Your memorable teachers (both good and bad)

You know, this thread has made me appreciate how many of the teachers I had were really great; and the ones that weren’t incredible at least were memorable.

Mrs. Plancich was my 2nd and 3rd grade teacher, and she was the one who arranged to have me tested for and placed in the all-day gifted program at a different school for 4th and 5th. I’m still grateful to her for doing that, because I had gone from being a good student to a little sullen brat; she understood that it was because I was bored, when I was too young to articulate that.

Mrs. Skibo, who somehow managed to teach three grade levels of gifted kids in two rooms, alone. She had us read wonderful books, put on plays, write and bind our own stories, taught us math in other numeric bases, covered Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, raised goldfish and beetles… the list goes on. Looking back, I am astounded at how much she could handle, and handle alone. I mean, she even had a “bring your pet to school” day, which was a complete bonanza. I brought my cat in a paper bag. I kid you not.

Mrs. Bahat and Mrs. Oman, who jointly taught another three grade levels of gifted kids in two rooms, this time 6th through 8th. Mrs. Oman wore these slip-on Keds that she’d colored to look like watermelon slices, and Mrs. Bahat wore a sari and bindi (affectionately called The Bahat Dot) every day. They were both wonderfully supportive, lively, interesting women who made all the subjects come alive, and didn’t hold it against me that I refused to put much effort into math and science.

In high school, there were Bob and Sue LaFollette, who taught art and English respectively. Both were bitingly and hilariously sarcastic and had no time to deal with kids that didn’t respect both them and their chosen subjects. Discipline was not a problem in their classes, but there was a lot of laughter and interest to balance that out.

Mr. Powell taught high school chemistry and psychology, and let me TA for him my senior year. He became something of a friend-- we’d go out to breakfast or for coffee sometimes and just shoot the breeze.

Mr. Bogdanoff taught Russian and let us make Russian food and tea every Friday, and at the open house at the end of the year, the fourth-year students would write and put on a play entirely in Russian. We also made Ukranian Easter eggs and took field trips to churches and businesses run by and catering to Russian immigrants.

Mr. Sherbrook taught Social Studies and Current Events, and would always make the first question on every test a ridiculously easy one, so that you’d feel confident that no matter what, you’d get one question right. It would be something like, “Spell your first name correctly for five points” or “Which kind of M&M’s contain peanuts, Plain or Peanut?” He also had us be a mock Senate, and each of us had to try to get a bill passed for our states by our fellow senators/classmates. Porkrolling was both allowed and encouraged, which led to people bribing their classmates with candy and stunts to back their bills. He also brought in an ancient VHS tape of the Schoolhouse Rock song about how a bill becomes a law.

Mr. Krock taught math – I had him for Trigonometry. He was painfully shy and soft-spoken, but he’d stand at the door before each class and shake every student’s hand as they came in, and on Halloween he wore his usual short-sleeved shirt, tie and cordouroys with a Rastafarian hat, complete with fake dreads.

There were several others, and I haven’t even gotten to the college profs, but I often think fondly of these teachers and hope they’re doing well. I found out a few years out of high school that Sue LaFollatte was gravely ill – I visited once and learned sometime later that she’d died. I don’t know how to contact Bob, but I hope he’s OK.

Mrs. Walker, my sixth grade Social Studies teacher was easily my favorite teachers.

She made class interesting and actually cared about us little brats… for instance, when she found out that I was failing sixth grade for refusing to do my homework, she forced me to stay after school to catch up despite her only teaching me for one course. This went on for a while and even got to the point where she showed up at my door, on a Saturday during Spring Break and told my mom that I was supposed to be at school finishing my work and my work. My mom made me go.

This was about ten years ago… about six months ago, my mom got a postcard from her asking how I’m doing. I haven’t written back since I keep on forgetting about it but I think I might tonight after thinking about her.
Aside from her, other favorites included:

Mrs. Akiona, my sophomore English teacher. I liked her originally just because she was an attractive college graduate and I was a hormonal sixteen year old but over the semester I grew to like her as a person as well. She was a genuinely nice woman and someone that I’d’ve gladly called a friend if we had colleagues instead of teacher and student.

