, dressed down, cursed at or insulted any student who couldn’t answer correctly or tell him what he wanted to hear.

 

So every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday morning from 8 till 8:45, I lived in a constant panic. Shoot, the man had already made three girls cry. Most of the guys went through the hour living on fear and trembling, too- the fear of being called on and if so, not trembling enough to wet their pants. And even if I knew the material, I had no doubt that was the fate awaiting me, too. You just didn’t know when, which was almost as scary as letting 'ol Gottlieb just go ahead and grill and verbally slice you into pieces.

 

The text he assigned was about as stimulating as chewing sand. I read it out of fear but, unfortunately, remembered almost nothing. However the one time Mr. Baer did call on me other than to answer "here" for roll call, was the easiest question I think he asked all semester: Which Soviet foreign minister gave his name to a gasoline bomb?  It was like he'd asked me to spell "cat". I was so relieved to blurt out Molotov, I thought he'd ask a follow up question to make sure I didn't just get lucky. But he went on to someone and something else and then never called my name again. To this day, I have no clue why I escaped his class without once more getting in his cross hairs, but thank God I did.

 

Professor Baer was an ogre and, to a person, everyone who sat through that semester with me hated his guts. I don't think he cared though. It seemed he lived to intimidate and used that classroom as his private little mind-game torture-chamber. He would've made a terrific Gestapo officer. I guess it worked though because I've never forgotten the name 'Molotov'....or Gottlieb Baer, although I still don’t know how I ever managed to get out of his class with a ‘C'.

 

But that was college, and though Mr. Baer left a lasting impression- completely negative- the two teachers I remember most and most fondly came many years before that: Miss Lubin in fourth grade and Mrs. Shuckle in 6th.

Miss Lubin was young, which made her cool. But she gave lots of homework, which wasn't cool. Yet she also knew how to make a kid feel like the most valuable member of the class when he wasn't feeling so good about himself (see "Shepherds and Yulelogs"). She was very caring and had a big heart; in contrast to Mr. Baer who apparently was born without one. She did fun things with us, too, like conducting class outdoors on warm spring days and leading us on field trips, like the afternoon at the Wonder Bread factory.

The Wonder Bread plant in Sac was on Arden Way, across the freeway from Cal Expo, although the day we were there, Cal Expo hadn’t been built yet. It was a noisy place, but as soon as we walked in, I remember being drenched in the most wonderful aromas. It was like being in heaven's bakery. By Monday, we were supposed to write a report on our visit, but that disappointment was tempered by the tiny little loaf of Wonder Bread, freshly made, and chef’s hat we all got on the way out.

 

Later that year, Miss Lubin took us to the Campbell’s Soup Plant in the Florin area, down near the old Sacramento airport. The fragrances in that place were tasty, too. And though it was interesting watching them make soup and Spaghetti O's, we didn’t get any souvenirs on that visit. She also helped us create our own class newspaper. It featured little articles about the goings-on in the fourth grade, an occasional interview with the principal, and any other classroom gossip we uncovered. And somehow, I ended up being the editor of this junior publication.

 

As a hide-out refugee from the back row, I had no intention or desire to be put in such a "high profile" position. But when Miss Lubin asked for nominations for editor, my friend Gary McKenzie raised his hand and nominated me.  He probably did it as a joke, but it was seconded by someone else and after the votes were tallied up, I’d won. Then we had to decide on a name for our little rag. If left up to me, I’d have come up with something cleverly esoteric like “‘The Fourth Estate”. Get it? Fourth Estate; Fourth Grade?

 

No, that’s ridiculous. That would’ve never registered in my puny little brain. I didn’t know a fourth estate from a fourth down; that it’s a generic term for the press. I didn’t know any of that until college. So I’m fooling no one here. But because I wore a silly blue Snoopy sweatshirt darn near every day and my friends all called me "Snoop", the class wanted to call the paper, “The Top Snooper". Which I thought was stupid. But Miss Lubin loved it. And it made more sense to all of us than “The Fourth Estate.”

As editor, I had my own column to write each month and, with Miss Lubin’s help, reviewed everything that’d be included in each issue. That part was always a treat because she always smelled real good, like a spring garden. It was nice being within sniffing distance. "The Top Snooper" would win no awards for journalistic excellence, but once I settled into the role of editor, working on it was a real good time.

Later, Miss Lubin directed us in the 4th grade spring play. Now, it’s already been clearly established how shy I was as a kid, and how I’d already bombed on stage before, so there was no WAY I'd ever want to be in the limelight again. But for some ridiculous reason, Miss Lubin wanted me to play one of the leads in this theatrical extravaganza. What was she thinking? Had she not seen the humiliating helmet disaster during the now famous Yule Log fiasco? Of course she had. She was there but chose to single me out again anyway.

The story was 'Hansel and Gretel' and  while some kids got to be stage hands or make the sets, and a few others got to be volunteer animals or trees, she wanted me to play ‘Hansel.” When I tried to get out of it, Miss Lubin spoke sweetly and said she wanted me to try so I could prove to myself that one bad experience didn't equate to another one. She promised it was something I could do, and promised it’d be easier than the time before because this wasn't an all school production. It was only for the 4th grade and the performance would be confined only to our classroom. And she promised she’d be there with me the entire time.

