A Tale of Two Teachers

Leave It to Beaver’s Theodore (Beaver) Cleaver attended the Grant Avenue School and was taught by the charming and always understanding Miss Landers.  The TV show would flash the school whenever the scene switched over to Beaver’s classroom.  The image of the Grant Avenue School and Miss Landers has been embedded in my brain as the quintessential elementary school and I feel so lucky to have attended an similar old-fashioned school known as Hildreth Elementary where there were some “Miss Lander’s” too.

My school years at Hildreth were magical. Our school was caring with practical learning methods, and teachers who were engaged and focused on learning and achievement.  However, there was one exception, almost an aberration given the excellence of my overall experience there and that detour from the norm was 5th grade.

Our teacher was a mystery to us until that first September morning when our principal introduced us to Mrs. D.  I was excited to have such a young, newly-minted and beautiful teacher.  It was unusual to have such a youthful teacher who was also married and right away, I loved her style – little madras shifts for the hot early days and then colorful wool pencil skirts with matching sweaters along with sophisticated pumps that clicked across the hardwood floors of the classroom. Mrs. D always wore her thick dark hair in a chic chignon and was subtly made-up with a fascinating frosted plum lipstick. At ten years old, I was newly awakened to all the things that she outwardly presented to us.

But soon it became apparent that Mrs. D was not to be the teacher of my dreams. To anyone outside our classroom, she was lovely.  And nice.  Yet, inside, Mrs. D was very different.  She was punitive, into sarcasm and worse of all, shaming. The smallest infraction or even a loud noise when closing a desktop would send Mrs. D into a diatribe. I distinctly recall a boy sobbing at the chalkboard in front of everyone when unable to solve a math equation.  I can’t forget the sight of this boy with his head hung low and his tears dropping onto his sneakers.  It was before lunch and at last we were dismissed after what seemed an eternity. But the boy returned with his mother in the afternoon and complaints were made. Unfortunately, I learned that complaints only fuel bullies into further bullying and my little classmate became Mrs. D’s favorite scapegoat.

Mrs. D, oddly, was never directly mean to me and I attribute that to her understanding that my mother was often at the school volunteering. But her temper was never far from the surface and our classroom was for the most part extraordinarily quiet and subdued because of fear.

Fortunately, the rein of terror only lasted until late October when we were told that Mrs. D was leaving due to pregnancy. Teachers were not allowed to teach if they were expecting in the 1960’s and I remember how we rejoiced about this turn of events outside on the hardtop at recess.  But a revolving door of substitutes offered up fresh traumas.

First up was an ancient and retired teacher who was mild compared to Mrs. D but very strict and never smiled.  What I remember most was the jangling charm bracelet, her sickening powdery scent, and the small round pitch pipe she removed from a velvet pouch every morning to set our tone before singing the National Anthem.  She was uninspiring and by January, we were assigned yet again to other unsmiling substitutes.

Then, in late winter, Mrs. T arrived like a breath of fresh air to our sad classroom.  She came just as the pipes hissed the last of the winter steam into the room and didn’t seem to mind when we giggled at the sound.  In fact, she joined in.  And  as it happened, her son was in my older brother’s grade and we were thrilled to have this friend’s cheerful and vivacious mother come to us like the Calvary that we desperately deserved. Mrs. T was also known among the boys as she was a Cub Scout leader and some had been to her house for dinner and meetings. At last our class exhaled…

Mrs. T brought music back to our class with songs and matching games. We had art too and cooking lessons. She always made math and science fun with experiments and crafts. And finally we were learning again with a minimal homework load because she was so organized with the 5th grade requirements.

My favorite part of the school day was the afternoon reading. About 40 minutes before the three o’clock dismissal bell, Mrs. T would remove a small worn book from the upper left-hand drawer of her desk and begin to read aloud a true story about a small boy separated from his family and lost in a forest in New Hampshire. I was captivated by this interesting book being read to me by such a lovely person.  Mrs. T performed all the voices, including the boy’s and did it so well that we could feel his every angst and worry. She described all the trials the lost boy faced with such worry and compassion herself that it almost felt like the story was happening in real time. I remember clearly the day the boy found a small bird to kill and eat and so gentle was her reading that day asking us to contemplate being so hungry that we would eat a bird in the woods. I almost felt my stomach growling…

Mrs. T was very much Beaver’s Miss Landers.  She corrected us when necessary, and was tough on our lessons but nobody cried anymore.  She was gentle and enthusiastic and led us to the best available in a public education. And one day when my I pricked my ears listening to my mother thank her for being such a great teacher, I heard Mrs. T respond with her lilting laugh that we loved ….”Oh…they just needed someone to love them”.

Mrs. T loved us for sure. But she also healed us…