As thousands of area students headed to class today, some for the first time, I recalled my school days in Summit Hill and some of the teachers I had.

I recall with embarrassment my first day in September 1944 when I was 5. Suddenly, terrified at the prospect of being in a classroom, I climbed through an open window of the Lincoln Elementary School, raced off and hid in a nearby cemetery. My hysterical but relieved mother and our town’s police chief found me cowering inconsolably behind a tombstone.

Mrs. Edith Storch, my kindergarten teacher, was one of my favorites. She was so nice and unflappable. Even after pulling my bonehead escape, I was astounded that she always treated me pleasantly and encouraged me to the point where I quickly learned to love school and have become a lifelong learner.

During my trip back in time, it occurred to me how much impact teachers have had on me. Having taught for many years myself, I owe that career choice to Miss Blodwyn Llewellyn, my high school French teacher, whose life was cut short by a tragic bus accident in Switzerland where she was traveling as a tourist.

As I reminisced about the chronology of teachers starting with Mrs. Storch in kindergarten, I was surprised about some of the things I remembered.

Miss Clara Crawford, my second-grade teacher, for example, was the most eccentric. I swear she had more pairs of shoes than the legendary former first lady of the Philippines, Imelda Marcos, who was said to have owned 3,000 pairs, along with 508 gowns and 888 handbags. It was common for Miss Crawford to change shoes four or five times a day. It was also not unusual for her to kick off her shoes under her desk and fidget with them. My friends and I called her “the cat lady,” because she had so many cats in her home.

I remember my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Belle Boyle, for slapping me across the face. She would announce the grade of each student aloud after every spelling test. We had to write the misspelled word correctly, then take it to her to verify that it had now been spelled properly. Since I had a 98 on one 50-word test - one wrong - I had already made my way back to her desk with the corrected word while she was still announcing the grades. Most students scored no lower than around 70 in these tests, but on this occasion, one of my classmates had a 34. When she announced the grade as I was standing next to her, I let out an audible “WOW!” Without the slightest warning, she struck - WHAM! I never told my parents, because, if I had, I would have likely worn a companion slap on the other cheek. The rule was always clear and unmistakable in our house: The teacher is always right.

I became lifelong friends with Mrs. Alma Crook, one of my junior high school teachers. Throughout the balance of my school career, into college, and, later, in my adult life, I always stopped by to visit with her and her husband who lived in Lansford. When she died, I cried bitterly, because I never told her how much she meant to me as a friend and mentor. I figured, however, that she probably knew, but I vowed never again to make that mistake of leaving unsaid what should have been said.

I had a severe crush on my seventh grade homeroom teacher, Miss Irene Campbell, who eventually became Mrs. Irene Cadden. This infatuation was crushed when she married the high school band director, Tom Cadden, but I finally convinced myself that the 15-year difference in our ages wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

My ninth grade teacher knew little about geography. In fact, he once admitted that I knew more about the subject than he did. As unbelievable as this sounds, he gave me a copy of the final exam to critique. It was an extremely difficult test. He told me to keep it to myself. I lied when I said I would then shared it with my best friend. Not surprisingly, we aced the final, while most of our classmates did poorly, but this incident created a lifetime of regret. Although I didn’t steal the final and came by it legitimately in a manner of speaking, I felt like a cheater and still do. I lost a lot of respect for myself because of that selfish and unethical decision.

There were fewer than 130 students in our high school (10th through 12th grades), just 42 in my class. I remember our high school math teacher, Mrs. Mary Leibensberger, with her never-ending stream of sayings. How many times she ad - vised me: Reach for the stars, Bruce, because even if you miss, you are sure to pick up some stardust along the way.” I can’t tell you how many times I played back this statement in my mind when I was faced with important decisions. She was also our study hall teacher, and she was not fond of students who dawdled. She would often break my reverie as I daydreamed by saying, “Nothing to do, Bruce, and all day to do it?”

By BRUCE FRASSINELLI|tneditor@tnonline.com

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