Coach Miller, my Senior Current Events AP teacher. A weird, weird guy… you would think that someone teaching Advance Placement students would know better than to try to pass off BS stories as fact but that didn’t stop him. Every day, he’d have some tall tale to relate that trumped the last in its sheer audacity. I spent a lot of time in his class with my head down laughing to myself.

Coach Shaw, my Senior Modern World History teacher. I spent four years hoping I’d never get Coach Shaw in a class because he’s such a loud and obnoxiously boistrous person but I surprised myself by liking him when I finally took one of his courses. He was actually a pretty engaging person and made the already interesting (to me… I love history) class even more so.

Ms Boods So… She wasn’t troubled by you calling her SMA? Thats the impression I got from your OP… My misunderstanding I see… Sorry!

I had the coolest Biology teacher ever. He was so intelligent and whenever we had class we could ask the most stupid questions and he would consider them and then give us his opinion. Often wed discuss whether the previous nights X-files could actually happen.

Also had a pretty cool Irish teacher, hated him for years but in the final year even though he didnt teach my class, we used to combine relgion classes so he was constantly around, he was a nice guy then. Especially after he allowd me to use Green Day’s Good Riddance as our end of year song:D

Had some pretty insane teachers too. One taught us French and she would constantly throw the duster at us, or one time it was a chair. She also would constantly scream in the corner where I sat ‘No Whisperingg!!!’ I wouldnt mind if I had been but we never were!

I don’t think I’ll ever forget Mr. Napoleon Carter, my 6th grade teacher. Best teacher I ever had. I mostly remember the way he would encourage students to develop their interests. ON the bulletin boards, he would let students post stories they’d written or comic strips so the other students can see them. Once, when he caught me doodling in class, instead of lecturing me or making me feel bad about it, he gave me a project to work on drawing little cartoon things for display around the room.

He also had a nice way of ending the day. When the final bell rang, he would shake every students’ hand as they left the room. He explained that this meant whatever happened in class that day, good or bad, ended that day. It would not carry over into tomorrow. He would hold no grudges, and asked the students to do the same. On the last day of the year, with all his 6th graders now moving to a different school for junior high, he gave each and every one of us a hug and wished us good luck.

I’ve thought about looking him up from time to time, even found the name Napoleon Carter in the phone book (how many Napoleons does one meet, after all?) but never bothered to try to call or visit him at his school. I doubt he remembers me anyway, it’s been nearly 20 years.

My sixth grade teacher, Mr. Seamon, was one of my favorites. He spent every lunch hour reading a book to us (one we chose by consensus). He read books that were current (at that time) such as Alive. He seemed genuinely interested in seeing all of his students succeed.

Unfortunately, I recall the bad teachers more than the good.

There was Mr. Roth, who taught high school biology. He was a drunkard. He started class by taking attendance and stating it was time to “how many cabbage heads” were in attendance that day. We could see him in his lab, tippling his little bottle everyday.

There was Mrs. Laporte, who was the embodiment of mean and uptight. She taught English in Junior High school. She returned one of my creative writing assignments with the comment “An A or an F, which book did you copy this from?”. I stomped up to her desk and let her know that I DID NOT copy this and had spent hours on this paper. I told her few other things too. She did change my grade, but she didn’t believe a student of my age could write like that. The kids in the class were merciless to her; until her husband died. We felt truly bad for her and bought her flowers and had a big card ready for her upon her return. She burst into tears and thanked us. You know what? She was never nasty to us again after that.

There were more, both bad and good, but those are the standouts for now.

I once had a teacher in seventh grade who taught geography. We were all supposed to call her Mrs. G. (“It’s ‘Mrs.’ because I’m happily married, children!”)

She was incredibly stupid. She was reading us trivia questions once, and the question was, “What put the Pony Express out of business?” I answered that it was the telegraph, but she insisted that it was the stagecoach, even though it said the telegraph on the trivia card! It was right there in from of her face, and she refused to admit she was wrong.

