Having spent my career years as a high school teacher, I guess I
can now call her "Betty" Pence, a colleague in the
profession. Of course, Mrs. Pence, or as she insisted, "La
Senora Pence," was not only the one of the three teachers who
probably had the most impact on my life, but a woman who personified
the expression, "Patience is a virtue."
La Senora Pence not only could teach her subject matter, but she
lived it. We learned about the Spanish/Mexican cultures along with
her patient, very patient efforts to teach us strange words, new
forms of pronunciation, the use of a foreign, punctuation device
called a "tilde," that squigly thing over n's to give an n
a "nyah" sound, and a new form of grammar, such as placing
adjectives after nouns instead of before. Forty-three years later, I
remember and use more of what she taught me than any other class. To
live in Oregon is to live where it is advisable to know Spanish. She
instilled in me the knowledge to at least know the gist of what I
hear and read, and knowing Spanish was invaluable in establishing
that important rapport in the teaching business when dealing with
Hispanic kids.
Her class always involved us. She would say something in Spanish. We
would respond. Repita, repita. Always on her feet, a small woman,
some would even say tiny, but she was in charge. Gentle, patient,
kind, we knew she liked us as much as she liked her subject matter.
Early in our first year of a two-year class, we adopted a Spanish
name for ourselves. I chose "Alfredo," there being no
Spanish equivalent for "Wyatt." Alred E. Neuman of MAD
fame was big then, the closest thing I could find in the list
available to us of Spanish names. I still sometimes use that name
when playing incognito roles.
I regret that I enjoyed talking to classmates in class too much,
being what might be known as a goof-off. Once, after she had
apparently had to tell me to quit talking one more time too many,
she stopped mid-sentence in her lesson, looked at me with an
exasperated look and fatigue in her voice, and said,
"Alfredo." That was enough. She didn't yell. She didn't
even seem angry. It was her way, very effectively, to tell me she
was at the end of her patience. I regret to this day that I caused
her any problems because I did really respect her. My adolescence
was running over, I guess.
Our junior year, Ken Kelling, Barry Robinson, Bob Martin and I, all
Hillyard Boosters, won a trip to the Rose Bowl. Part of that
experience was to tour Los Angeles. The famous Olvera Street, a
touristy place to buy Mexican stuff, had pinata bats. The four of us
chipped in and hauled it all the way back to Spokane as a gift for
Senora Pence. The first day back to school we all marched into her
room and presented it to her. I'll always remember the joy on her
face. She used it the following year at Christmas time, having a
pinata party in class.
I understand that Senora Pence, like all teachers eventually, has
transferred to the Big Classroom in the Sky. Many times after
graduation I thought of going back and just saying hello and
thanking her. I never did, and of course, like many things we plan
but never get around to doing, it's too late...maybe to her face,
but never too late to still say, "Muchas gracias, Senora Pence.
Y lo siento, tambien."
- Wyatt "Alfredo Nuevhombre" Newman
(Editor's note: Mrs. Pence died March 5, 2004, two months after
this piece was published)
Edmond T. Becher
I sensed that the most meaningful periods of my parents' lives
were before my time. For my father, his naval service in World War
II was to him, his life contribution. My mother's highpoint was her
years at John R. Rogers. My mother, bless her, liked to relate
aspects of her world to me. Thus I heard a lot about Rogers before I
even realized what Rogers was. She told me about favorite and
not-so-favorite teachers. I was to share one of each.
This essay is about Mr. Becher*, one of her favorites. She told me
he was a great teacher and that he looked like a cherub. Then she
had to explain what was a cherub.
I cached many of her descriptions. One day I arrived at Rogers for
my own voyage, I was on the lookout for people she had described. I
observed Mr. Becher. Yup, he surely looked like a cherub.
I put aside my mother's Rogers stories and got down to business as a
freshman, a sophomore, and then one fall I arrived at my junior
year. Everyone had to take either Washington History or Northwest
History to graduate. History was not one of my good subjects,
primarily because I was not interested in it. I signed up for
Northwest History and found myself in Mr. Becher's class. It was to
be one of my most enjoyable classes at Rogers. Not only that, but I,
the history-hater, did well there.
I usually had to work hard to get a B in history. If I relaxed for
an instant, it became a C. In Mr. Becher's class I sometimes got the
highest score in the class on tests. I remember this because the
high-scorer didn't have to take the next test. Instead, he or she
got to give it. Some of Mr. Becher's tests were read orally to the
students, who wrote each answer in turn.
He was an author. He let top students work on one of his books,
compiling index entries and so forth. I remember doing this once or
twice in lieu of taking one of his tests. He was the first author I
ever met in person. This sparked me to publish later in my own life.
Mr. Becher encouraged us to take a research item and do a
presentation on it for extra credit. I remember doing a pitch about
carbon 14 dating. This was really a science presentation in disguise
-- my own turf. I got a lot of praise from him about that
presentation. No history teacher had ever praised me.
Mr. Becher took us on several field trips. One was to the Spokane
skid row. China Alley, between Main and Trent (now Spokane Falls
Blvd) sat on the Spokane historic bull's-eye, but it wasn't a nice
place in 1959. He told us a story about an outlaw named Frank
Vaughan that hijacked a six-horse beer wagon from a parade and drove
it through the front doors of saloon on Main. It wasn't hard to
imagine. The characters hanging around looked capable of the same.
The next field trip was a tour of NE Washington state Indian
reservations. Our class raised money for the trip by running a car
wash at the old Shell station on the SW corner of Crestline and
Wellesley. That alone, was a great memory.
On the day of the trip we boarded a bus. Mr. Becher told us about a
ghost town named Pinkney City near Colville. When we arrived, we
could see only depressions in a cow pasture where buildings had
stood. At first I was disappointed. Then I imagined the town and how
it came to its present state. History was coming alive.
From that day on, I was fan of history. I realized you could
actually go to where it happened and SEE its evidence. Since then
I've visited many historic places in the US, Europe and Central
America. I live smack in the middle of where the US Civil War wound
down, and close to important Revolutionary War sites. George
Washington once traveled nearby. I now appreciate my heritage.
Thanks, Mr. Becher. My mom was right.
Postscript
I cannot remember names of peers in that class except for Seany
Hagar, a transient girl from Crescent City, CA, and Ken
Kelling from the track team. Ken and I remain friends today. I hung
out with a younger girl during the Colville field trip, but cannot
remember her name.
In my senior year I had another history class from another teacher -
who had halitosis. This teacher hated "science" and so
appeared to dislike me. It was a struggle to keep my grade above an
"F". I came close to not graduating. What a difference a
teacher makes. I fulfilled his expectations just as I fulfilled Mr.
Becher's quite different expectations.
I last saw Mr. Becher at ONB in the summer of, 1961. I was too shy
to say hello, so that was it for this life. In 1989 my brother
showed me one of Mr. Becher's autographed books. On a whim, I looked
for Mr. Becher in the white pages. He was there, but had to be quite
old. I didn't try to call him.
- Ed Mauget
* I found this book by him: Edmund T. Becher, Spokane Corona
(Spokane: C.W. Hill, 1974)
