January 11th, 2018
I should stop watching news out of Santa Barbara, CA.
It's tragic what happened to those folks and stirs up my memories.
Tonight a woman named Theresa T. was interviewed.
Three million dollar plus homes destroyed by canyon flooding... she was predictably distraught, lost everything, looked to be 55, and I recognized her.
Back to 1976
I was an incredibly cool student teacher at San Marcos High School. My master teacher was Mrs. Measley. This was my alma mater. Five years before she had been my most inspirational teacher, never measly with praise nor hesitant to point out mistakes in standard English usage.
I was, I thought in '76, at the top of my game. Teaching the siblings of movie stars. The M's the T's, the Bottoms, the tops--and related to an upcoming action star, Michael R.
We had just read Ambrose Bierce's "Occurrence at Owl Creek Ridge" and watched the French subtitled video I had borrowed from the County Educational Center (just to make sure we were on the same page).
There had been a great discussion the day before...
"John, don't you think Truffaut's film, messed with, uh, I mean changed Bierce's ending?"
(Everybody called me "John" back then. I was not their superior--just older by ten years and had already advised Mrs. Measley of my fervent beliefs at the time).
"Well, I don't know, Terry. What do you think?"
Today the discussions were over, essays now due.
"Would everyone please pass their essays forward?"
Mrs. Measley smiled from the back of the room and gently cleared her throat.
"Excuse me, I would like everyone to pass up his essay."
(Whoah, that's right, "everyone" is a singular collective pronoun noun and can not be paired with a plural pronoun like "their")
Mrs. Measly nodded and returned to her paper work.
I was collecting essays these essays when Terry came up behind me.
Mrs. Measly was heading out to the break room.
"John, I don't understand."
I turned to face my student and equal.
"Understand what, Terry?"
"Well, John, you and I are friends, right?"
"Absolutely, Terry. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I'm working really hard in your class. And my midterm report says I'm getting a "B".
But I really need an "A" in this class, John."
When that semester was over I forever became MR. Richardson.
And many years later, retired and doing a long term substitute assignment I was asked a not uncommon question,
"Mr. Richardson, dude, what's your first name?"
I looked dead level into that student's eyes and gave my usual response, "MISTER...
want me to spell that for you?"
"So everyone pass up his--or her--essays."
Time and language change, as does usage and appropriateness.
But back in '76 I would never dreamt of calling that warm and inspiring Master Teacher--unfortunately surnamed MEASLEY--by her actual first name.
I looked it up in an old a yearbook recently. It was "Francine".
God Bless you, Mrs. Measley
