| Cruisin' the Past |
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| Cruisin’ the Past by Ed Dooley |
And gladly would they teach
First, let’s look at some numbers. In our senior year – the year I will focus on for this article
– there were 112 teachers at CHS, if we count the faces that appear in the 1960 Torch. In
theory, this meant that there was one teacher for approximately every 21 students, but of
course some classes were large and some were small. Forty-seven of them (42 percent)
were women, and 65 (58 percent) were men. The percentages of men and women
teachers at CHS are revealing, especially when you compare them with today’s numbers.
In 2005, the Christian Science Monitor reported that only 21 percent of teachers were men
(although the article did not distinguish between elementary and secondary teachers).
Informed comments about every teacher who was at CHS in 1960 would require much in-
depth research and class-wide surveys. Instead, I will think back on some of my teachers
and offer some personal recollections and comments. My hope is that many of you also
experienced these outstanding teachers and will remember them as I do.
First, let’s look at some numbers. In our senior year – the year I will focus on for this article
– there were 112 teachers at CHS, if we count the faces that appear in the 1960 Torch. In
theory, this meant that there was one teacher for approximately every 21 students, but of
course some classes were large and some were small. Forty-seven of them (42 percent)
were women, and 65 (58 percent) were men. The percentages of men and women
teachers at CHS are revealing, especially when you compare them with today’s numbers.
In 2005, the Christian Science Monitor reported that only 21 percent of teachers were men
(although the article did not distinguish between elementary and secondary teachers).
Informed comments about every teacher who was at CHS in 1960 would require much in-
depth research and class-wide surveys. Instead, I will think back on some of my teachers
and offer some personal recollections and comments. My hope is that many of you also
experienced these outstanding teachers and will remember them as I do.
The first name that comes to mind is that of Erma Fisher, who taught world
history and was my homeroom teacher. You have to agree, Mrs. Fisher
had the look of a kindly homeroom teacher. Do you remember homeroom?
That was where, in theory, you got yourself together for the academic
day ahead of you, which often meant frantically completing some homework
assignment or looking over notes for an upcoming test. It was also the time
for announcements over the school’s PA system, which in 1959-1960
featured the witty and sometimes wacky comments of Burt Schneider
and Ray Lindstrom. The following year, the microphone was commanded
by Dan Swango, who began each homeroom period with a cheerful
“Good morning Catalina!” long before the familiar Vietnam version of this
greeting.
history and was my homeroom teacher. You have to agree, Mrs. Fisher
had the look of a kindly homeroom teacher. Do you remember homeroom?
That was where, in theory, you got yourself together for the academic
day ahead of you, which often meant frantically completing some homework
assignment or looking over notes for an upcoming test. It was also the time
for announcements over the school’s PA system, which in 1959-1960
featured the witty and sometimes wacky comments of Burt Schneider
and Ray Lindstrom. The following year, the microphone was commanded
by Dan Swango, who began each homeroom period with a cheerful
“Good morning Catalina!” long before the familiar Vietnam version of this
greeting.
Black was witty, and his wit was aimed at deflating the tendency of
youths to overestimate their abilities. Often he gave us the distinct
impression that he felt he was losing the battle when it came to
teaching us anything about American history. We could almost hear
him say – indeed, he often did say – something like “What is this world
coming to?” He regularly referred to us as “children” who needed to
begin growing up and taking the life of the mind seriously. I can still
see him looking out the window of the classroom, giving a long sigh,
and then trying once more to enlighten us. Of course, his mannerisms
made him a “character” to us. We remember him fondly, and most of
us probably think that he was right, after all.
youths to overestimate their abilities. Often he gave us the distinct
impression that he felt he was losing the battle when it came to
teaching us anything about American history. We could almost hear
him say – indeed, he often did say – something like “What is this world
coming to?” He regularly referred to us as “children” who needed to
begin growing up and taking the life of the mind seriously. I can still
see him looking out the window of the classroom, giving a long sigh,
and then trying once more to enlighten us. Of course, his mannerisms
made him a “character” to us. We remember him fondly, and most of
us probably think that he was right, after all.
