Gladys Jackson Class - Garfield

 

Coming from a Teacher Who Expressed This on a Daily Basis - "A Merry Heart Doeth Good Like a Medicine..." Proverbs 17 KJV

KJV Proverbs 17:22 

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

My mother, Gladys Parker Jackson Meyer, had the opportunities to practice this verse in all kinds of situations - from whiny, bawling children (sometimes her own) to public school children, and even adults.

 Gladys Parker, co-ed, age 18, when she left the farm for Normal, the teacher's academy.

She had an irresistible smile that flipped a mopey look into a grin. No project was too hard for her to tackle and complete. I believe she took 10 years after Normal, to complete her degree at Augustana College. She then worked on a master's degree and earned that, when online was night school only. She graded papers all the time, yet she took time to teach Sunday School.

When I was up on Garfield Elementary School stage and my mother was in the audience, she would hold a grin until I had to smile back - it was a magnetic force. She embedded that attitude in everyone and that medicine worked very well.

This verse accomplishes what it suggests for us, very simple and yet often overlooked. There are good herbal medicines, even fragrances that create instant peace and happiness (roses, clovers, Clethra, mint). 

Pets not only bring happiness into our lives, they even sense our moods and come over to give us comfort, certainly one of the best attributes endowed by our Creator.

One way to enjoy a merry heart is to practice by giving of ourselves and helping out. The Germans have a great saying that goes with this - "A shared joy is a joy doubled." 

Geteilte Freude ist doppelte Freude.

And I Remember Mama

The caption read - "Co-ed 1931" - which meant Mom was 18 and going to the teacher's college at Normal, Illinois. Gladys Parker.

Mom is holding her great-granddaughter and wearing the photo button.

A generation or two may recall the TV series, "I Remember Mama," and its introduction.

This old album makes me remember so many things in the past. San Francisco and the house on Steiner Street where I was born. It brings back memories of my cousins, aunts and uncles; all the boys and girls I grew up with. And I remember my family as we were then. My big brother Nels, my little sister Dagmar, and of course, Papa. But most of all, when I look back to those days so long ago, most of all, I remember ... Mama.

The TV series came from the movie, which was derived from the play, which came from the short story "Mama's Bank Account."

Christina and I watched the movie again last night. My classmates and friends remind me of how much they enjoyed my mother as a teacher, one of those rare vocations where someone can have generation after generation of children. The Moline teachers talked about "my children" in their classes, not "my students." Garfield Grade School had equally talented and loving teachers - except for one psycho, the only one I was allowed to imitate at home. They were family friends as well, so we saw little Liz Copeland when she came along with her mother for meetings at our house. Mrs. Copeland and my mother were equally admired and still elicit memories from the past.

Mother's Day reminds me of her talents -

1. She taught phonetics, which meant we were good readers from the start.
2. She read stories to us at home. Lassie Come Home had my sister bawling her eyes out at the climax. I just gave Sir Archibald by Wolo to Andrea's parents to read to her (and Wolo's Amanda).
3. She canned food in the early days, before teaching used up her time.
4. She gathered wool scraps and made decorated carpeting for the house.
5. She taught Sunday School, like many other teachers, even though she taught all week.
6. Playing baseball at school, she reminded the boys she played outfield without a glove. She scoffed at the idea of wearing one.
7. Growing up on the farm gave her a lot of strength. The wildest kid could not intimidate her or escape the march - or rather the drag - to the principal's office.
8. She seemed to know all plants, weeds, birds, and crops. I told her, "We need Shepherd's Purse for the rabbits, but I can't find it." She took me to one part of our yard and said, "Plenty right there." 
9. Organized - every one of the books in her library had the published review marked and taped into the front. The same was true of everything she stored.

Christina and I enjoyed having her in our home in New Ulm and Phoenix. She went through the phase of angry, bossy, and confused - then became quite mellow. She refused to have satellite TV in her room, but loved having Animal Planet on 24/7. 

