Three Teachers I Remember, by S. Michael Wells
We were at Maplewood from 1964-70, judged by many sociologists as the most tumultuous years in 20th century American culture. Added to that, we entered at age 12 and were graduated at age 18—the most tumultuous years for most people in their life. It all amounted to perfect conditions for confusion! Yet we survived, and are now approaching the threshold of our golden years.
There are indeed many memories from those years at Maplewood—some good and some bad—and it would require an entire book to write them all down. I hope at least some of the stories can be added here at the website as time goes along.
Here I want to mention the kindness and good influence of some of the teachers I recall. Now that over 40 years have passed since we were in class with some of them, perhaps we can appreciate them in an even clearer light.
Mr. King is one that comes to mind. In the fall of 1964, he was the first teacher for many of us at Maplewood. He was always so kind to us 7th graders, newly arrived at a place where older students were twice our size. His gentleness was just what we needed at that vulnerable time in our lives.
He knew I was paralyzed with shyness, and made a special effort to make me feel accepted. A few times in class, if another student began to answer a question with the phrase, "Well, I think...", then Mr. King would stop the student and say, "Oh, you are using Steve's last name again [Well being close to Wells]—he gets a half-dollar for that." Then he would toss me the coin across the room and I would try to catch it. I remember Mr. King wearing a vest to class, and recall he taught French. He was interested in photography, too, and took an excellent 35 mm photo of me in the 7th grade classroom that I treasure. He always struck me as a cultured gentleman. It is his kindness that stands out most, however.
Another teacher who made a lasting impression was Mr. Hugh Phillips, who taught several of us electronics in the vocational program. We were with him three hours each day, and to our benefit, he took his role seriously. He had been active with the military during WWII, and was dedicated to quality and hard work. Not very fond of nonsense in the classroom, he expected us to be responsible and act like adults.
To explore electronics, we clipped together circuit components such as coils, capacitors, and resistors to form primitive circuits on particleboard. Before we applied power to our very first project, Mr. Phillips taught us the one-hand rule, which stated we were never to touch a circuit with both hands—lest we be electrocuted. He used a light bulb to demonstrate how that might happen, and we took notice.
In spite of this, if one of us put together a circuit revealing how little we had studied, Mr. Phillips would ignore his own rule. With great speed and energy to emphasize his displeasure, he would rip the student's circuit apart—while it was still plugged up and dangerous—using both of his hands. When this happened, it caused quite a commotion, so the rest of us in the lab stopped what we were doing to observe the scene—similar to how people of a hundred years ago might have broken their daily routine to attend a public hanging. Of course, our undivided attention only added to the embarrassment of the floundering student, whose downtrodden appearance resembled a dog being scolded for wetting the floor.
Some in our group snickered at the student, others felt sorry for him, and all were happy they were not in his shoes. Adding to the drama was the valid concern that Mr. Phillips might suddenly fall over dead, electrocuted. But to our befuddlement, we never knew him to get so much as a little spark.
Mr. Phillips was quality instructor from "the old school", and it's doubtful there are any like him around these days. He wanted his students to be capable men—not boys—and instilled in us high standards. Looking at his photos in the annual now, I would estimate him to have been born in the early 1900s, so he is almost certainly gone, but he made a valuable contribution that lives on. I will always remember him, and I'm sure others who took his class will remember him too.
Mrs. Kathryne Pugh is still another teacher who had a positive influence on my life. Except for electronics class, I had shown no promise in my last years at Maplewood as being capable of succeeding in scholastics. Because I was among the group acting up in English my junior year (the teacher was new, and not very adept at handling us—which made it all the worse), I ended up with a fall semester grade of F.
The second half of my junior year, or perhaps my senior year, I was then assigned to Mrs. Pugh's class. To her credit, and my good fortune, she suspected I was perhaps capable of doing better than F work. She was remarkable for seeing me as I was: a confused young fellow completely unsure about life or himself. Without making a big fuss about it, she quietly communicated to me that I should expect better of myself, and she treated me with kindness and respect. I cannot recall the particulars of how the F was removed, but somehow with her help I passed both junior and senior English and was graduated on time.
Mrs. Pugh would surely not remember me, but she helped me believe in my potential, and I will never forget her kindness. No doubt, a generous person like her must have helped others, too.
There were other teachers of course. All of them to my memory had their good traits; none were malicious or uncaring.
May they all be blessed for the good they tried to do.
—Posted September 30, 2007