The Best Teacher I Never Had

When I was in fourth grade, my mother got fed up with the Catholic school we were attending. She hadn’t been happy with the previous Catholic school either. Religion was taught by fear and intimidation. Discipline was harsh and arbitrary. There simply was no joy in learning. She had promised to raise us as Catholics when she married my dad, but enough was enough.

So one day, after an incident where a nun had attempted to strike my brother as punishment for throwing snowballs and he had run away, she dramatically came into our classrooms and removed us one by one. She announced that we would not be returning and immediately enrolled us in public school.

We lived out in the country then. Not within the Lansing city limits. So, instead of going to the Lansing Public Schools, we ended up at Pleasant Grove Elementary, an independent school, not governed by the city school board. And life changed dramatically for the better.

Mr. Rutledge was one of the two fifth-grade teachers at Pleasant Grove. Unfortunately, when I moved on to fifth grade, I got Mrs. Murphy instead. She was OK, but she was no Mr. Rutledge.

But our association with Mr. Rutledge began before any of us was in fifth grade. Mr. Rutledge was in charge of drama at Pleasant Grove and when we started there, he was in the planning stages of producing the operetta Cinderella. We would later learn that he was heavily involved in local theater, his passion.

My mother met Mr. Rutledge one day when she visited his classroom to volunteer her assistance. She found him hovering over a student lying on the floor on a piece of cloth. Mr. Rutledge was cutting out the cloth around this boy. This was his approach to making costumes. My mother quickly relieved him of his scissors and proclaimed herself in charge of costumes. And thus began a friendship that lasted fifty years, until we lost him last year.

My sister Holly and I both got parts in the production. Holly was one of the court ladies. I got the role of one of the ugly stepsisters. This being an operetta, and me having a terrible voice, I was lucky to get such a large role. Fortunately, the only song I had to sing, I was supposed to sing badly. This was my introduction to Mr. Rutledge — and to drama (in which I was to stay involved for many years).

Mr. Rutledge was big in every way. He weighed a considerable amount and he had a booming theatrical voice. He enunciated every word he said as if he was on the stage. He had a big, generous laugh and a big, generous smile. He reminded me of Charles Laughton in many respects (later of course when I knew who Charles Laughton was).

My sister Holly was the only member of the family lucky enough to have Mr. Rutledge as a teacher. He said he never had a student who talked as much as Holly. He loved to tell stories of her antics in the classroom. He moved her around to various seats in an effort to find a spot where she was not tempted to talk, but discovered she could talk to anyone and everyone. Eventually he moved her desk up beside his own, where it remained for the rest of the year. Academics were not Holly’s forte, but Mr. Rutledge said this did not worry him. He knew Holly would be just fine when she grew up — and she was.

Mr. Rutledge was the embodiment of the teaching philosophy at Pleasant Grove, where teaching was enthusiastic and learning was an adventure and a joy.

He was the first teacher to tell me that I was a good writer and he encouraged me in that respect all of his life. He told me that he looked forward to my Christmas letters every year because they were so well written. He also encouraged me in drama — even got Holly and I bit parts in a local theater production of Inherit the Wind. I still remember my only line, "Train’s coming. I seen the smoke way up the track." I remained involved in drama all the way through high school, and then some years later in a local theater group in Ypsilanti.

And Mr. Rutledge remained a friend for the rest of his life. I moved away from Lansing when I was 23, but I looked forward to seeing him when I was in town. He came to my son’s high school graduation party, even though he had never met him before. And he came to the surprise 50th birthday party I threw for Holly 10 years ago, where he sang a rousing version of "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" to everyone’s entertainment.

On many occasions after we were grown, he told Holly and me to call him Bob, but somehow we just couldn’t do it. He was Mr. Rutledge and he could never be anything else. I was deeply saddened when I heard that he had died. I have tears in my eyes as I write about it. I miss his roaring laugh, his stories, and his wisdom. Truly no other teacher had a greater influence on me in all my life. And I was never in his class.

September 2007 -- dianne johns