Sometimes, everything works out better than you expect!

Miss Wilma Harris taught 5th grade at Alma Schrader Elementary School. I had heard all about her. She was the strictest teacher in the entire school. She was tall, she wore suits and very sensible shoes, her hair was worn in a severe style and she was quite stern in her demeanor and attitude. I prayed all summer long that I wouldn't really be in her class, although it said quite plainly on the back of my report card, "Promoted to Miss Harris' 5th grade class." That was a long time ago and they always told us who our next teacher was going to be the last day of school. Such information could either make or break your summer vacation! Just thinking about being in her class gave me nightmares.

The first day of 5th grade, I trudged up the hill toward school. That was also back before your parents accompanied you to the first day of school each year. We went on our own. And I really and truly walked uphill both ways. I'm sure I was dragging my feet. "Please, dear Lord. Let my name be on someone else's door...not Miss Harris' door!"



My prayers were in vain. I entered the building, walked to her door and saw my name, neatly written on the class list posted by the door. Was there a sign at the back of the class that said, "Abandon h0pe, all ye who enter"? Probably not, but it felt that way. I dug deep into my manners, smiled at her and said, "Good morning, Miss Harris," when she greeted me at the door. How did she already know who I was? I took my seat, which had a lovely nametag on it and began to prepare for a year of living hell.



Guess what? Miss Harris was stern. Miss Harris was strict. Miss Harris was no-nonsense. Miss Harris had a sign on the wall that said "A winner never quits and a quitter never wins." Miss Harris walked around the classroom in her sensible shoes with a yardstick in her hand, tapping the floor, your desk and occasionally whacking your knuckles with it if you were out of line. Or if you didn't know your times tables (which I still have to think about). Everything I had heard about her was the absolute truth!!



Guess what else? I came to love and admire her. She taught things that were not in the cirruculum. She encouraged my love of reading and allowed me to write book reports for extra credit. She had a time set aside every week for anyone who was willing to learn a poem to recite it for the class...and we got extra credit for it. I memorized many poems of Eugene Fields and Emily Dickinson. l loved reciting to the class. I loved getting extra credit. She rewarded excellent work and encouraged each of us to better if we did less than our best.



She emphasized penmanship as an important communication tool. She bought, with her own funds, special pens and ink and we painstakingly copied text on special paper. We learned to make those letter correctly. If our assignments were not written well, they were given back to us to do again, and do better.



She challenged me to think beyond my small world and dream big. She was the first teacher I recall who didn't just want me to give her the answer, but to be able to give a reason for my answer. In short, she was teaching us to think. Imagine such a thing! No cookie-cutter answers for Miss Harris. No teaching to the test. She cemented a foundation that had been laid by my parents and previous teachers for the love of learning that I have carried my whole life.



I wept when 5th grade was complete and I walked out of her classroom for the last time as her student. I trudged home, certain that I had just completed the best year of my life. 1967-68 were turbulent years in our society. Miss Harris was a rock in an era of change and upheaval. She was constant.



Almost every day during the 6th grade, I made sure I walked by her classroom, hoping to see her and say hello. She was always gracious, asking about my studies and we shared pleasant conversations. Sometimes, I spent my entire recess period in her classroom, just visiting.


When I was in the 12th grade, I had occasion to be back in that town on a school day and I went back to her classroom. She told me that she had often thought of me and she remembered the poems I memorized to recite in her classroom. She introduced me to her current class and asked me if I cared to amuse them with a poem. "Little Boy Blue" rolled off my lips, much to her delight.





When my son entered the 5th grade, I called Alma Schrader Elementary School to see if perchance they had an address for her. I wasn't sure she was still living. She seemed to be quite old in 1967. She had recently retired and the school secretary just laughed when I asked if they could put me in touch with her. Apparantly, that was a regular request and they kept her address handy so her former students could keep in touch. We shared several letters.



When I graduated from college...many years later (I was 46 when I finished my B.A.) I was anxious to make sure that Miss Harris knew. I was so proud to tell her that even though it took me 28 years to complete that degree, I had graduated with honors. I wanted to thank her for the important lessons I learned in her class. She sent me a card and a graduation gift, along with kind words of encouragement. The most amazing thing she wrote in her beautiful handwriting was this: Mollianne, I am so proud of you. I always knew you were special and it was my joy to be your teacher in the 5th grade.



The last time we corresponded was last year. Miss Harris still lived on her family's farm in Missouri, with her younger sister. Neither of them ever married and both devoted their lives to the education of elementary school children. I realized that she wasn't nearly as old when I was in the 5th grade as I perceived her to be. Probably not nearly as old as I am now.



God bless Miss Wilma Harris and all those like her who followed the calling to teach children not only reading, writing and arithmetic (and penmanship) but also taught us what it meant to be persons of character and integrity through their example. The type of teachers who made us desirous of their pride and approval.



Oh, and one more thing about the 5th grade! The only time in my public education that I receieved a certificate for Perfect and Punctual Attendance. It says...'having been neither absent from School nor tardy during the year ending June 4, 1968.' For me (a somewhat sickly child) that was a big enough deal that my Mother kept the certificate and I have it to this day. Check it out! And be sure to notice the beautiful penmanship of Miss Harris.