F.G. PATTON. Good Morning, Miss Dove (1955)

At a quarter past eleven the fourth grade filed in. This grade was studying economic geography - the natural resources of different regions and their manifold uses in civilized life - and on Monday was to take a proficiency test prepared by the state Board of Education. Each year in April all grammar-grade students - students in the fourth, fifth and sixth grades- were so examined. Regarding these tests, Miss Dove’s sentiments were mixed. She resented them as an intrusion upon her privacy and as an implication that her efficiency was open to question. But she recognized in them, grudgingly, a certain practice-value to the children.

For in every life - once, if not oftener - there was a proficiency test. A time came when one was put to the proof. One stood alone. He was what he was. He knew what he knew. He did what he could. And he had no source of strength outside himself. Certainly, such a time had come to Miss Dove.

And on a plane more human than sublime, Miss Dove’s vanity had always been flattered by the results of the test. Cedar Grove led the state in geography.

“You may utilize this period for review, children,” she said. “Open your books to page ninety-three. Memorize the agricultural products of the Argentine pampas.”…

She slipped a rubber band from a sheaf of fifth grade essay papers. She took a red pencil and began to correct them. But part of her mind stayed with the class that was present. She knew, for instance, when Vicky Evans, who was disposed to day-dreams, tired of her book and started gazing out of the window.

“Come back, Victoria,” she said.

She heard when David Burnham signed and muttered something exceedingly improper under his breath. “Hell and damn,” David said.

“You will remain after class, David,” Miss Dove said without glancing up from the fifth grade papers.

“Yes, Miss Dove,” said David.

At noon an electric buzzer, operated from a switch in the principal’s office, shrilled through Cedar Grove School. It was the signal for lunch and “big recess”. In almost every room children slammed their books shut, shuffled their feet, sloshed their paint-water, and made a mass lunge toward food and freedom. Different teachers reacted according to their different temperaments. The art teacher, for instance, was a full-blown, husky girl who had been a college hockey star as well as an aesthetics major. She made a flying leap and reached the door ahead of her class. “Clean your paint brushes!” she yelled. “Police up your desks!” Her thick, wiry hair stood out around her face and- so the enchanted children claimed- was heard to crackle. “It’s nothing of me if you starve!” The music teacher began to play the piano. “Softly, softly!” she begged in her sweet, tinkly voice. “Trippingly on our toes! Let’s all be elves and fairies!” The literature teacher was not sorry to be interrupted; she had been reading aloud from Hiawatha, a work she considered unworthy of her critical talents. She shrugged, not caring what the children did so long as they went away, and began a letter to her fiancé who was pursuing his doctorate at Purdue. “Lover,” she wrote, “I am sinking in an intellectual quagmire.”

But in the geography room there was no disorder. Forty-three children sat quietly in their places. Their brows were puckered in thought as they read on of wheat and beef and leather. From this room they were not to be becked or called by mechanical noises. Here they acknowledged one sole authority, which, in due time, would speak.

“Attention, please,” said Miss Dove in the serene voice of one who expects to be obeyed.

Forty-three children folded their hands on their desks and raised limpid eyes to her face.

“Close your books, please,” said Miss Dove.

Forty-three books were closed, not slammed, in the respectful manner due to books.

“The class will rise,” said Miss Dove. The class rose. So did its teacher. …

Miss Dove continued standing there on her raised platform as she did at the end of every class period. (To sit down would be to show weakness. And no teacher, Miss Dove was convinced, could afford to show weakness if she wished her pupils to show strength.) On the desk before her, like an orb and scepter, were her map-pointer and her globe. On the wall behind her, like a tapestry depicting far-flung dominions, hung the map of the world.

“The class is dismissed,” said Miss Dove.

Forty-two children, one by one - without scrambling or pushing - filed out into the hall. David Burnham remained standing in the aisle.

SECTION IV – TEACHERS & TEACHING PROFESSION

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 859