Celebrating in 2013 - Newburyport Public Schools

IMPRESSIONS

Celebrating

25 Yearsin 2013

newburyport educators’ journal twenty-FiFth edition

newburyport publIc schoolsNewburyport, ma

Spring/Summer 2013 1

Table of ConTenTs

Editoral StaffEditor

Christopher G. Dollas

Editoral Board

Sue Ellen Creed Deborah Szabo Joni Annas Vetne

art Editor

Pamela J. Jamison

illustrator/CovEr artist

Pamela J. Jamison

ContriButing illustrator (rEtirEE)

James Marshall

dEsktop puBlishing

Kathy Moynihan

administrativE advisors to imprEssions

Dr. Marc Kerble Superintendent of SchoolsAngela Bik Assistent Superintendent of Curriculum & Instruction

ClEriCal assistanCE

Nancy Tancreti, Administrative Assistant/Curriculum

FoundEr

Francis T. Bresnahan

From the editor

2 Christopher G. Dollas

20133 My DaD

Eileen Bresnahan Sullivan

1987

4 How we TaugHT THe ConsTiTuTion To THe Junior Class

Francis T. Bresnahan

1989

6 KinDergarTens auTHors?Jean Jacobson

1992

7 MiraCle

James Marshall

19969 a looK aT

THe nineTies

Meg Taranda & Eileen Flaherty

199711 THe rise anD Fall

oF respeCT

JoAnne Brislin

199812 a gHosT sTory

Tony Lee

199914 100 anD 80 Days

oF MeDiTaTion

Chris Morton

200017 a suMMer walK

in MauDslay

Ellen Erekson

200118 THe MinKs

Bernadette Darnell

2002

19 Musing on loCal naTural HisTory

John Halloran

200422 THe seCreT garDen

Meg Atkins

26 love THe MoMenT

Michael Jacobson

27 wHiTe pear anD o pear

Vicki Hendrickson

27 wHen payMenT’s Due

Sue Creed

28 illusTraTion

James Marshall

200529 wHile Driving

THrougH wales

Aileen Maconi

201231 niCK

Joni Annas Vetne

200532 THe rounDs

oF TesTing

Deborah Szabo

nEwBuryport EduCators’ Journal

spring/summEr 2013

impreSSionS

Cover Art by Pamela J. Jamison

“That’s gold”: To describe something or a situation that is classic and/or priceless, like the ability of gold to stand the test of time and hold value.

The term can be used to describe some epic adventure and great conquest.

IMPRESSIONS is our educators’ — “that’s gold”— journal! every submission is from our newburyport School “District Campus” of the people,

that know education is, as a society, our “goLD”!

our 25th edition cover is a collage of all our covers that have graced our previous issues, and, therefore, are outlined in goLD, ruled together by goLD outlining,

aka: The golden rule-r and doing unto others our golden quest.

paMela J. JaMison, cover artist

2 impreSSionS

from The ediTorBy Christopher g. Dollas

ur 25th anniversary issue is a collection of repre-sentative pieces that we’ve published since our first

edition in 1987. The task of deciding which ones to include was challenging, especially considering the limited number of pages our budget would allow us to publish. We decided to have most of the selected pieces span from 1987 to 2005, focusing on past contributions that many of our readers may not have seen as compared to recent ones. The process of deciding which ones to choose still was difficult. i suppose it’s like picking which two fingers i want to have excised from my hands. naturally, i want to keep all of my appendages, as is the case with every one of our stories, poems, essays, and photography. in the end our board did decide. So what you see here in this issue are examples of all the hundreds of wonderful contributions to Impressions by more than 125 staff members. For those published here in this issue, i left the bios as they originally appeared

The first two stories pay homage to our superintendent and founder, Francis T. Bresnahan, who had a tremendous appreciation for writing, which spurred his desire to have a publication of the literary works of the educators in the newburyport public Schools. i must admit that he was par-ticularly thrilled to see his idea become a reality. i know he would be especially pleased to see that the journal made it to its 25th anniversary issue.

