Messages in a Cyber-Bottle between a Couple of Old Marooned
Pirates
July, 2002
E-
I'd like to say a word about some of those educators who educated us,
in more ways, often, then their assigned subject matter. In the
interest of not speaking ill of the deceased, and many of them must be
deceased, I'll not make any disparaging remarks, although such
comments could certainly be made. But that's any student's experience.
There were more teachers I like rather than disliked, but upon review
of my Treasure Chest 1960, I notice I had only a few sign in. Must
have been my favorites.
Paul MacGown, the easy-going vice principal. He was a real guide and
patient, cheerful guy than the typical vice principal, usually the one
who administers the punishment. I really like him as I would an adult
friend.
Maude Scofield: Never had much personal contact with her...it was
always her in the corner desk up front on the third floor, I think it
was, and a full class of seniors taking senior composition or
research. It was the first English class I can remember where we
actually learned to do something rather than read literature or
diagram sentences. She always seemed so calm, collected, and
collegial. I notice she graduated from WSC, Home of the Cougars! That
must explain it.
Betty Pence: Spanish teacher muy excelante. Another Cougar! She really
knew her stuff. She not only taught Spanish, she taught the culture of
the Spanish world, developed in us an appreciation so strong that when
Barry Robinson, Ken Kelling, Bob Martin and I went to Southern
California for the Rose Bowl game of 1959, courtesy of the Hillyard
Booster Club and George Elmer Brown, our beloved advisor, we visited
the famous Olvera Street Mexican market area and pooled our travel
funds to buy her a piñata and piñata bat. We marched into her room
before classes that first day of classes after Christmas break and
presented them to her proudly. She really seemed appreciative. She
could be so patient with some of us rascals...without saying anything
could shame us for actually causing a disruption in the education
process. Of all the teachers I ever had, she's the one I wish I had
said thanks to years later. She sadly has passed on.
Jim Forsythe: My US history teacher. He must have been one of my role
models. I used throughout my own teaching career two of his
characteristics: having a pencil stuck in the crook of my ear and
using the phrase, "true or flase," on oral quizzes,
something he always said, claiming many former students misspelled
false. He was the real inspiration, I believe, for me wanting to teach
history.
Tracy Walters: Never had him as a teacher but only as a cross
country-track coach. He sure had a strong personality. As a track
coach, at least by standards of the time, he was good in developing
athletes. He sure could make some cutting remarks, though, intended as
humor but were not always taken as such. Norm Cooper and I were
ridiculed, for example, for having to miss a Saturday practice to
attend a YMCA dance class we had scheduled earlier. He said we were
taking ballet lessons, not quite, and not too funny at the time. But
the team sure seemed to laugh. Also caused me to go to the dictionary
to look for the definition of "lethargic." It seemed like a
critical word, and I took it as such, when he told me after a poor 880
that that's how I looked. Actually, looking back, that's a better word
than "lazy, crummy or dogging-it."
Francis Carroll: Taught me, or tried to teach me, algebra and
chemistry. Really a kind, gentle man. Had a sincere interest in kids.
Always seemed to be the chaperone at events such as dances and
hayrides. I just couldn't seem to get the points of his teaching,
though. I won't say he was bad. There just wasn't that student-teacher
connection. I think the real problem was mine...I never really liked
math-science, so I was naturally resistive. But, even when I failed
the first semester of chemistry and decided to bail out, he smiled and
wished me well. There were no hard feelings.
Not a favorite, but probably the teacher with the most character as to
idiosyncrasies had to be Mr. Sabo, the biology teacher. Taught in a
big science room so it always seemed like he was shouting from behind
the lab bench. Would quickly throw chalkboard erasers at those who
talked to lab mates. Taught interesting things, such as frog
dissecting. Was a bit removed, but underneath seemed like a fun guy.
Had a touch of mad scientist in him, I suspect.
And you, I know will put Mr. Beecher at the top of your list. You've
spoken highly of him often, as have others. Gosh darn shame I never
had him. I suspect he might have made me a better history teacher and
his students really learned to live and love history. Right?
W
W,
As you know, I'm uncomfortable with calling all teachers, except
George, by their first names. I can barely call you “W.” I never
had any qualms about calling them by their last names without an
honorific. For example, “Raymond.” I too, will not name names if I
cannot say anything nice.
Mr. Raymond taught me something about set theory. Thus, I can say that
the intersection of your set of favorite teachers and my set of
teachers of any kind is just: Mr. MacGown, Mrs. Schofield, and Mr.
Carroll. I could count Mr. Walters because I dabbled in track for a
week.
Mr. Raymond was one of my favorites, but some didn’t like his
backwoods Montana ways. You see, he gleefully dealt out “hacks”.
Most of the time, it was in good humor, but once or twice, he was
angry. If you heard a monotone, “Mauget … come up here,” you
were in for the painful serious kind of hack. The rest of the time, it
was back swing, pull up short, “Are you ready?” “Yes.” Back
swing, pull up short, “Are you sure?” Back swing, “wham”. I
experienced this once. Mr. Raymond on calculus: “Doing a problem is
not hard. It’s settin’ ‘er up that’s hard.” Once he was
trying to explain how common things can be too abstract to explain.
His example was his blind roommate in college. Mr. Raymond had told
him “That’s a nice red sweater, John.” John’s answer was
reportedly, “Oh? What’s red?” Mr. Raymond’s eyes got big as
saucers as he told us the punch line.