All through high school, indeed, all through school, I was miserable at mathematics, which
accounts for my complete lack of accomplishment in John Matteson’s physics class.
Here was a young, energetic, bright, and sympathetic teacher
who reminded me of “Mr. Wizard” of television fame. Mr. Matteson had
a talent for devising fascinating experiments -- balls rolling down
inclined planes and pendulums marking out time -- that would have
made Galileo smile and write his daughter a long letter. It was all
very interesting, but the language used to analyze and describe the
results of these experiments – the language of mathematics – was
as foreign to me as Chinese. And without that language, there could
be no success. Nevertheless, Mr. Matteson never gave up on poor
the scientific method that would bloom many years later. Nevertheless,
Mr. Matteson never gave up on poor students like me and planted the
seeds of an interest in science and the scientific method that would bloom
many years later.
accounts for my complete lack of accomplishment in John Matteson’s physics class.
Here was a young, energetic, bright, and sympathetic teacher
who reminded me of “Mr. Wizard” of television fame. Mr. Matteson had
a talent for devising fascinating experiments -- balls rolling down
inclined planes and pendulums marking out time -- that would have
made Galileo smile and write his daughter a long letter. It was all
very interesting, but the language used to analyze and describe the
results of these experiments – the language of mathematics – was
as foreign to me as Chinese. And without that language, there could
be no success. Nevertheless, Mr. Matteson never gave up on poor
the scientific method that would bloom many years later. Nevertheless,
Mr. Matteson never gave up on poor students like me and planted the
seeds of an interest in science and the scientific method that would bloom
many years later.
One of my favorite teachers, and the favorite of many other students at CHS, I recall, was
Dathel Lackey, who taught speech. A graduate of Oklahoma Baptist University, she
earned the MA at the University of Oklahoma. She probably did more
to build our confidence and prepare us for life and success than any
other teacher because, as recent surveys have shown, Americans
on average fear public speaking more than anything else, even
death…even death! Her’s was a small class, so no student could
hide in a crowd. Like it or not, your time to get in front of the class
and recite a poem from memory, deliver a speech, defend a
proposition, or speak extemporaneously came often. Unaccustomed
as we were to public speaking – as the old saw goes – nerves often
got the better of us. Mrs. Lackey would reassure us, tell us when we
had done a good job, let us know when we were not doing our best,
and encourage us to continue to master this very useful skill. I
believe that of all the classes I ever took in high school, this was one
of the most valuable in later life. Mrs. Lackey was once quoted as saying, “Next to
teaching, I would have liked to be a lawyer.” Fortunately for us, she chose the former
path.
Dathel Lackey, who taught speech. A graduate of Oklahoma Baptist University, she
earned the MA at the University of Oklahoma. She probably did more
to build our confidence and prepare us for life and success than any
other teacher because, as recent surveys have shown, Americans
on average fear public speaking more than anything else, even
death…even death! Her’s was a small class, so no student could
hide in a crowd. Like it or not, your time to get in front of the class
and recite a poem from memory, deliver a speech, defend a
proposition, or speak extemporaneously came often. Unaccustomed
as we were to public speaking – as the old saw goes – nerves often
got the better of us. Mrs. Lackey would reassure us, tell us when we
had done a good job, let us know when we were not doing our best,
and encourage us to continue to master this very useful skill. I
believe that of all the classes I ever took in high school, this was one
of the most valuable in later life. Mrs. Lackey was once quoted as saying, “Next to
teaching, I would have liked to be a lawyer.” Fortunately for us, she chose the former
path.
A close second in value, and surely the best “skill” I ever learned in
high school, was typing. I was fortunate to have as my teacher
Pauline Baldwin. She conducted the class, in which a pal of mine
and I were the only boys, as a drill sergeant would teach raw recruits
to march in step and in order. Precision. That was the watchword.
