Teachers as People
It was at Dalewood Public School in St. Catharines, during my grade 7 year, that I began to realize teachers were people too who had personalities and feelings. Seems like an obvious thing to say now but not so as a young self-centred teenager. It was during my year at that school when I saw my homeroom teacher cry in class, my principal exhibit an amazing sense of humour which helped set such a relaxed mood in the entire school. I no longer feared walking past the office in the same way I did at my previous school. There were teachers with different teaching styles representing their unique personalities, that year I started to see teachers as people and it made a difference in how I approached school. I had come a long way from the days when randomly I might see one of my teachers in public and literally wonder how do they survive outside of water, that is to say how do they even exist outside the classroom environment? It was a surreal notion.
Probably everyone of my generation knows where they were on November 22, 1963 when it was reported to the world that President John F Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas while riding in a motorcade with his wife Jacqueline. I remember, it was a Friday, the last day of a long school week at my school, Dalewood.
I was more than curious when in my classroom, with some 30 other fellow students, my teacher came to the front of the room late. It was clear to us all that she was very upset and that she had been crying. She started her talk to the class in a very hesitant and quiet voice, unlike her usual more dominate style, to tell us that earlier today the American President had been shot while travelling in his motorcade.
I can’t remember if we were dismissed early that day but it was a sombre afternoon as we all absorbed the news in our young minds, in our own ways. It was the first time watching my teacher in tears giving us tragic news, that they after, all the stern disciplining they do, I realized they have real human emotions like real people.
I remember my school, Dalewood, for that historic event in my life and also for all the friends and teachers I had in a very pivotal year in my life. The principal, Mr McGregor, I’m sure he had a first name but as students we were not privy to that level of personal information. Teachers were magical, powerful, distant creatures who only seemed to us as students to have a life or an existence during school hours.
Mr McGregor was not only my principal but my History teacher as well. His classroom was conveniently located next to his office the official seat of power. This fact normally would instil fear in the hearts of most students because inside that office in some side drawer was the strap through which student folklore gave the principal an aura of mystical power.
One of my first encounters with Mr McGregor occurred in the hallway where students were expected to walk in straight quiet lines between classes, quickly, efficiently and directly. At one point there was a lag in my line and I took a careless moment to lean against the wall for a relaxing, lazy moment. Mr McGregor standing at the intersection of two hallways looked out at the situation, for some reason focussed on me leaning on the wall as if I were the cause of the delay. He walked directly and boldly up to me, stood right in front of me as I leaped to attention. We locked eyes. Mine showed fear his complete dominance. In a loud stern voice which I remember to this day he said, “Do you know what would happen if every student in this line were to lean on this wall at the same time?”
He paused briefly for dramatic effect, his eyes never leaving mine. I was waiting for the answer as Moses waiting on the ten commandments with heightened anticipation. He said profoundly and in total seriousness, “Absolutely nothing!” He then gave me a big smile, a kind pat on my shoulder and rapidly walked away as the line began to move to the next class. I knew then I had no reason to fear the man. He had a sense of humour. A teacher with that sense is a beacon of hope and safety.
I think that one simple hall incident bonded me to Mr McGregor and I subsequently I was always trying to please him and so as a result did well in his class. He taught history as a story teller naturally with much humour. He presented facts in an entertaining fashion like every lesson was a spectacular bed time story. I anticipated his classroom and watched for him in the hallways, always.
My Industrial Arts teacher, whose name I can not honestly remember, had a little different style of teaching. He was a practical and direct individual, very mellow and relaxed yet still with expectations for student performance. Apparently, he had no affection about giving notes in his subject. During the first days of orientation including safety lessons on the power tools and the various ways we could lose fingers, impale ourselves or go blind, he also gave us the notebooks from the previous grade 7 graduates. Our job was to over the next several days copy all the notes and that would serve as our study reference for the year. No note taking after that point. Later, I wondered on the accuracy of that method, given that the original set of notes dating back probably many years was likely not divinely inspired and after being passed on, copied and recopied several times was packed with errors.
Despite the notes I did make an attractive wooden bowl on a lathe, a lamp that looked like a Conestoga wagon and a name plate I could place on my desk tooled in leather. Although I never became a handyman by any metric I did learn so much from that class and others during my years in school. It saddens me to think that today these practical programs are in short supply for either gender.
In Geography class with Ms Higgins, who I remember for having so much patience with me during map orientation and cartography. Working with an Ontario road map we had to perform various tasks based on mapping information and using our spatial ability. I could do that part fairly well but try as I might I could never fold the map back to its original shape. It was shameful and although some students laughed at me, my teacher gently and quietly showed me the fold lines and got me back on track with minimal loss of face. I loved her for that small gesture of kindness and understanding. In later life I herald the arrival of GPS maps. Ironically, I too became a Geography teacher who used road maps in class.
Strange the things one remembers when looking back on the friends you once had and the varied experiences during a single year in school. I recall my friend Chris who had a trained pet crow who knew to fly to school at dismissal time and meet Chris as he came out the door. I wondered how that was even possible as I witnessed the crow perch on my friend’s extended arm and stare at me with his dark black eyes. Chris’ tricks with his crow gave him an incredible level of status.
I marvelled at the freedom I had going to school over several kilometres with my friends by bicycle each day to a school I truly enjoyed most of those rides. We discussed our teachers, our current “crushes” and sports. I’m not sure school buses were even in wide use back then certainly I never road on one until becoming a teacher myself.
Historically, I also fell in love for the first timeI with Linda Fast and Mary Jane Combe at the same time which was potentially awkward. I knew it was true love and never once considered the idea that I might have to make a choice. Eventually, when they discovered each other the choice was made for me and a valuable life lesson learned at the same time.
I played on the school hockey, baseball and track and field teams and was fortunate to have coaches who encouraged me during games and competitions. Looking back I think I was exceptionally lucky to have the group of teachers and friends I did that year. Teachers who were genuine and showed their true selves and values. I wasn’t an excellent student but I was enjoying school because they made for a positive and enjoyable school climate making it more conducive to have the desire to work, play on teams, make worthwhile projects in history and shop class and even afforded the opportunity to fall in love, however briefly.
