My grade school science teacher died last weekend, and I'm disappointed that I never had a chance to see him when I was a grown-up. I had dozens of questions for him, and not one of them was about science.
I find it hard to believe I lived all those years in Peoria, and seemed to run into people from all phases of my life, yet I never crossed paths with him after the mid-1980s.
I actually Googled him a couple months ago and came up empty. I also asked a colleague with the same surname if she knew anything about him, and she did not. Then, via Facebook, I received a link to his obituary.
He was a man of mystery, and that is why I had dozens of questions for him. The obituary answered a few: he was 84 and widowed since 2005. He had two sons and was a World War II veteran. And he had a master's degree in journalism. Yes, that one was a bit of a surprise.
But it's in keeping with his sense of wonder and curiosity, as he showed in one memorable incident with him when I was in 7th grade.
I used to draw a little comic strip for my friends, a very benign and silly comic strip. (It wasn't mean and didn't lampoon anyone.) He found out it about it one day after class. He asked to see it, and I thought I might be in some kind of trouble. Instead he praised it, even mimeographed it (oh yes, children, this was before photocopiers!). He made me feel proud of it, especially because it made him laugh, and he usually projected sternness.
The sternness was a facade: he was hilarious. He was strict, and he used his punishments (or threats thereof) to showcase his humor. People cast out into the hall were consigned to "hold down a tile." Incessant talkers could expect to be asked if they wanted a "musher husher" or "belcher squelcher" – these were the words he'd inscribe on a piece of masking tape before affixing it to a mouth.
He had white hair and often pushed a forelock aside in the same way that Bobby Kennedy did.
I remember he had a no-smoking ad that hung from an overhead light in his classroom. It showed a dour, ugly, androgynous figure toking on a butt with the caption, "Smoking Is Very Glamorous." You can view it here.
He played the guitar, and often composed little songs that he played for us. I must confess I don't remember the words to any of them, but people who signed the online guest book of his obituary remembered them very specifically. There were a lot of very warm tributes to him. I hope he knew how beloved he was.
When you're 12 or 13, it's hard to imagine that your teachers have any kind of life outside of the classroom. He never really told us anything about his world away from school, but the world he made for his students was incredibly memorable.
Georgia Confidential 