Teacher Times Three

Mr. Fisher wasn’t someone you noticed on the street. He could walk past you and disappear without much thought at your end. It was different once you knew him, especially at school. He was just there, in the classroom, in the assembly hall, or on the playground. And when he was there, he was a presence sufficient enough to cause whisperings all around among the children. No one seemed to know much about him. In fact, anything about his personal life was very private and none of his students knew much, but they sure conjectured a lot. Yes, his hair was red and he was lean and trim. He wore a wardrobe that mostly contained simple shirts, light-colored pants, and a thin tie for more formal school occasions. He walked with a strength that suggested confidence and forthrightness, but he wasn’t one to stand in the spotlight or ask for attention.

That is, until he stood in front of his sixth grade class. Then, he was master and all students in the room were mesmerized at his power to command attention and respect. Sixth graders aren’t naturally so docile and pliable, but then the reputation of Mr. Fisher was well-established in the community elementary school where he taught. He was a teacher there and elsewhere for over thirty years before the school closed for lack of enrollment and he found himself writing elementary math books for a living. And so it was that at a recent National Math Conference in southern California Tom saw him.

Tom is my oldest son. Mr. Fisher had had such a powerful effect on Tom as a youngster that even when he first saw Mr. Fisher in the exhibition booth and extended his hand in greeting, he felt sweaty in his palms wondering if he had “finished his homework right.”

Mr. Fisher was all business when he conducted the business of learning. Books and papers were to be on the top of desk before the bell rang so that teaching and mentoring could begin without the rustle of papers. Students came to class with plenty of sharpened pencils because the pencil sharpener was only for use during recess. They listened carefully and answered even more carefully, wary to respond with casualness or disinterest. Mr. Fisher seemed to know when they were trying and had just gotten the answer wrong, which he approved of heartily, and when they were off-base and didn’t’ care, which rubbed him exactly the wrong way.

Once in a while, a student was asked to stand in the back of the classroom. This was the ultimate discipline for Mr. Fisher and a highly effective one for his wayward students. To be under the direct eye of Mr. Fisher and standing too, was almost more than any student could stand for more than a few minutes and most didn’t want a second chance. They would rather study, and study hard any day than have him look at them that way again.

Mr. Fisher was there when David, our second son, came back to school after his youngest brother had passed away from leukemia. He helped David divert himself from the deep sorrow to other, productive occupations, and deliberately worked with him to come back into the classroom social world during the new season of his young and distraught life. David was safe while he mourned in Mr. Fisher’s class and Mr. Fisher was tender until it was time to pull David back into the main stream.

Brian, our third son, had Mr. Fisher, too. By the time he was in sixth grade, he had heard all the stories so many times they were almost legends and his first day in class was mostly seeing what he had heard described many a time. Brian learned about respecting this teacher, striving to get the best grades possible, and keeping on Mr. Fisher’s good side. It was easier that way and more conducive to sleeping at night.

Even I, when I went for teacher-parent conferences, stood in awe at the atmosphere in the classroom where Mr. Fisher sat quietly waiting for me. I felt my hands get sweaty and my mouth stop functioning even as I tried to express my gratitude for him giving my three sons the best year of their elementary education.

Mr. Fisher believed that children who knew themselves were better prepared to make something of their futures and so all students in his sixth grade class wrote an extensive autobiography during their tenure under his direction. The autobiography was to be long and detailed with photos, stories, and hand-drawn pictures. It was to be graphically interesting and bound properly. The autobiography was to represent to the student all that Mr. Fisher thought about each of them. You are worthwhile. You have a spark of greatness in your soul. You are special. I will show you where you can go from here…

And so the students slowly and devotedly became pulled into his circle of joyful exploring. When he talk geography, they wanted to share, too. When he got excited about math, they saw the principles and could apply them aptly. When he pontificated about patriotism, they became passionately concerned about their country’s future.

Our family thought so much of Mr. Fisher that when we were going to move from the area and our fourth son would not get to have him as a teacher, the two of us asked special permission to sit in the classroom one afternoon so we would be “fisherized”, our private term for the greatness of Mr. Fisher’s influence in our family home.

And so we went, Tyler and I, and shivering with delight and anticipation as Mr. Fisher commanded, reprimanded, corrected, and taught with such clarity and firmness as to leave an indelible mark on our souls even in those few hours. It didn’t take much to drink from his well.

I am sure there are many teachers just like Mr. Fisher. They are reticent to receive attention and often have their names forgotten over the years. But I have learned that what a student becomes is the true accomplishment of teachers, whether or not their names are remembered with pleasure or sting. It is the effect they have on how students dress when they want to impress, how they treat others when given the option to be generous, and how they respond to pain and sorrow. A teacher does teach facts and figures. But a teacher also trains and tutors the souls of children, teenagers, and adults.

All three of my sons that had Mr. Fisher have become somewhat like him. I can see it in their intense desire to strive to be their very best, in their insatiable drive to conquer hard concepts, and in their tender response to trial and trouble. Mr. Fisher may have taught them Math and English, but he also taught them Life and Learning.

For that, Mr. Fisher, I say thank you. And for those gifts, too, my own elementary, junior high, and high school teachers, I also say thank you. We are what we are today largely because of what you were in our yesteryears. Thank you for helping us make something of ourselves!


A photo of the real Mr. Fisher is not included to protect his privacy.
©2010 Marie Calder Ricks/www.houseoforder.com