A Love Song for LG

I started this blog some months ago, because I was expecting it to be the first that would take me more than a couple of hours to write.  Writing a love story just takes more out of you---and I know, because it’s my love story.  It’s the story of a love of place, for the way the air smells and the light reflects off the buildings.  It’s a story about the love of not just one person, but a culture, of people whose spirits you recognize without even much of a need for discussion.  It’s a story that gets played out in little towns everywhere, maybe with no one to ever write it, but many lucky enough to live it.  This story, though, is mine.

Locust Grove was always on the map of my world.  When my brother and I would stay with our grandparents in Pryor for most of June every summer, we would pass through LG on our way to visit extended family in Arkansas.  We would stop at the springs to fill up the green plastic gallon thermos and Grandad’s aluminum thermos he took out on his carpentry work.  Both sides of our family, multiple generations of them, spent time on Spring and Saline Creeks for as long as I could remember.  And almost every Christmas, we’d visit Dad’s sister Jayne’s wonderfully rowdy family at their cabin on the creek, back behind Cavalier’s place.  I even got my first speeding ticket (ONLY speeding ticket for almost 25 years) in 1985, at the corner of Koelsch and Wyandotte---yep, that’s the corner of the high school!---on my way to see my mom and grandma in Pryor for Mother’s Day.  But there was no inkling that it would ever be more than a pass-through place in my life.  I was 35 when I slipped quietly into LGHS as Frances Cowan’s replacement in August of 1998, trying to get back a semblance of a personal life after a few years’ sojourn teaching in Roland. 

 What matters first is WHO mattered first:  Ma Bell.  There was no mistaking that she was a demi-goddess of the south hallway.  She was little and loud and loving to every kid that passed her door.  The first impression I had of her was that fierce side we all love; Josh Wall had a bad migraine and was talking to me in the hallway, describing the obstructions in his vision, when she saw us out there.  The next thing I knew, she was between me and Josh, working the reflexology points in his hands to relieve his headache…as she later taught me to do for Laura when she was weak and ill from chemo.   Now, 16 years later, that caretaking is the truest thing I know about her---she is the lion-hearted mother of us all.  She was the first person from school who showed up at my house after Laura died; she taught me that day that paper goods are often better to bring the family besides food.   She always has such vocal support of all the kids’ activities, and I know that I am not the only person, not by a long shot, who feels the loss of her daily since she retired.

 Betty Perkins was the department chair I first worked under.  I’d known her name as long as I could remember; my grandma used to save the Pryor newspapers for me to read when I would visit, and I would always happily devour any articles Betty had written.  Working with her was like showing up for music class and finding Madonna was your teacher. 

 And Paula Reed, my teacher- neighbor:  impossible not to love, bubbly and happy and friendly as she is.  Those who have been teachers know the bond that is formed, if you’re compatible, with the person in the classroom next to you, from the thousands of passing-periods spent at the door, joking and policing and commiserating.  I learned she is a wicked mimic, and I covet her razor-sharp wit.   We were neighbors for three years, but that was enough; we are fast friends still, though we haven’t seen each other in months.

There was a great round-table of ladies then who had lunch together most days:  Betty, Mary, and Paula, as well as librarian Joan Bennett (who has more history of LG in her head than any library could hold), Shirley Cowan, Kita Asbill, Brenda McClain, Beth Bowin and a few stragglers from time to time.  They made me welcome as one of them, though I was clearly an outsider, with no direct links to the community.  I tried the first few years to keep my ears open and my mouth shut, even though that policy can sometimes earn one the reputation of being stuck-up.  But it worked out, and all of those who remain are dear friends to me now.

A couple of years after I came in, Robin Pendergraft joined the faculty, and I met one of the most genuinely nice people I’ll ever know.  She would remember whatever was happening in my life and ask me how this or that was going---it was amazing to me that anyone could or would go to that trouble for me.   When we moved to the new wing in 2001, we were placed next door to each other.  Our friendship was sealed by that---now, since she left the LG system, we try to see each other once a month, and when we do, it’s “chatter-chatter-chatter” the entire time.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend who makes me feel as comfortable talking as she does---usually I’m the listener.  When she left teaching at the end of the 2011-2012 school year, she wrote me the most precious note, one that I will treasure forever.  Not many people can move me that much, and I am so grateful for her. 

Maybe the widest range of people I’ve known comes from Locust’s teaching community, past and present.  The world tends to lump us in one heap and from one mold.  Anyone in the field can tell you that educators run the gamut, from the nutty professor type to the consummate lady teacher and the young, hip, funny professional.  I won’t say who is what type, but just in my acquaintances, they are all there:  Dianna Stokes, Shannara Mayo, Karen Vich, Amanda Bennett, Kelly Moss, Jennifer Villalobos, Shirley Cowan, Sarah Keener.  (Anyone who knows this list can tell you which ones are the ladies, and which ones are the nuts---but I can’t say here!)   Most of those come from my own building; factor in people like Sandra Downing, Roy Flanary, Sandy Pierce, Blake Stephens, and Clint Hall, and the “you can’t fit me in a mold” factor it too high to calculate. 