Another math teacher was also on my tops list. Mr. Ostness. He was an
upright, honest man and a solid teacher. I did better in his class in
my sophomore year than I did in another teacher’s class the prior
year. That teacher spent the year railing against Franklin Roosevelt
instead of teaching algebra. This was 11 years after FDR died, mind
you.
Mrs. Scofield’s class was, I believe, my first, outside of homeroom.
I only had her class that first year, but she was tops. She taught me
to write, or at least pointed me down that road. I make a fair part of
my living by being able to read and write in addition to computer
programming. I’d like to think that my writing ability, inspired by
her class, makes up for having somewhat less programming skill than my
young whipper-snapper peers (we geezers like to use that term). I don’t
think Mrs. Scofield ever knew me from Adam, but I rank her high on my
list.
My homeroom teacher, by the way, was Mr. Stumpf (male ‘M’s and ‘N’s).
He was a nice, unassuming man. He taught typing. I took typing, but I
think it was from a female teacher. My memory fails me here. I type
both computer programs and English technical material, so I must say
that this class was quite important to me.
Not to worry if I’d missed taking it, though. The U.S. Army
decided that I needed to learn to type. Never mind that I already
knew. They employed a spinster Alabama schoolteacher named Miss
Bayliss to teach me again. She was about five feet tall and tough!
This little civilian struck more fear in me than any top-kick sergeant
ever did in the Army. She was non-Rogers, so 'nuff said.
Say, why the sexual segregation in homeroom? All they did was read
unisex announcements and pass out report cards, right? Remember?
"Con today. First period cancelled. Those not wishing to attend,
will go to second floor study hall. First lunch and second lunch ...
yada yada"
Mr. Mabbott. Funny guy in class, deadly serious on the tennis courts.
I had him both places, although I was just a heartbeat in tennis. I
wore out a pair of shoes every month. A good tennis player doesn’t
run around the court much, so his shoes last awhile. Once, my dad
accompanied me to an open house. Mr. Mabbot told him I was doing okay
in tennis. This was odd, since I wasn’t doing okay in tennis. I
think the classroom is more important. I was doing okay there,
although he didn’t mention it to the Old Man. I learned to like
social studies in Mr. Mabbott's class.
Mr. Coleman was another dual threat: coach and teacher. He was my
biology teacher. Once, I was assigned to Mr. Sabo. Mr. Coleman had me
jerked out of there, into his class. Since I was a geek non-athlete, I
was surprised that Mr. Coleman mentored me academically. He helped me
win several prizes in science fairs. He taught me the value of
showmanship. You see, I may have won by seeming, rather than being. At
any rate, I use that showmanship lesson in my job by putting
gingerbread in some of my writings and presentations. I understand
that Mr. Coleman is still living in Spokane. A couple of years ago I
met a teaching colleague of Jim Parry (Bob’s little brother – I
should call him “Mr.” -- he’s a teacher) that had talked to Mr.
Coleman the night before.
Mr. Jelinek played the cop role, but I really liked him. He was a
straight shooter. I remember him taking a bunch of us in his little
Renault Dauphine to a function somewhere. He genuinely seemed to like
and respect us, though we were at that awkward, ugly age.
Mr. Chapman was my mechanical drawing instructor for four years.
Another solid, salt-of-the-Earth guy. However, I may have wasted four
years in his class because he taught an art that died within 20 years.
I actually was a draftsman for a couple of months before joining IBM.
Still, I could have better spent the four years' with Senora Pence.
Incidentally, do I get points for having actually eaten a meal at LA's
Olvera Street in 1970?
I never met Mrs. Pence. You talk positively about her. Dick Mather
used to talk favorably about her. Now I’ve reached a point where I
could use the Spanish. I live in a place where Spanish would be
increasingly handy. I’m going to Guatemala, so it would help there
also.
We each had Mr. Carroll for something. Strange that you and I never
shared a single class at Rogers, yet we know each other. I had Mr.
Carroll for chemistry. He was something of a mentor also. Since I got
along with him well, I thought I could banter with him he as if he
were one of my peers. I annoyed him when I did this. I'm shy at first,
but come on strong later. I looked in at him teaching a class a year
after graduation. He spotted me, pointed at the stain on the ceiling,
and told the class that "Here's the guy that did this." The
stain was from my attempt at making nitroglycerine. After the class
ended, he told me that he thought "I was down the drain when I
was at Rogers." This opinion surprised me.
Once, Mr. Carroll tipped me that a young lady was going to ask me
to the Sadie Hawkens Day dance. I wasn't interested (today I don't
know why. She was a nice girl - saddly, deceased years ago). Like an
idiot, I hid in the chemical room. He simply pointed her to that room.
Trapped like a rat in a cage. We went to the dance.
You’re right; Mr. Beecher is at the top of my list. He was tops with
my mother too. I regret that I didn’t say hello to him one day at
ONB in 1966 as we each filled out a deposit slip. I’m too shy at
times. He made me realize that history wasn’t only in books – that
you could visit where it happened. In our case, it was Spokane’s,
skid row. Now I live ten miles from the last major surrender of the
Civil War -- Bennett Place, near Durham, after Appomattox.
People still dig up mini balls and even live mortar shells near a
soccer field. I’m interested in the history surrounding me because
of Mr. Beecher. He probably would have overdosed on the local history
here.