We have many wonderful memories and wonder why so many - in their pride and selfishness - refuse to enjoy the same today.

I remember Mom reading this to us and reminding us, when we were frustrated, "That is to teach you patience," a memorable point in the book.

Gladys Jackson Meyer's Sixth Grade - Featuring Liz Copeland and the Class of 1968. Liz' Mother Was Also a Sixth Grade Teacher at Garfield

But Most of All, I Remember Mama

Gladys Parker, co-ed, 1931 - she left home to attend Normal and become a teacher. Prints of this photo were saved in the original folder from the photographer.

“I remember the big white house on Steiner Street, and my little sister Dagmar, and my big brother Nels, and Papa. But most of all, I remember Mama.”
Fiftiesweb.com

We watched TV a lot, and I remember watching this series. We have watched the movie several times, recognizing Barbara Bel Geddes as the author/narrator and future Miss Ellie on Dallas.

The series and movie were very much in harmony with Moline and Rock Island, Illinois, where the Augustana Synod had so many congregations, a college and seminary, and earlier its headquarters. We even tried to imitate the Swedish accent of those who came over from the old country.

My mother dreamed of bettering herself by becoming a teacher. She was proud of her farm heritage and physical strength. She did not use a glove playing the outfield. "Hardball," she mentioined. Many times she spoke of her introduction to teaching in a one-room country school. She had to handle all ages and keep everyone engaged and behaved. Mom often regretted the consolidation of schools, because she thought highly of the country schools and the old-fashioned curriculum.

Mom continued her education and finished a college degree at Augustana, part-time, over 10 years. She went on to earn an M.A. at the University of Illinois, where her father studied agriculture.

I remember going with her to my interview for attending kindergarten at Garfield School, a few blocks away, where she taught, once baby brother was in school. She had a long vacation from us when he was born, and I remember coming down the stairs to see her with the baby, when I was two years old.

Our house was ideally located across from Wharton Field House, still one of the largest venues in the Midwest. Whitey's Ice Cream was two blocks away, next to Dairy Creme. The Hasty Tasty restaurant was the same distance, along with hardware stores and the forbidden candy store we loved to visit. I often saw Guy Johnson on the way to school, and lots of other Boomers lived nearby.

We had great teachers at Garfield, the largest grade school in Moline. Only one teacher was a psychopath, and I did not have her, except for spelling. She went nuts on me during a spelling bee, yelling, "You don't know whether you are coming and going. Sit DOWN!" My classmates enjoyed repeating her smack down verbatim, and Mom loved hearing me imitate Miss D's distinctive rants.

I remember one student coming up to me and saying, "Greg, your mother is a school teacher and your father makes donuts. You are so lucky!" I am happy to say that Mom was loved by all her students, from the most able to the ones who needed rescuing. I was around Garfield early and late and witnessed some disciplinary episodes. More frequently, I heard the Garfield teachers speak lovingly of "their children." They wanted the best for their children and went all out to prepare the classroom and organize their materials to benefit them.

 Garfield Grade School

 Garfield Arms 

At one MHS reunion, a Garfielder told me about a student who spit at another student. My mother had that boy spit into her handkerchief repeatedly. Next she rubbed it all over his face. He never spit again. After I heard the story, that same person sat down at our table. He said, "Greg, you should write a book about your mother. She was a remarkable teacher."

Mom wanted to teach at a university, but she needed a doctorate to earn tenure. She taught at Coolidge Junior High (RIP) and was offered classes for those who needed help in academic discipline. She told the principal, "Only if I can hit them." He came unglued, "No! we cannot hit students." She said, "Forget it." He found out that it was OK if each set of parents signed a statement allowing corporal punishment. They were happy to do that.

Mom really enjoyed serving as the boot camp DI, shaping students who were having trouble for one reason or another. One needed an operation and she told the parents. That was performed and he began doing well. She used her knuckles to rap students on the head, sometimes enhanced with a big ring. She may have used the trapezoid muscle pinch. A little bit pain went a long way, and the so-called problem students adored her class.