That was all fine, I guess, and better than being asked to play ‘Gretel’. But that was the only other consolation. Okay, I got to play opposite cute Candy Parfitt, who was "Gretel". That would be pretty cool, too (though I’d never admit it). As for my part, I don’t know exactly how many words I had to speak, but there were a lot them. I knew I couldn’t remember them all. I wasn’t sure I’d remember any. However, Miss Lubin exercised great patience, coaching and coaxing, and even stayed after school to help me learn my lines. Just as she promised.

Still, leading up to performance day, I was pretty petrified and wasn’t sure I could pull it off. But Miss Lubin never wavered in her encouragement and, somehow, I made it through the production. My wardrobe stayed on, I got to hold Candy’s hand when we entered or left the stage, and I only messed up a couple lines. I’d survived and afterwards, Miss Lubin said I did good and gave me a big hug. Mom was there, too, as were most of the other moms and some dads, too, and they all gave us a standing ovation.

 

When we took our ‘final bows’, Candy was next to me and gently rested her arm on my shoulder. Knowing I’d been a pint-sized basket case all morning leading up to show time, she leaned closer and whispered, “See, they like us! We did good. You did good." Then she smiled. I was so stoked that it was over and that I’d never have to act in a play again, I wasn’t even embarrassed that a girl had laid a hand on me in front of the whole class.

Crazy as it sounds, I thought about this the other night as I was waiting to get my Ten Years of Service Award at our employee recognition night. I remembered Candy saying, "You did good" again. But just like back in fourth grade, I’d been so distracted all week by the fear of  failure- and all I had to do was walk across the stage and get my plaque- I never considered even the possibility of it being a positive experience. So I ran across the sage so nobody would notice me- which was dumb because I was the only one who did that so everybody noticed. And this was in a huge auditorium filled with all my co-workers, not my tiny fourth grade classroom.  

 

But being recognized by my peers and co-workers last Friday night turned out to be awesome and fun; being in that play when I was 9 years old was awesome and fun, too. And had it not been for Miss Lubin's dogged belief in me (she always said, "You can do this"), I might have missed the fun and all the other cool things that happened back in fourth grade. She was in my corner and wasn't going to let me, or any of the other kids in fourth grade, fail. For that, she remains one of my all-time favorite teachers.

 

However two years later I ended up in the classroom of Miss Lubin's polar opposite, Mrs. Shuckle. Everybody at Kingswood Elementary loathed and lived in mortal fear of Mrs. Shuckle. And at the end of fifth grade, when I found out I'd be in her class the next year, I prayed September would never come. 

 

Mrs. Shuckle was a piece of work. She was wrinkled, stood hunched over, walked like she had a yardstick up her ass and pretty much looked like the Wicked Witch of the West. She scared everybody. She even had an involuntary nervous nose twitch, which added to the effect. Her straight lifeless hair, red but turning gray, was tied in a severe bun and not only that, she had to be at least a hundred years old. The woman looked ancient and she was ugly. But as grotesques as Mrs. Shuckle appeared to us, I guess the real question should’ve been what did Mr. Shuckle look like? Perish the thought.

And we'd all heard the Shuckle horror stories: she yelled at kids, smacked their hands daily with a ruler- just for kicks- and may even have killed one or two along the way, too. So I was terrified when I entered her classroom on the first day of 6^th grade. It felt like I was walking to the gallows. I didn't think I'd ever breathe free air again. But you know what? Mrs. Shuckle didn’t exactly live up to her billing.

 

Sure, she was strict and intimidating but more so from hype and rumor, than fact;  which she cleverly used this to her advantage. And yes, she did walk around with a ruler and occasionally cracked a desk to get someone’s attention with it. But she never hit anyone or ever raised her voice. The lady was no witch, she wasn't dead woman walking, and sixth grade wasn't a prison. On the contrary, Mrs. Shuckle 's classroom was alive and dynamic, and as a teacher, so was she.

 

There were no slow times in her class. Mrs. Shuckle kept things moving, always interesting and interactive, and made us learn. In fact, she expected it. And if you were trying and making progress, she was fair and, in her own way, was kind. But she accepted no excuse for lack of effort and no one was allowed to lag behind. If you weren’t getting it, she'd make you work at it till you did. Nobody slipped through the cracks and no matter how well or not-so-well anyone was doing, she took the job of educating the 33 of us in her class that year, dead seriously.

 

Yeah, it was difficult to warm up to her and she was certainly no Miss Lubin. But I most definitely learned under her.  Mrs. Shuckle may have scared the hell out of me, but I got almost all A’s that year. Old fashioned and a tad intimidating, the lady knew how to teach and run a classroom. Though at first I feared sixth grade was going to be hell, like a fly waiting to be devoured in Mrs Shuckle's spider web, turns out I had nothing to fear but my own, and everybody else's, imagination.

 

Mrs. Shuckle wasn't a witch, a spider, mean or horrible. In reality, she was a teddy bear; a teddy bear that scowled a lot and carried around a ruler, but a teddy bear nevertheless, caring about the lives and futures of her 33 students.

 

I loved Miss Lubin and feared Mrs. Shuckle. No, fear isn't the right word. I feared Mr. Baer- who didn't?- but I grew to respect Mrs. Shuckle. Regardless, Miss Lubin and Mrs. Shuckle, each in their own way, managed to get the most out of everybody they taught, including this shy and not so terribly bright, little kid. And for the effort they poured into their profession, classrooms and, most importantly their students, both ladies have earned a lifetime of "A's" and gold stars.

 In my book anyway, they both rocked.