 The people most lacking in education are the positive male role models so many of our kids desperately need, and we have some of the best.  Working on the Professional Development committee introduced me to Shane Holman, the funniest, kindest, and most game elementary principal ever.  Wendell Wolf has the biggest, softest heart I’ve ever found in a farm-raised person; he’s the best example of a good family man I could ever choose for our students.  By the way the kids talk, I know Ted Mayes is a tough but fair math teacher who has shown his students that, yes, math is useful and fun.  Tim White, who teaches most of the same juniors I do, is so brilliant at motivating students to learn history that I’ve been forced to let go of my prejudice against educators who come from a purely content-based degree program; I always believed that education coursework was essential to become a competent classroom teacher.  In addition to breaking down my judgment of alternative certification for some teachers, he keeps me on my toes as a favorite political sparring partner. 

Probably the person I’ve met in recent years who has influenced me most is Lori Helton.  When she came to our building as an English teacher four years, I was first impressed with her knowledge, then intimidated by her absolutely unflagging energy, and a little threatened by her ability to do 1,000 things at once.  I didn’t feel really comfortable as her department head because it seemed so very obvious that she would someday be an administrator, so how should I have the nerve to advise her?  When she became our assistant principal two years ago, I found a totally unexpected role model in her---unexpected, because we are so different, on the surface at least.  She’s brilliant, tough, decisive, and funny as hell, as well as talented and beautiful:  the combination all women (to my mind) long for.  Most importantly, she has worked harder than anyone I’ve ever seen in any administrative post to do the best for her students and teachers.  I’ve felt almost drowned when I consider the tsunami of change coming to education in the next few years, but she can quell my nerves with her calm assurance that everything we’ll be doing, I’ve already been doing for years, that it’s just a matter of applying different terms to what I know.  Now, with Lori serving as our newest principal, I pray that she’ll be there for my last few years as a guiding beacon through the narrow straits of testing and evaluating reforms. 

 

I worked for a number of other principals in quick succession---good ones in some way, except one of them, who should probably remain nameless (Gary Lundy).  But Steve Tyner, Max Tanner, Howard Hill, David Wilkins, and Joel Green all helped me become a better professional.  Max also conned me into what became both my life preserver and my albatross:  advising Student Council.  I had a life-size stand-up of Elvis in my room back then, and Max came to my room after school one day to ask me to become the advisor.  When I kind of hemmed and hawed about it, he started singing like the King, using the broom he was carrying as his mike, making up his own lyrics begging me to do the job.  I couldn’t help it----I laughed and gave in.  And it was a great thing for me.  I deepened my connections with the kids, the school, and the community.  Maybe that’s when I became more aware of the families and business owners, and some of the real characters we have:  Rob Foreman, Reba Pierce, Les Kern, Stephanie Anderson, Verla Fletcher, Elaine and Shannon Cook.  Gary Shamel I knew; he had been friends with my brother and my cousin Mike for years.  I didn’t get to know most of the community members very well, but had a passing acquaintance with many, and I found all of them so much more welcoming than people in a small town sometimes are. 

What of the students during these years?  Oh, there have been those that stand out in the worst ways----but not many.  Blessedly, Locust has relatively few problem children compared to other schools; it retains enough of the small-town aspect of knowing everyone’s business, so everyone better stay on their collective toes, yet it’s large enough to provide variety in the kinds of students I’ve taught over the years.  There was Dusty Bailey, the first person I ever saw wearing the “I have the body of a god.  Unfortunately, it’s Budda” T-shirt, and his cousin Boo; the two of them got me an autographed George Clooney picture for a graduation present---their graduation.  There was Casey Gwartney, my student council president who was always brimming with great ideas.  Another fantastic Stuco president, Martha (Forest) Morehead, now teaches next door to me.  I’ve had the sweetest and most helpful teacher’s aides imaginable:  Carissa Sanders, Megan Ward, Whitney Taylor, Alayna Starling, and Diana Neel, just to name a few.   I couldn’t even begin to list the students who have meant so much to me that I always refer to them as “my” kids….but I hope I don’t have to.  I hope they already realize that.   The years begin to blur, and when I run into former students, I sometimes forget not only when they came through but also their names----but not their faces, or how much I loved being their teacher.  I have been there long enough now that I’ve taught multiple generations of some families; if I include my years at Northeastern, I’ve taught three generations in a few families.  That is really, really hard for me to comprehend, but I take warm, heartfelt pride in having had the chance to be a little part of their lives. 

 As my career winds down, I find even more people in the town that I’m connected to.  Cydni Tillery and Marea Breedlove at the Food Bank have taught me much about the needs of our students in the community.  It’s rare for me to go anywhere outside of Locust and run into someone from there that I DON’T have some connection to.  I’ve taught their grandson, worked with their sister, clashed with their niece over a grade, served on a committee with their brother.  Maybe they’ve even been hunting at my brother’s place in South Dakota with some of his friends from LG.   And no matter where I go---my podiatrist’s office in Broken Arrow, a tire shop by Eastland Mall, my Aunt Carolyn’s house, water aerobics at the Pryor Rec Center---people always ask me about Ma Bell as soon as something tips them off that I teach at Locust Grove. 

I left my home, left my little town, to become a part of another, hoping that I’d have nothing to live up to or live down because I was my own person, cut whole from my own cloth and shaped by my own character.     Now I see that nothing is my “own”; it’s the life of that other little town that framed my character and gave it meaning for the last 15 years.   Other than my family (and George Clooney, of course), LG is the longest-running love story of my life.  No paltry little blog could give it the beauty it deserves.  All I can offer in repayment is one golden phrase:  Thank you.  Thank you for this greatest of loves---to serve another.