To be clear, Mom only used a little physical pain, which showed she meant what she said. At one reunion, a Garfield student from her class asked about that huge rock ring she used on him. Christina was wearing it. He said, "Hit me with it. Old times." He became an engineer because Mom's sixth grade class built a working model of the Panama Canal. Many years later he visited the Panama Canal and was excited to see it worked exactly the way their model did. "That's why I became an engineer, Greg. Your mother's class."

I was surrounded by teachers as I grew up - going to PTA, waiting in the school library at times, teachers' meetings at our home, and lots of teacher talk. I was hesitant about teaching community college students straight out of high school, but I learned how much fun a classroom could be. That led me into online teaching and many opportunities to teach all types of classes.

My boss at Glendale Community College said, "Our teachers are being steam-rolled by the students. They are letting the students intimidate them." He paused and said, "But that is not a problem with you." I thought to myself, "I learned from the best." Every so often I tossed a soft white board eraser toward an errant student and gave him my basilisk stare. My nephew said, "Uncle Greg. We can't do that in New York."

Mom was very happy to live with us in New Ulm and make the move to Phoenix. That is where I began by taking computer classes and moved into teaching at two universities. She was so pleased to hear that I made the move that was just out of her reach. But it was growing up among teachers and being surrounded by books that made that possible.

Teachers' Day - Part II - The Famous Gladys Jackson Meyer - My Mother

Gladys Parker - 1930 - 17 years old.

Yesterday was Teachers' Day, so I decided to write another post about my mother, the teacher.

She began by going to Normal, Illinois, where the teachers' college was. Apparently the town was named after the school, since teachers' schools were given that name. That led to a hilarious newspaper headline about a Normal girl being engaged to an Oblong man.

Growing up on a farm where electricity came to them and changed their lives, my mother was always interested in science. Her father earned an agricultural degree at the U. of Illinois but lost the farm during FDR's imperial rule in the Great Depression.

Gladys Parker - 1931 - Co-ed, probably at Normal.

A teacher's education meant one year at Normal and teaching in one-room country schools, with all ages packed together. My mother took great pride in her experience in those basic schoolrooms. She was sorry to see consolidation take over.

Mom graduated from Augustana in 1930.

As I recall, it took her 10 years to complete her bachelor's at Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois. My wife, sister-in-law, and I also attended Augustana. Apparently that allowed her to get a job in the Moline system, and the picture below seems to indicate she bought the family home before meeting my father.

This is our home on 18th Street A, which my mother thought would be great
painted red. From that time on I could direct people to our house as
across from Wharton Field House, the red one.

We were just four blocks from Garfield Elementary, so Mom went back to teaching once my little brother was in Kindergarten there. We were surrounded by teachers and education. I was often in the school early, sometimes parked in the school library, and frequently at PTA meetings or teachers' meeting at our home.

Our bedroom wall was papered with maps we could study at our leisure. Guy Johnson, who came over many times, thought the map wall was very cool.

We had books galore in the house. My mother subscribed to several books series for us, and I read them all. In the basement we had some very exotic story books, and she read stories to us at bedtime.

We had quite a few pets: cats, dogs, rats from the schoolroom, two possums, and a skunk named Hilda. Watching feline labor on the kitchen floor is quite an education. Our rats had babies, too, but that was not so dramatic.

The rats proved their cleverness by escaping and retrieving food. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Rat bringing an apple down the stairs together, one above to push, Mr. Rat below to catch, step by step. Another time a hardened slice of bread was carried across the kitchen floor, lifted up and set down, click, click, click. Scandalously, one rat slid out of the cereal box when my brother poured it into his bowl. We called it Rat Krispies, The Only Cereal That Goes Snap, Crackle, and Squeak!

People would ask us if we really had (fill in the animal) living at our house. Some stories were especially fun to tell, depending on the animal and the audience.

