Mrs. Shuckle

I was at Chic-Fil-A the other day, lunching on a #1 Chicken Sandwich- plain, no cheese and no fries- and an unsweetened ice tea. I was by myself and mindlessly chewing and occasionally glancing at others in the room sharing their lunch hour with me. It was mostly young moms and kids, a few college age types and several members of the work force, like me, spending a half hour away from the office. But the patrons at a nearby table, in particular, caught my attention.

There was an elderly woman eating lunch with a small child. I assume the kid was her granddaughter. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the old lady; in fact I almost had to do a double take because this elderly matriarch, munching on her fries, looked exactly like Mrs. Shuckle, my 6^th grade teacher. And almost instantaneously, I felt I was 12 years old again, scared to death and sweating out another day in her class.

Everyone walking around Kingswood Elementary School in the mid to late 1960’s lived in mortal fear of Victoria Shuckle. To be kind, the lady was definitely a piece of work. To be brutally honest, nobody wanted her as a teacher. Being stuck in her class was the stuff nightmares, of course, confirmed by all the Shuckle Horror Stories we’d all heard- that she yelled at the kids, smacked hands with rulers on a daily basis- just for kicks- and may have even eaten or killed one or two of them. Nobody knew for sure. That’s what we'd all heard, anyway. And we all believed it.

She also wore a perpetual scowl on her kisser that made her seem totally unapproachable, or even human, and added to the perception that she was at least a hundred years old, if she was a day. Toss in the wrinkled skin, hunched-over posture, and walking around all day like a broomstick was stuck up her ass, she’d earned the nicknamed we hung on her: The Wicked Witch of the West. Though not quite as appalling as Dorothy’s nemesis in “The Wizard of Oz’, in choosing the homeliest one of all, the mirror-mirror on the wall would’ve definitely taken a good second look at Mrs. Shuckle before passing judgment. She was certainly a dead ringer for pictures of the witch I’d seen in my in my Hansel and Gretel storybook.

With straight lifeless hair, red but turning gray and tied in a severe bun, our ‘beloved’ teacher also had a random nervous nose twitch, one that was not at all similar to the enchanting Samantha on the “Bewitched” TV show ". On the contrary, Mrs. Shuckle’s was more like an old hag about to sneeze but couldn't. Mrs. Shuckle was a piece of work and, to a bunch of crass dopey elementary school boys, if looks could kill, we were damn sure hers would do us all in.

But as physically unattractive as Mrs. Shuckle appeared to my cackling smart ass friends and I, nobody had the foggiest idea how the hell she’d ever snagged a Mr. What-in-God’s name did he look like became the burning question during many recess bull sessions And, heaven forbid, their offspring, too?  Yikes. So upon completion of 5th grade, to a man, my friends and I were praying to get any other teacher but Mrs. Shuckle for the 6th. Nobody wanted to go through the nightmare of a school year trapped in a room presided over by an ancient relic too scary to look at and, if the rumors were true, too likely eat you up and spit you out merely for being there.

Unfortunately, between fifth and sixth grade, my summer prayers went unanswered and in August I learned I'd been assigned to Mrs. Shuckle’s class for the coming year. I hoped somehow science could quickly figure out a way to extend August, like indefinitely. But that didn’t happen and on the day after Labor Day, when I left home for the first day of school, it felt like I was walking to the gallows. I’m sure my friends felt the same way.

 

But you know, Mrs. Shuckle didn’t exactly live up to her billing. Sure, she looked like an old battleax, and was strict and intimidating, too. However, a lot of that was just hype and more rumor than fact, which, naturally, she used to her advantage. It certainly kept people honest.  And it was true- she did walk around with a ruler and occasionally cracked a desk to get someone’s attention. But she was no witch. On the contrary, the classroom dynamic was just that- dynamic.

There were no slow times in her class. Mrs. Shuckle kept things lively and moving, always interesting and made us learn. In fact, she expected it. If you were trying and making progress, she was fair and in her own way, could be kind. And the few times she actually dared to smile, you know what? It was a warm one. But she accepted no excuses 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. I know because she made me stay after many days to learn and relearn my long division. And the extra 'help' really helped. I finally got it. (Of course these days, a smart phone with a calculator is so much handier).

And while I don’t know how she did it, God bless her for paying that much attention to all 33 kids. Yeah, it was difficult to warm up to her, but I most definitely learned under her. She may also have scared the hell out of me to make it happen, too, but I got almost all A’s that year. Makes me think now that whatever they were paying her then probably wasn’t enough. The lady knew how to teach and run a classroom. I may not have loved Mrs. Shuckle as I did some of my other teachers; actually I think I feared her as much as anything. Nevertheless, she still managed to get the most out of a shy, and not terribly bright, little kid, and made me ready and prepared for what was coming in the higher grades.

But back to the present.

Of course, it wasn't a teacher from my youth eating lunch in Chic-Fil-A the other day; just somebody’s grandmother who looked like her, though considerably softened by a more contemporary hair style and advances in modern cosmetics. Heck, Mrs. Shuckle was old when I was a kid- however probably not as old as we all thought she was- and I'd stake my report card from that year that by now she’s probably long since gone on to that great classroom in the sky .

But for the commitment, effort and hours she poured into my 6th grade experience, I have to give Mrs. Shuckle a well-deserved "A".  Though I’m sure I didn’t when I was 12, I really do appreciate her un-sung labor of love now, and hope, somehow, I was worth the effort. God bless Mrs. Shuckle, wherever she is.  I hope I made you proud.