First Mates, May 2004

Rogers Persons-of-Consequence, 1956-1960


	John R. Rogers

	Essays about Rogers '60 people who influenced us.
	Francis Carroll, the Genial-Talking Teacher One could say that science teacher, Mr. Francis Carroll was one of us. The Treasure Chest lists him as beginning his Rogers teaching days in 1956,coinciding with the beginning of our Rogers student days. Maybe that's why he seemed to always be with us, as a friend and adult supervisor of several social events. He had a real gentle manner about him-- spoke softly, spoke well, spoke of many things. Perhaps it was his Eastern education, an alumnus of Canisius College and the University of Rochester, for gosh sakes. How more Eastern can one get? Maybe that's why he seemed, well, a little different. He wasn't like most of our teachers, who hailed from WSC, EWCE, CWCE or UI. His classroom demeanor was soothing, much like listening to Dave Garroway, the soft-spoken, intellectual and popular TV personality. I had Carroll for two classes - he introduced me to the complicated mathematical process known as algebra. I'm not a numbers person, and even though I liked Carroll, we didn't get that student-teacher connection. Fortunately, I had some classmates who did grasp math concepts that helped, Barbara Hegman, as I recall, being one of them. The class met the last period of the day in the first portable building, near the tennis courts. It had one of those long science class benches in front that Carroll steadfastly stood behind. Since he was a science teacher, I don't think his heart was really into teaching algebra. Being new, like all new teachers, he might have been assigned to teach a something-else, freshman class outside his subject expertise area--still common in education, I would so testify in the Court of Educational Wrongdoings. To alleviate the boredom of mathematics, for us as for himself, he would engage in light talk with us. This seemed unusual. Teachers would sometimes engage in general conversational matters, but usually as a lecture or in out-of-class situations. I passed the class with a decent grade, perhaps because of his kind nature. Two years later, I enrolled, enthusiastically, I might add, in Mr. Carroll's chemistry class. It was chemistry that was the cause for my enthusiasm, and having him again as a teacher made it seem even better. You see, as a younger kid, I had one of those Chemcraft chemistry sets, which fascinated me to the point that I was ordering chemicals from the Chemcraft Company, putting on magic shows, or demonstrations for neighborhood kids, as the Chemcraft guide instructed me how to do. The kids were fascinated by my wizardry. I thought I had a calling in mixing elements, making liquids change color, causing things to puff into smoke, and much to my mom's stiff perturbance, stink bombs. There he was, behind the science lab counter once again, but on the top floor this time. It was a real science room, designed for chemistry. But wait! All I remember us doing was listening to lectures, in his usual soft voice and non-threatening style, and we were asked to memorize the scientific terms for chemical things. If you took chemistry, you'll remember that, what was it, "The Table of Elements?" "Where's the chance to mix stuff?" I continued to ask myself. We never got out of our desks. As Chester A. Riley always ended his programs by saying, "What a revoltin' development this is," I chose to do the same at the end of the semester, chemistry class definitely being a revolting development. But Mr. Carroll and I had a friendly parting, and he apparently had no nice-guy sympathy this time, writing an F on my report card. I couldn't complain. An F is what I deserved. I knew nothing. My mom did the complaining--to me--and about me, not Mr. Carroll. That also marked the end of my science instruction in high school. I don't want to comment on Mr. Carroll's teaching as to why I didn't do well in his classes. I'll admit I'm just not the math-science type. But I did like him as a man and teacher. He was easy to be around. He actually seemed to like us, which is why he would almost spend as much time talking to us about non-subject matter things as he did math or science. And why is it that he's the only person I remember chaperoning our socials, particularly the dances in the back gym, some outing out on Upriver Drive that we were all bused out to on a Saturday night? Was he a designated chaperone? Did he get stuck with it because he had low seniority on the teaching staff? Or did he just like us? I'd like to think that's what it was. I remember him because he was there--he would talk to us, but he knew when to leave us alone without blowing whistles and keeping us in line as would a drill sergeant. To use the terminology of the time, "Mr. Carroll was a neat guy." - Wyatt Newman
	More Mr. Francis Carroll I met Mr. Carroll in my senior year. He was the Rogers chemistry teacher and I had to take chemistry. I was not thrilled about taking chemistry. I admit that I was a science geek, but did not like this subject because it required memorizing chemical formulas. It had one upside for me: you could mix stuff together that caught fire or exploded. Mr. Carroll was a teacher with whom I felt comfortable conversing outside of class. I used to visit him in his classroom some mornings before class. Come to think of it, I don't remember ever seeing him outside of his classroom. I'm a shy person, but I can turn into a kind of monster-mouth when I get comfortable with a situation. I liked to wisecrack with Mr. Carroll. Sometimes (or usually), I overstepped. Once Mr. Carroll asked us a chemistry question, "What is Avagadro's Number?" I answered, "HU 3-3152." He grimaced a half-smile and tilted his head as if to say, "You're within a hair-breadth of being bounced out of here if you don't shut up." I dialed it down. Since I enjoyed making hazardous materials from chemicals (but never bothering to delve far into the underlying principles), I played with acid during lab time. I learned how to make aqua regia, a particularly virulent combination of acids that is used to dissolve gold during refining. There were some cute junior girls in the chem. Lab, so I thought I would impress them when I stuck my finger into a beaker of aqua regia. Oh my finger bubbled so! They were impressed all right, as in "grossed out and turned off." My finger was itchy and yellow for about a week after each of these demonstrations. My fingernail stayed yellow until it grew all the way out. I don't remember if Mr. Carroll saw me do this, but I cringe now to remember the way I handled acid. That I was never blinded is probably only because God watches over idiots. Everett Neuman mentioned the aqua regia demos to me at the 40th reunion. I still can't believe we didn't use safety goggle in chem. lab. Different times. This story gets worse. I learned that if you combine a certain acid with another chemical, you could make nitroglycerine. So I set about to do it. I carried out the mix in a ventilated chemical fume hood. This was probably the only thing that saved the school. The mixture started to boil and froth, emitting beautiful clouds of bright red nitrous oxide fumes. The mixture was in a hood, but the chemicals somehow hit the high ceiling of the classroom! The area smelled like washday. Someone tripped the fire alarm. The whole school evacuated. My next memory is of standing across Wellesley looking at firemen going into the building. One of them opened the windows in the Mr. Carroll's classroom. Red smoke came out. After about a half hour we got the all clear. The whole school smelled like a laundry. I braced myself for a move to Chelhalis, but nothing happened until the next morning. I slinked into Mr. Carroll's classroom. He looked and me and said, "No more pyrotechnics, okay?" That was it! I considered that sentence a word to the wise. I counted myself, and every body around me, lucky. I kept a low profile afterward. I've written elsewhere of the time that Mr. Carroll facilitated a Sadie Hawkins date between a bright young lady and me. He genuinely seemed to like young people - a breed sometimes hard to like. I visited Rogers a couple of years after graduation. I walked by Mr. Carroll's open classroom door. He was lecturing to a sixth period chemistry class. He called me in and introduced me as the guy who made the stains on the ceiling. They were still visible. I talked to him after the bell rang. He said that I seemed to be on the right track, but that he'd thought that I was "going down the drain" while I was at Rogers. This stung. Still does. I don't think I was ever going down the drain, except for that little hobby of acid and pyrotechnics. I think he made the judgment based that, and smart mouth or maybe it was about my reaction to my parents' divorce. At any rate he was a good teacher and mentor to me even if I didn't make it easy for him. -Ed Mauget

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