Like many teachers at Garfield, my mother was so influential that my friends still talk about her today, roughly 55 years after having her as a teacher in sixth grade. She loved children and loved to teach them. Long after she retired, people in Phoenix would tell me how she was teaching children on her walks.

She read voraciously about:

1. South America.
2. Strange theories, which were sometimes verified later.
3. Velikovski.
4. Detective stories.
5. Nature and animals. Beneficial bugs, wild flowers, butterflies, moths.
6. Rocks and minerals.
7. All areas of science.
8. The formation of the English language.

When I inherited her books, every single one had a review from the Chicago Tribune, taped carefully into the front.

When I had to write about the Civil War for a school project, she said, "Try these files." She had an enormous collection, which I used to get an A++ for my two-volume (notebooks) effort. Needless to say, she was always promoting education over sports. She even had one class build a float showing the girls leaving the football star for the scholar.

She published about school projects in educational magazines, about moths in a photography magazine. She wrote books on phonetic reading and spelling skills, just as it was fading away in schools but being picked up in Christian schools.

My mother got to be a great-grandmother,
holding Josephine, wearing a photo button of her.

Some Anecdotes
Some teachers went to the principal and said, "Gladys is taking a nap in the nurse's office each day!" He responded, "If you came as early as she does every day and stayed as late as she does every day, I would arrange a cot in the nurse's office for each one of you." She repeated that story with great relish.

My mother graded quickly, thoroughly, whenever homework was there to be done. She graded at school and graded at home.

Like the other teachers, she decorated her room for each season. Everything was in packets and in order. She had Thanksgiving, Christmas, and patriotic displays. The other Garfield teachers were equally creative and dedicated. And the same women taught Sunday School at their churches - happy to do it, too.

The son of another teacher was not going to go to the principal's office, and he resisted with all his strength. That was a mistake to resist a teacher who once tossed hay bales on the farm. She dragged him bodily into the principal's office, a spectacle I watched. Mr. T would say, "I pity the fool." My mother swore me to secrecy.

No student got the best of my mother in school, so she was often entrusted with those who were difficult to teach, before alternative schools were started. She said, as a teacher at Coolidge Junior High, "Only if I get permission to hit the kids." The principal almost fainted. "You have to get written permission." She did, and she whacked them when needed.

This is the Panama project that created an engineer.

One student who got the rock ring treatment more than once talked about it at the last reunion. I said, "My wife is wearing it." He went over and said, "Hit me with the ring, for old time's sake." She did, and he laughed about how my mother straightened him out and got him involved in engineering from a sixth grade class project on the Panama Canal. He later visited the Panama Canal as an engineer, and told us, "That school project got me interested in engineering. And our project worked exactly like the real thing."

My mother often used the knuckles on the head treatment. That hurt for a time, as I experienced, but was seldom needed after that. It was not the physical punishment that mattered as much as the resolute will behind it.

Although I threw erasers and gum packets at a few college students, I never touched one and never needed to. They soon learned. I heard from college students that I was the only one to enforce discipline in the classroom when someone was disruptive or playing with digital toys. Somehow I got that reputation at four institutions.

I got the spit treatment once. I spit at someone and my mother made me spit into her hand, again and again. Then she rubbed my spit all over my face. That ended the spitting temptation. A friend at a reunion told me about X getting the spit treatment after he spat at another student. Shortly after that, not knowing about the story told me, the spitter said, "You should write a book about your mother. She was a remarkable woman."

I thought that was quite a testimony from someone who could have whined about being mistreated. In those days, parents stood up for teachers. Like my parents, if it was a choice between me and the system, always bet on the system.

Liz Copeland attended her mother's retirement party.

Coach of the year is in the top row - Lawrence Eyre,
cited in Sports Illustrated for his tennis teams.
He also taught English.

My benefit was just happening to get the best teachers all the way through the system. The only one I missed was Mrs. Copeland, who was loved as much as my mother was at Garfield. To this day I enjoy hearing daily from her daughter Liz, who was two years behind my class.

Garfield is closed now, but...