She also had us do things like go to the bathroom to wash the lipstick stains off her coffee mug. Whenever it was my turn to do that, I would dutifully wash it off…then dry it with a paper towel I picked up off the floor.

We locked her out of the room, rearranged the keys on her keyboard to read “mrsg=bitch”, poured lotion all over her chair, and she never seemed to notice.

I once had a teacher in seventh grade who taught geography. We were all supposed to call her Mrs. G. (“It’s ‘Mrs.’ because I’m happily married, children!”)

She was incredibly stupid. She was reading us trivia questions once, and the question was, “What put the Pony Express out of business?” I answered that it was the telegraph, but she insisted that it was the stagecoach, even though it said the telegraph on the trivia card! It was right there in from of her face, and she refused to admit she was wrong.

She also had us do things like go to the bathroom to wash the lipstick stains off her coffee mug. Whenever it was my turn to do that, I would dutifully wash it off…then dry it with a paper towel I picked up off the floor.

We locked her out of the room, rearranged the keys on her keyboard to read “mrsg=bitch”, poured lotion all over her chair, and she never seemed to notice.

Gary Larson ran a Far Side cartoon in my younger years during the Iran-Iraq war (and if anyone can find a non-copyright link to it I’d really appreciate it). It was a one-frame Sunday 'toon. Had an ocean liner in a bunch of water surrounded by mines. The caption was something along the lines of “The Love Boat finds itself in the Straits of Hormuz”. I cut out the cartoon and gave it to him and he laughed and put it up on his bulletin board.

I was 13. Living in the middle of BFE Minnesota and a million miles away from anything resembling culture or thought. I saw a cartoon in the Sunday paper and not only recognized the humor but also the serious meaning behind it.

The teacher was Mr. Brand, and he was the one who had taught me about the Straits of Hormuz. He also taught me that “Soviet Russia” (Cold War, remember) was at LEAST as interested in us as we were in them. That his purpose in life - as a geography teacher - was to teach us how to read a newspaper (and isn’t that just the NEATEST definition you’ve ever heard?). That while home may be home, there is a lot out there.

Personally and in confidence, he also told me that he left the Army because he couldn’t quite get Truman’s integration orders into his brain (and his actions and words during that transition period have left him mortified) and that he managed to skip on over to his BA because of the GI Bill and despite his lack of an actual HS diploma (something about lying to the recruiter about his age. SHHH!!)

Yeahyeahyeah. That’s all admiration. Here’s the important bit:

Lots of teachers told or insinuated or treated me like I was smart.

He was the first teacher I ever had (and one of the few since) who made me work to prove it.

Mr. Bradbury, my sixth grade teacher, was my favorite teacher ever, the one with the most continuing influence on my life.

I was in his class the 1966-67 school year. It was his first year of teaching. He liked science fiction and fantasy literature, and started by reading a chapter of The Hobbit to us each day. I knew I wouldn’t like it, but finally had to admit I was looking forward to each day’s new chapter. For writing practise he had us write a science fiction story. (This was the year Star Trek-TOS first came out and one kid lifted his plot directly from the show!) Mr. Bradbury was fun and interesting. We learned a lot in his class and I don’t even remember anyone disliking him a little bit. He got married the summer after class was over and invited the class to the wedding. I spent all of $7.00 on a wedding present( a lot of money to me then). It was a set of pressed glass tableware, a sugar bowl, a creamer, and a covered butterdish. Eight of us actually went to the wedding, all girls( romantic it all was!) More might have attended but we couldn’t drive and the wedding was fifty miles away. It was the first occasion I wore nylon stockings for.

Mr. Bradbury retired last year after 35 years in the teaching biz. He was principal of another local elementary school. I went to the reception. Due to his influence I read books I might not have and gained a lot of ideas from them. I met people and did things(like science fiction conventions) that were a direct result of his literary influence.

Mr. Charles Bradbury was/is the greatest!