Mrs. Wade, my seventh-grade English teacher, had that special gift. Nearly six decades have slipped away since I sat in her classroom in Simsbury, Conn., and by now there isn't much that stands out about that year in school.
But not only do I still remember Mrs. Wade and the things she taught me, I remember her actually teaching those things. I remember her pacing in front of us, smacking her fist in her hand again and again. "A transitive verb is an action word that takes an object. Say it, class. A transitive verb ..." And then she would walk around the room as each of us used a transitive verb in a sentence.
Mrs. Wade remains a presence in my life.
However odd this sounds, every time I enter a cemetery -- and I mean every time -- I look for a mausoleum or a crypt and Mrs. Wade's words come back to me. "You can't use those words interchangeably, Nancy. Size and place, size and place ... a mausoleum is large and above ground, a crypt is small, a vault below ground."
A good teacher imparts knowledge. A really good teacher imparts real understanding and inspires curiosity and further learning. But then there's that truly rare gem of a teacher who can attach his or her personality to students' learning. And it remains with those students forever, indelible like a tattoo.
That was Mrs. Wade and perhaps two other teachers in my life -- the ones I can still quote these 50 years and more later.
Why do I remember them now? Not just because public school resumes this coming week. It's also because last Wednesday I got a phone call from Jan, daughter of an old friend, once Teacher of the Year in North Carolina, who tells me she's quitting in December. She has chosen to trade her classroom for a computer laboratory -- a new job with more money and fewer headaches.
She sounded cheerful on the phone; I took the news hard. Jan and Mrs. Wade have something very important in common. I believe it's that common bond that sets them apart as very special teachers, and I confess, I'm particularly sad thinking of this new school year ahead.
Both Jan and Mrs. Wade were taught by great teachers. Inspirational teachers. Teachers who armed them with knowledge and convinced them they could use it to reach for the stars.
Teachers they loved and never forgot.
I remember Mrs. Wade telling the class that when she was our age, she wanted to be a mapmaker because she was "good at art" and loved reading about faraway places. But along came a teacher. He filled her full of wonder and excitement at the thought of helping others go to those places -- as a teacher.
"He told me, 'why don't you become a conduit,' and I did," Mrs. Wade told us. "So, all of you, go somewhere special in literature or in your own private poetry, and show me I was right to listen to my teacher."
I can't speak for the rest of the class, but I couldn't ever forget a speech like that. I took her up on it, too, first chance I got.
She never told me so, she died before I could go back and ask, but I think Mrs. Wade had dedicated herself to repaying her own best teachers for the gifts they gave her.
As for Jan, during the year her mom Peggy and I roomed together in college, Peggy told me about the teachers responsible for giving her life direction -- story after story. Each was an expression of gratitude. I know she must have told those same stories to Jan, and without ever sitting in her classroom, I was pretty sure she had become another Mrs. Wade.
Jan is cheerful now, yes. She thinks it's because a new career awaits. But I hope it's because she just started a new semester -- her mother told me she always exudes optimism at the beginning of a term.
I told Jan I couldn't imagine how changed my life might have been had Mrs. Wade quit before I could take her class.
And then I realized I should have told her that much sooner. Everyone who has been touched by a good teacher should shout it, loudly and often. Teachers need to hear it; it should be a cadence. They need to know the lofty place they occupy in our heart and in our community.
Jan's students return to her, year after year, to thank her for putting up with them, for getting past the obnoxious behavior, for making learning a thrill.
But somewhere along the way, Jan stopped believing. "I don't think I'm making any real difference anymore," she said.
Maybe if I were a teacher, I would understand what she's going through, but I'm not.
I'm only a grateful student who remembers one teacher's beacon. It's a light that shines on, undimmed, nearly 60 years after it was turned on.
I hope Jan changes her mind.
Reach Nancy Smith at nsmith@sunshinestatenews.com or at 228-282-2423. Twitter: @NancyLBSmith
