Schools of Hope

     When I saw the teachers in Ferguson, Missouri welcoming their students with open arms and signs of hope yesterday, I found myself remembering a time when a special teacher comforted me and helped me feel safe. I went to a one room school in Vernon Township until midway through third grade. Eight grades in one room under the control of Mrs. Kober. (If you need a model of interdisciplinary, multi-grade strategies, look no further.) In the late fall of my third year, Vernon School caught fire and burned. The official report said the furnace malfunctioned, but the rumor mill suggested that someone had burned it down. (There had been discussion about consolidating the school district and the Vernon School community was resisting.) Whatever happened, what was left of our school was transported to the gym at Clarendon Ave. School in Mukwonago, WI. I still remember the smell of smoke in the gym and the experience of being very frightened by the electric school bells that went off periodically during the day. We stayed in the gym until arrangements could be made for us to join the regular classes at Clarendon. Keep in mind that up until this time, I always had my older sister and brother in the classroom with me. They were in different rows, but I could see them and I knew where they were. Suddenly, I was in a new class of third graders all by myself. That’s when I met Miss Fargo. She was kind and caring and made me feel welcome in this strange, new place. I lived in a family that did not spend a lot of time worrying about childhood anxiety. “Behave yourself and be glad you got a bed,” was as comforting as it got. Miss Fargo helped me navigate a very challenging time and I learned to enjoy school. On the day before Christmas break, as we shuffled out of her room saying goodbye, I actually kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was soft and her smile warm.  Over fifty years later and I still remember.

     As the children in our own community get ready to head back to school, I know they will be greeted by teachers like Miss Fargo. I also know our public schools are one of the most important places where we can try to understand and solve the problems like those arising in Ferguson, Missouri. The thoughtful people I know who work in our area schools understand how critical it is for our children to learn about and talk about the social issues that influence our community. They understand that just learning how to read, write, and calculate is not enough. True education requires that we use those skills to solve problems and help each other. The teachers that I know understand that learning does not take place in a vacuum. Each child is on a personal journey to try and make sense of the world. Let’s hope – as this new school year begins – we can help each child and in the process help our own communities grow stronger and wiser.

 

A Poem:

In Praise of a Teacher

by Nikki Giovanni

 

The reason Miss Delaney was my favorite teacher, not just my
favorite English teacher, is that she would let me read any book I
wanted and would allow me to report on it. I had the pleasure of
reading The Scapegoat as well as We the Living as well as Silver
Spoon (which was about a whole bunch of rich folk who were
unhappy), and Defender of the Damned, which was about
Clarence Darrow, which led me into Native Son because the real
case was defended by Darrow though in Native Son he got the
chair despite the fact that Darrow never lost a client to the chair
including Leopold and Loeb who killed Bobby Frank. Native Son
led me to Eight Men and all the rest of Richard Wright but I
preferred Langston Hughes at that time and Gwendolyn Brooks
and I did reports on both of them. I always loved English because
whatever human beings are, we are storytellers. It is our stories
that give a light to the future. When I went to college I became a
history major because history is such a wonderful story of who we
think we are; English is much more a story of who we really are.
It was, after all, Miss Delaney who introduced the class to My
candle burns at both ends; /It will not last the night; /But, ah, my
foes, and, oh, my friends— /It gives a lovely light. And I thought
YES. Poetry is the main line. English is the train.