This week, we celebrated the birthday of the best teacher I ever had, Ms. Beverlie Beck. Beverlie Beck remains one of the oldest serving teachers in America. Over the years, she’s exemplified what is best about free and appropriate public education.
She began her teaching career in 1956, during Eisenhower's presidency. Brown v. the Board of Education Supreme Court decision two years prior was a watershed moment, declaring state-sponsored segregation of public schools unconstitutional and overturning the Plessy v. Ferguson "separate, but equal" doctrine that had legalized segregation.
Students started the day pledging allegiance to classroom flags with 48 states. My father, now a retired teacher himself, could have been one of her students.
I was one of her second graders in 1978. That was the year of The Great Blizzard, which everyone old enough to remember still talks about. I attended each day on the ground floor of Lincoln Elementary School, my neighborhood school. She had gone there as a student herself in the 1930s. We walked in those days; everyone did. Only farm kids took the bus. Asking your parents to give you a ride in decent weather in 1978 was akin to asking for a weekend trip to Paris. You knew you weren’t going to get it, so why bother to ask in the first place? Your parents’ neighbors all watched out for you on the walk anyway. They would call your parents the minute you did anything wrong.
I’ve had a lot of teachers through the years, most good, a few not so good. Ms. Beck’s class was like no other. During Reading, she’d write the words we were learning on big, rectangular computer cards. She’d put them on the floor, face up. We’d stand in line while she recited the word. Then she’d ring a bell, and we’d fall to the floor, desperate to find it. She gave us graham crackers after each round. You’d get one-fourth of a cracker for winning a round and one-half for losing. Let me tell you: You never forgot the word when a cracker was on the line.
Another one of her tricks to get us to love books was to have us act out what we were reading. There’s a scene in one of the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary in which Ramona likes a boy named Davy. She chases him around the playground. Ms. Beck assigned us the parts. I got to be Davy.
My best friend Chuckie was in the class, too. Chuckie got to pretend to help Harriet Tubman escape when we read her story. She put all the desks together in the middle of the room and had us pretend to be on the bus with Rosa Parks. This was when schools were under local control, and adherence to the curriculum wasn’t as stringent. It is a testament to her dedication to the whole child that she introduced us to Harriet Tubman and Rosa Parks.
My parents were close to her then, and now. She ran for local office, won, and my dad painted an enormous banner for her. Being the child of an artist, I was used to stuff like this and didn't realize until adulthood how special it was to have a father who could do it. Ms. Beck displayed it above her classroom door.
There was a vinyl record player with a scratched needle in the back of the room. I liked putting the headphones on and listening to Clifford the Big Red Dog. Someone brought in a 45 of "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown." All of us played the record when we thought she wasn't watching, but I suspect she knew what we were doing.
My favorite memory of Ms. Beck was being praised for “reading with expression.” I don’t recall the story, but I do remember her encouragement to make it “come alive.” I did my best. She grabbed her heart, pretended to faint, and sent me to other classrooms throughout the school to show them I could do it.
She may not even remember, but after all these years, being praised like that helped lead me to become a lifelong reader. (My parents read a lot to me, too, but it isn't their birthdays.)
I became a public school teacher myself, the fourth generation in my family to do so. Once in a while, I remember how Ms. Beck encouraged me, a long-haired kid who hated sports and couldn't read very well, and I try to reach out to my own struggling students.
It's been many years. We’ve kept in touch. I attended her husband's funeral. She's had more than her share of heartache, but...you know what? She still teaches, faithfully. Daily. She’ll probably read this tonight, in fact, home from another day of teaching kids just like me.
I finished my doctorate about 10 years ago and acknowledged Beverlie Beck, the best teacher I ever had, in my dissertation. Happy birthday, my dear friend. Thank you for helping me to become a better learner, teacher, husband, father, and friend.
Music: "Teach Your Children" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young