We learned to type in unison, to the beat of a metronome: a, q, a…
a, z, a… j, u, j… j, m. j… and so on, left right, left right – fingers
curled, no resting your palms on the table – tap, tap, tap… ding…
whirr… tap, tap, tap on the old manual Underwood upright typewriters. The sound
produced was a synchronized clatter: all in step, all together, no
mistakes. As time went by, the fingers – miraculously – learned to
operate nearly by themselves. We mastered a skill that was critical
in college, in graduate school, at work, and even now as I type this
little essay.
high school, was typing. I was fortunate to have as my teacher
Pauline Baldwin. She conducted the class, in which a pal of mine
and I were the only boys, as a drill sergeant would teach raw recruits
to march in step and in order. Precision. That was the watchword.
We learned to type in unison, to the beat of a metronome: a, q, a…
a, z, a… j, u, j… j, m. j… and so on, left right, left right – fingers
curled, no resting your palms on the table – tap, tap, tap… ding…
whirr… tap, tap, tap on the old manual Underwood upright typewriters. The sound
produced was a synchronized clatter: all in step, all together, no
mistakes. As time went by, the fingers – miraculously – learned to
operate nearly by themselves. We mastered a skill that was critical
in college, in graduate school, at work, and even now as I type this
little essay.
Trumpeteer, our bi-weekly and then weekly student newspaper. My
lasting impression of Mr. Southard was that when it came to guiding
our little troop of aspiring journalists, he always had the slightly
frantic look of a man trying to herd cats. And he faced a mischievous
group. For example, he drove an old VW bug – old even back then –
and we were convinced, and spread the notion, that he actually lived
in the car. He no doubt kept his sanity in dealing with us thanks to
his keen sense of humor and an unflagging willingness to let us do
pretty much our own thing with the newspaper, while insisting on
accuracy, meeting deadlines (which came with frightening regularity),
and holding to the highest standards of journalism. He inspired most
of us to become professional journalists, but only a few took that path.
No matter, however, because I’m sure we all discovered that good journalistic writing is the
key to effective writing and communication in any field: get it right, keep it short, get to the
point, explain things to the reader, and do it with style.
lasting impression of Mr. Southard was that when it came to guiding
our little troop of aspiring journalists, he always had the slightly
frantic look of a man trying to herd cats. And he faced a mischievous
group. For example, he drove an old VW bug – old even back then –
and we were convinced, and spread the notion, that he actually lived
in the car. He no doubt kept his sanity in dealing with us thanks to
his keen sense of humor and an unflagging willingness to let us do
pretty much our own thing with the newspaper, while insisting on
accuracy, meeting deadlines (which came with frightening regularity),
and holding to the highest standards of journalism. He inspired most
of us to become professional journalists, but only a few took that path.
No matter, however, because I’m sure we all discovered that good journalistic writing is the
key to effective writing and communication in any field: get it right, keep it short, get to the
point, explain things to the reader, and do it with style.
The last name I’ll bring up was of the teacher who had a profound influence on a group of
us: Eva Royce. She was a stern, no-nonsense, but deeply caring teacher who spoke
French fluently and precisely, and Miss Royce expected – no, demanded – that we should
do so also. Woe to anyone who was not prepared to conjugate the verbs in the daily
lesson or who didn’t know the vocabulary for the day. And, oh, the dreaded dictée, a long
dictation in French that we had to write out correctly, with every accent mark in its place.
This was her favorite way to test us and it was definitely “old school.” Her icy stare and
quick correction could make grown men (much less boys) tremble. When we got it wrong,
she would shake her head in despair and stare at us through her large, thick glasses.