To honor him, his daughter, ellen Bresnahan Sullivan, leads off this journal with a touching and poignant piece, “my Dad,” that commemorates her dad. Following her story is her dad’s contribution, which led off our very first issue

in 1987, titled “How We Taught the Constitution to the Junior Class.”

As usual, Deb Szabo’s poetic parody is placed on our fi-nal page. picking which one of hers to include was like, well, i suppose, which finger to keep. “The rounds of Testing” was eventually chosen, as its message continues to be relevant.

in addition, i want to thank those staff members who served on our editorial board over the years: mary Fordham, Janet murphy, mary ellen (mimi) Wilson, nancy griffin, Lynne Laffie, Linda Blair, Sue earabino, meg Carlin, pam Jamison, Deb Szabo, Sue ellen Creed, meredith estabrook, Christine Dahlsen, Joni Vetne, and the venerable James marshall (our first cover designer and still an illustrator for us). Their involvement certainly made my job easier.

Also, i thank Cathy Latourelle, our first layout person; Lauren obert, who succeeded her; and, Kathy moynihan, who followed and remained with us for the past ten years. Their expertise in managing the technical production of our journal always provided us with a professional-looking prod-uct. Finally, thank you to minuteman press of newburyport, and its owner Sumner misenheimer, who worked with us for the past twenty-one years to print and publish our annual copies, and his daughter nikki.

For now, this could be our last issue, after 25 editions. in human years, it’s quite young; in dog years, it’s amazing we’ve lasted this long. nonetheless, i am still seeking financial support to keep the pulse of our journal beating. maybe you will not see my From the editor next year or maybe you will. in the meantime, enjoy this one.

Christopher G. Dollas, a retired eighth grade language arts teacher and ongoing substitute, can be reached at [email protected]

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2013 | refleCTions

my dadBy ellen Bresnahan Sullivan

or the past few years, i have read Chris Dollas’s impas-sioned pleas to the staff and faculty of the newburyport

School Department to submit entries to our esteemed literary magazine, Impressions. each time i open up one of Chris’s emails, i think to myself that i really should submit an essay to this magazine; i should for several different reasons. number one, i so enjoy reading the entries from my colleagues across the system and look forward to the delivery of the magazine each spring. And, i am, after all, a product of the newburyport School system and have had three children very successfully and happily experience our schools as well. But what really keeps tugging at my heartstrings is reading the credits each time i open up the magazine, more specifically the founder of Impressions, Francis T. Bresnahan, my father.

my father was born in newburyport and loved our city. He did not grow up wealthy, he was very proud of his father who worked as a school custodian for many years, and that contributed to my father’s respect for everyone, no matter what social class. To those of you who knew my father, i need not explain his credentials as an educator. He started teaching at the Kelly School in 1949, was promoted to principal of newburyport High School, then Assistant Superintendent, and eventually served as Superintendent from 1970 until his death in 1993. As most of us in this profession know, twenty-three years as a superintendent is unheard of in this day. But aside from his longevity, he was innovative as an educator. At the time of his death, he was setting plans in motion that other school systems caught up to years later. He was one of the founding fathers of the newburyport education Business Coalition (now The Business Coalition), and even 20 years ago, realized the importance of merging education and business together for the betterment of what he cared about most, our children. When i converse with teachers who taught here while my father was superintendent, inevitably there is one theme that resonates about him; that is how incredibly loyal he was to each and every member of his staff. That wasn’t hard for him, he truly did love and respect his staff. i think the feeling was mutual.

So, enough about my father the superintendent. i have so much more to say about him as a father. growing up with my father as superintendent should have been much more difficult than it was for my five siblings and me. But it wasn’t. Daddy never expected us to act any differently because he was superintendent ...and we didn’t! oh, there were the times we’d get angry with him because he didn’t call off school. i specifically remember one very snowy day when i

was in high school. i was livid with him at breakfast for not calling a snow day, telling him, “Triton has it off, Amesbury has it off, come on Daddy!” But i also remember getting to school that very same day and another student coming up to me giving me grief about the “snow day my father didn’t call”, and my prompt, loyal response of “We don’t follow in the footsteps of Triton or Amesbury, we’re a little tougher than they are, suck it up”! And that’s probably the most important lesson my Dad and mom taught us, always stick up for each other.

