The Banneker Influence
This week’s Education Review tells stories of influential teachers, the relationship between student and teacher. I thought about influential teachers from Benjamin Bannker Academic high School. High school masqueraded as the the most magical time in life, when anything was possible, an opportunity around any corner. (It was also tragically confusing, but that’s another essay). I remember my daily schedule and all of my teachers from each year I was there. Two teachers come to mind now.
Ms. Eileen Davis. My English teacher. I entered Banneker sophomore year, and had already read the assigned 10th grade book, the Oedipus Trilogy, to this day one of my favorites. Instead, she handed me a work by Aeschylus and I agreed to read that. I remember the moment with crystal clarity: “You’re going to be so advanced!” She was beaming. Mrs. Davis was a thorough woman who believed in expanding our vocabulary in both knowing definitions and spelling. She believed in logical arguments and examining the texts’ themes. I loved the order, the predictability of her class schedule, amidst the unpredictable and disorderly world of books. At some point during our two years together (she also taught English III for juniors), she said to me, “You are a writer.” Professionally, I’m not but I treasure her confidence, and hope that it propels me to pursue the dream.
Mr. Boyd, a legend who taught AP American History. To pass his class was a badge of honor on Euclid Street. From his desk—no shenanigans like walking around the classroom, or sitting among the students—he delivered his lectures on American History with such authority that I believed not knowing Roosevelt’s conversation programs to relieve the country of the Great Depression was equal to starving oneself of bread and water. How could you get dressed in the morning without understanding the influence of the Marshall Plan on the revitalization of Europe into the 20th century? And before you leave the house, you have to be able to write a coherent five-paragraph essay to analyze how Roosevelt’s plans created social welfare system, or the weaknesses of the Marshall Plan. Committed to developing the same knowledge, I devoured our textbook with ravenous hunger. Literally, numerous pages in my textbook were stained with spaghetti sauce, mustard, orange juice and anything else that dripped from plate or cup to my mouth. I believed so much that knowledge of history was the answer that I taught American history for a few years here in DC.
Other teachers I remember with reverence and appreciation: Mr. Mulcahy, a walking contradiction of jovial and caustic who taught us a method for writing papers that I used even in graduate school. My creative writing teacher, (I remember his first name was David) who loved the Grateful Dead, had a son, then moved to Montgomery County. I wrote my favorite poem ever in his class, and he edited essays that helped me get into college. Mr. Nickelson, the first Asian teacher I ever had, who loved playing tennis and being around young people. Dr. Day—the first person I knew with a doctorate, and who introduced me to the joy of Sunday morning talk shows (I still watch them today).
Recently I spoke to a group of students at Anacostia High School, and confessed that I loved school. I really do, and it’s because I spent it with teachers who loved it, too.
Ms. Eileen Davis. My English teacher. I entered Banneker sophomore year, and had already read the assigned 10th grade book, the Oedipus Trilogy, to this day one of my favorites. Instead, she handed me a work by Aeschylus and I agreed to read that. I remember the moment with crystal clarity: “You’re going to be so advanced!” She was beaming. Mrs. Davis was a thorough woman who believed in expanding our vocabulary in both knowing definitions and spelling. She believed in logical arguments and examining the texts’ themes. I loved the order, the predictability of her class schedule, amidst the unpredictable and disorderly world of books. At some point during our two years together (she also taught English III for juniors), she said to me, “You are a writer.” Professionally, I’m not but I treasure her confidence, and hope that it propels me to pursue the dream.
Mr. Boyd, a legend who taught AP American History. To pass his class was a badge of honor on Euclid Street. From his desk—no shenanigans like walking around the classroom, or sitting among the students—he delivered his lectures on American History with such authority that I believed not knowing Roosevelt’s conversation programs to relieve the country of the Great Depression was equal to starving oneself of bread and water. How could you get dressed in the morning without understanding the influence of the Marshall Plan on the revitalization of Europe into the 20th century? And before you leave the house, you have to be able to write a coherent five-paragraph essay to analyze how Roosevelt’s plans created social welfare system, or the weaknesses of the Marshall Plan. Committed to developing the same knowledge, I devoured our textbook with ravenous hunger. Literally, numerous pages in my textbook were stained with spaghetti sauce, mustard, orange juice and anything else that dripped from plate or cup to my mouth. I believed so much that knowledge of history was the answer that I taught American history for a few years here in DC.
Other teachers I remember with reverence and appreciation: Mr. Mulcahy, a walking contradiction of jovial and caustic who taught us a method for writing papers that I used even in graduate school. My creative writing teacher, (I remember his first name was David) who loved the Grateful Dead, had a son, then moved to Montgomery County. I wrote my favorite poem ever in his class, and he edited essays that helped me get into college. Mr. Nickelson, the first Asian teacher I ever had, who loved playing tennis and being around young people. Dr. Day—the first person I knew with a doctorate, and who introduced me to the joy of Sunday morning talk shows (I still watch them today).
Recently I spoke to a group of students at Anacostia High School, and confessed that I loved school. I really do, and it’s because I spent it with teachers who loved it, too.
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 5:46 PM
3 Comments:
I love school too, but these damn 9th graders who are sooo confused. They are draining me, but they can't steal the love I have for learning.
Recently I spoke to a group of students at Anacostia High School, and confessed that I loved school. I really do, and it’s because I spent it with teachers who loved it, too.
Yo...in the hood fools hated school...serious. Like one kid liked it...thus, you must have been the teachers pet or something of the sorts...what up?
Rhonda,
I know you're right about Mr. Nickelson. He's a great man and still produces excellent students (just like you!). And check this out... I'm pretty sure that he will be kickin' it in Ethiopia with Ms. Drew (if it happens this year). Crazy world, no?
dk
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