There were stories about Miss Royce, and we were convinced
they were true. One was that she had been a nun in France before
coming to the United States to teach French, and that explained her
strictness, precision, and serious looks. Another was that she had
served in the French Resistance during WWII. In fact, I did not
know until she died in 1994 that she had been born not in France
but in Brooklyn, New York, where her father was considered the
greatest Honore de Balzac scholar in the United States. She had
studied several years in France, graduated from Mount Holyoke,
and studied at the University of Chicago and at Yale University
with a John Hay Fellowship. She came to Tucson in 1946 and
taught at Tucson High School before transferring to Catalina. Not
surprisingly, she was the faculty advisor to the National Honor Society at CHS. Deep
down inside she was a much softer person than her public persona suggested, and she
faithfully kept up with her students years after they had conjugated their last French verb.
us: Eva Royce. She was a stern, no-nonsense, but deeply caring teacher who spoke
French fluently and precisely, and Miss Royce expected – no, demanded – that we should
do so also. Woe to anyone who was not prepared to conjugate the verbs in the daily
lesson or who didn’t know the vocabulary for the day. And, oh, the dreaded dictée, a long
dictation in French that we had to write out correctly, with every accent mark in its place.
This was her favorite way to test us and it was definitely “old school.” Her icy stare and
quick correction could make grown men (much less boys) tremble. When we got it wrong,
she would shake her head in despair and stare at us through her large, thick glasses.
There were stories about Miss Royce, and we were convinced
they were true. One was that she had been a nun in France before
coming to the United States to teach French, and that explained her
strictness, precision, and serious looks. Another was that she had
served in the French Resistance during WWII. In fact, I did not
know until she died in 1994 that she had been born not in France
but in Brooklyn, New York, where her father was considered the
greatest Honore de Balzac scholar in the United States. She had
studied several years in France, graduated from Mount Holyoke,
and studied at the University of Chicago and at Yale University
with a John Hay Fellowship. She came to Tucson in 1946 and
taught at Tucson High School before transferring to Catalina. Not
surprisingly, she was the faculty advisor to the National Honor Society at CHS. Deep
down inside she was a much softer person than her public persona suggested, and she
faithfully kept up with her students years after they had conjugated their last French verb.
There are many more outstanding teachers who could be mentioned (teachers with whom
I had contact): Mary Beath, who taught arts and crafts; James Livieratos, drama teacher;
Chester Parks, mechanical drawing teacher and our class adviser; Leona Hilles, English
teacher; and Jack Segurson and Keith Meenan, physical education teachers. You, the
reader, will have your own list of memorable teachers, which may overlap a little with mine.
In the end, it was the work of these and many other inspiring teachers – supported and
assisted by an outstanding cadre of administrators -- that made Catalina High School
what it was and – to a great extent – made us who we are. Moreover, many of these
teachers had the dual responsibility of teacher and athletic coach, a topic that I will take
up in a later article.
(PS. As always, I welcome your feedback on these little articles, and especially your own
memories and recollections. Send me an email with your memories of your favorite
teachers.)
I had contact): Mary Beath, who taught arts and crafts; James Livieratos, drama teacher;
Chester Parks, mechanical drawing teacher and our class adviser; Leona Hilles, English
teacher; and Jack Segurson and Keith Meenan, physical education teachers. You, the
reader, will have your own list of memorable teachers, which may overlap a little with mine.
In the end, it was the work of these and many other inspiring teachers – supported and
assisted by an outstanding cadre of administrators -- that made Catalina High School
what it was and – to a great extent – made us who we are. Moreover, many of these
teachers had the dual responsibility of teacher and athletic coach, a topic that I will take
up in a later article.
(PS. As always, I welcome your feedback on these little articles, and especially your own
memories and recollections. Send me an email with your memories of your favorite
teachers.)
Footnote: Ed's column stirred some memories for Emily Kittle (Morrison), particularly in Speech Class
and teacher, Mrs. Lackey. Click on the link to review Emily's recollection of some of her experiences in
speech and the influence of Mrs. Lackey on her while she was at CHS. "Link"
and teacher, Mrs. Lackey. Click on the link to review Emily's recollection of some of her experiences in
speech and the influence of Mrs. Lackey on her while she was at CHS. "Link"
| Erma Fisher |
| James Black |
| John Matteson |
| Dathel Lackey |
| Pauline Baldwin |
| Albert Southard |
| Eva Royce |
|
