the shoulders of giants . . . and not-so-giants (part 3)

High School Teachers
Mr. M. - Grade 9. Rookie band director, taught me that “everyone’s favorite teacher” always ends up on the losing end. Ousted for "inappropriateness" with a female student.
Coach F. - Grade 9. Very wealthy wrestling coach. (I wrestled for one summer.) Had horse stables at his house, which he converted into "Rocky IV-style" workout facilities. Taught me about excellence, what it takes to win, and how to give more of yourself than 100%.
Mr. F. - Grade 9. Taught me to hate math again.
Mrs. S. - Grade 9. Spanish Teacher. She taught me what learning a foreign language was like, and she once complimented me on a school newspaper article I had written. I remember that it couldn't have been easy being a female teacher in a school of adolescent males. And I think her last name meant "Proud Mountains". (You can bet that one got around . . . )
Mr. C. - Grade 9. Taught me to hate english, and hate it so badly that I wanted to become a teacher so I could undo what he had done to all his students. Awful, awful teacher. Still there, as a matter of fact.
Ms. T. - Grade 9. She was four feet tall, and never took crap from anyone. She taught religious identity, taught us how to meditate, and broke our class into different groups to demonstrate India’s caste system. She taught me how to teach people through doing, and she taught me a lot about myself.
Kevin Dunipace - My private saxophone teacher throughout high school, who taught me to appreciate my own musicianship, and taught me how to be musical in my playing, no matter what it was.

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Mr. B. - Grade 10. Held an extra class on Saturday mornings where he brought donuts and the three of us that came every week could practice geometry and pre-calculus. I still hated math, but respected him so much that I wanted to do well.
Mr. B. - Grade 10. My mentor and closest teacher throughout high school. He inspired me to major in music and become a teacher. He introduced me to Don Quixote, and let me play the role on stage, something I will never forget. Still there, and still doing good work.
Brother J. - Grade 10. Very quiet, very strict english teacher whom everyone hated, but everyone respected, and no one ever forgot. (And if that grammar wasn't bad enough for you . . . ) “Students will rise to your level of expectation” was what I learned from him. Like Mr. T. in 8th grade, he had the kids who sucked at english, but he made them work at it, and made them better than the “honors” kids. Beware the Ides of March, Brother J....

(to be continued . . .)

Posted: Mon - February 2, 2004 at 03:13 PM

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the shoulders of giants . . . and not-so-giants (part 3)

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