Ivanhoe Teachers: Part One

After the oddness of Mrs. M, my first grade teacher, I had several teachers who didn’t really register in the memory bank, except for one who told me not to wear lipstick to school. I was in the first grade, after all. That same day I went home, reapplied the color and went back to the school with my mother to register my little sister for kindergarten.  The teacher was in the office and didn’t say a word about my lipstick.

In the second grade Mrs. Bevan became Mrs. Trask (or was it the other was around?) I never thought of people her age getting married. But she, with an adult son that we often heard about, did. I remember three things about her class. She taught us about cows—Guernsey’s, Holsteins and Jerseys. And she was taught us to draw cows using a method completely devoid of any creativity. It was only a matter of connecting circles. How this was at all relevant to a 7 year old growing up in Los Angeles is beyond me.

And she had to deal with Raymond. Raymond had done something very bad.  He had uttered the “f” word and been sent to Mrs. Joyner, the principal, with her Kleenex filled sleeve. I had no clue what the “f word” was but it didn’t take long for another boy in the class to inform the entire class and me.

There was another troublesome boy in the class named Tommy. Between learning about John C. Fremont and the Pueblo de Los Angeles, I was chosen to be his seatmate.  It didn't get past me that I had been chosen for this task because I was considered "a good girl."  Little did she know.  I didn’t think Tommy was so bad.  He even fixed the tilting desk by putting a piece of cardboard under the leg.  I was impressed.

In the third grade all was not well—especially with our teacher who seemed to have completely lost control.  She disappeared shortly after Mark threw a blackboard eraser at her head.  The parents did a lot of whispering during this period.

After a series of substitute teachers, we were introduced to Miss Rasmussen.  She kind of looked like Barbie—the blond one. I called her Miss Razzamatazz.  It was in her class that I first got stitches, was the only kid not allowed to watch Zorro because it was on a half hour after my ridiculously early bedtime, and got diarrhea at school. Academically, I remember nothing.

I guess learning about the cows made more of an impression.