I tried to get the 500 words – I really did – but that was not (and is not my style) I had always been more of story teller than a writer, so when everyone else turned in their one or two pages I turned in 14. A 4,000 word story about a man trapped inside a matchbox – complete with a flash back to an evil scientist who had shrunk him, no less! And a scene where the scientist had hundred of match boxes in an oversized brandy balloon on this desk. My first Sci-Fi short story – LOL – to be 14 again!.

I remember her reading two of the pages (the description) out loud to the class the next day and seeing puzzlement in the faces of the other students at what I was describing. Each knowing that they recognized what was being written about but… not being able to place what it was. Each pupil with a raised eyebrow or a slightly cocked head, “I know what it is, but what?” was silently screamed with their sidelong glances at me. Mrs K. then read the stories title “The Matchbox” and 16 sets of eyes (classes were smaller back then!) instantly registered, “Of course!”

I felt a rush of warmth go through my body making me shutter with pure joy. A tingling sensation that was complete ecstasy rocked through me. A feeling I still get 30 year later when I know I have written something well. It was then I knew I had to write. There was no choice. There is nothing better than that feeling.

She did mention (privately) that I do tend to run on in my writing (still working on that one teach!), much as I suppose I am doing here. She helped me with this and my mechanics (which are still horrid) and strongly encouraged me in turning regular English assignments into stories.

I have never seen her since I graduated unfortunately.

Thank you Mrs. K, where ever you are.

I’ll be starting toward my PhD in applied mathematics this coming fall. Thinking back about why I wanted to go ahead and get the doctorate, it had to be because of her.

Amo-amas-amat is where it’s at. Or was, for high schoolers educated in our day mid 20th century. (The Birth of Venus by William-Adolphe Bougeuereau, 1879 Oil on canvas, Musee d’Orsay, Paris) La Shawn jogged our memory today with her invitation…

This is a thrilling post, La Shawn, well written — of course — full of life and tender love for a kindred spirit. How wonderful that you were able to tell your mentor what a difference she made.

Sometimes when I am about town, I run into some of my old students and I so enjoy seeing them again. One of my old students is now teaching my elementary aged daughter this year!

I am sorry to hear about Miss G. I’ll bet God gave you that urge to contact her so you did have that before she was gone.

Thanks for sharing, everyone, and thank you, great teachers for using your gifts to help all of us.

My favorite was Mr. Hull, my senior English teacher in Paris (my dad was stationed there). He was a Shakespearean actor in his off time and he would perform readings for us, not just of Shakespeare but of things like “Eve of St. Agnes,” playing all the parts. He was incredible.

Thanks for sharing this story.

Even though he did not like teaching he did have a real passion for math. He inspired me to become really passionate for math and I started to really excel and everything clicked. I am now a physicist and I owe that to Mr. G.

It was a shock when I found out none of my classmates had taken algebra, latin or greek history, or even greek or latin derivatives yet.

8th grade was duck soup, tho my lousy work habits and even worse attitude would combine together to make high school throughly unpleasant.

My next outstanding teacher was my first college teacher while in the army in Korea. Tho I enjoyed Korea (when I could see it) I was less enthusiastic about the part of it just outside the camp gates. Mr K was the Dean of Men at Seoul University. He did not have to teach ignorant young GI s but he did. I was quite impressed by him.

My third great teacher is my darling wife. I am very much married indeed. I married a girl much better than I had any right to expect. Pat does not instruct as a teacher in a class, instead she teaches by example. I am in no way claiming the my wife is perfect, doubt if I could stand one that was perfect, but quite frankly suspect that Pat is perfect for me.

I could mention a number of class acts I was fortunate enough to meet who helped me to turn my life around, but there are so many it is hard to seperate them out.

Somehow I think that Clara Wochele would be proud of me today – although I’m equally sure she would level some scathing critiques at some of my writings.

As to the effects of a great teacher on one’s future, I had Sister Mary Myles (later known as Sister Joan Acker), a brilliant woman whose chemistry students were finalists in the Westinghouse Science Talent Search for 10 years straight. She was wise to the shenanigans of high school girls. She was my homeroom teacher 2 of the 4 years in high school and in my senior year, when I was “coasting” through my hated chemistry class with her, she forced me to study and learn despite my inclination to do the bare minimum. In the end, what she taught me was self-discipline and the value of achievement for its own sake. I have honored this woman in my heart in all the days since I graduated in 1959 and have given full credit to her for most of the accomplishments of my life.