unfortunately, my Dad died too young. But he left us with so much. A couple of years ago, several years after Dad’s death, my mom gave me the contents of his wallet. in it were two notes ....both from me. one was addressed to Santa Claus when i was in second or third grade, a note begging Santa to give me a horse for Christmas. i had, in my just-learned cursive writing, tried to convince Santa with all the reasons i deserved a horse that Christmas. i never did get that horse, but my two older sisters will attest to the fact that on that very Christmas eve, i awakened them in the middle of the night swearing that i heard “my horse” out in the hallway! i’m sure i was a little disappointed the next morning, but it’s funny, i don’t remember that. The other note to Daddy was written much later at my ripe old age of 12 on an old memo pad, probably taken from his office, outlining very professionally that he owed me three weeks’ allowance @.75 cents per week for a grand total of $2.25, and notifying him that it was due at 1:30 that afternoon! i guess it still warms me to know that’s what my Dad kept in his wallet all those years. That’s what was important to him.

my Dad was around for 13 of his 14 grandchildren’s births, and there was no prouder grandpapa. He would have loved that they spent their elementary school years at the Francis T. Bresnahan elementary School. unfortunately, he died before any of them entered his beloved newburyport High School. He would have enjoyed so much their excellence in the classroom and on the playing fields. He would have taken so much pleasure in seeing how they grew to be loving, caring, successful adults. But most of all, he would have been so proud to know how close all of his children and grandchildren still are with each other. i think he would appreciate how often we credit my mom and him to that closeness and compassion ... he taught us well. my Dad really was a true educator ... in every sense of the word.

Ellen Bresnahan Sullivan is a Brown School Pre-K Aide.

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1987 | PersPeCTives

how wE taught thE Constitution to thE Junior Class

To impeach or not? A lesson in democracy! As the U.S. celebrates the bicentennial of our Constitution,

a former principal recalls how Juniors put into practice the principles of their own Class Constitution.

By Francis T. Bresnahan

his year we shall be observing the two-hundredth anniversary of the

Constitution of the united States, perhaps the most ingenious political document ever devised by man. one might hope that the occasion will be observed throughout the country in thoughtful consideration of the meaning of that great document — not so much in the governmental framework it provides, but in its embodiment of the values which govern our behavior as citizens in a democratic republic.

Alas, being the kind of people we are, it is more likely that we will see a reprise of the bicentennial of the Declaration of independence and the centennial of the Statue of Liberty — more “show biz” than productive thinking. Still, that should not prevent us from using the anniversary to teach our students in our classrooms, far removed from the glitz that may characterize the national observance, about that little group of brilliant Americans who two centuries ago fashioned a document as relevant to the needs of a free people today as it was then.

As we teach our students about the constitutional provisions that give us our government and “establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the Common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity,” we might at the same time help them to understand how difficult it some-times is to live up to the principles of the Constitution. it is one thing, for example, to say that we believe in freedom of speech. it is quite another to tolerate an idea we find repulsive, as newburyport High School students learned a quarter century or so ago.

i was principal of the High School at the time, and one morning the police informed me that the president of the

Junior Class had taken part in a nazi(!) demonstration in front of the White House. This was a time of great turmoil in the country and, hard as it is to believe now, there was a small American nazi party in existence. i was highly skeptical of the report, but sure enough there was the student’s photograph in a book published by the party. He was dressed in a storm trooper’s

uniform and was engaged, with other members of the party, in picketing the White House.

Word quickly spread throughout the community and the school; and soon, as they say, all hell broke loose. it was demanded that we expel the student, or at the very least, remove him from his office as president of the class. emotions ran high and, as generally happens at such times, people were not inclined to listen to reason.

Certainly there were no grounds to expel the student. There is, after all, freedom of speech in this country.

All right then, people said, but being the president of a class is an honor. The principal should, at the very least, remove him.

Being the president of a class is indeed an honor, but it is something else as well. no matter how casually schools approach the concept of student government, the election of class officers and student councils is an authentic expression of democracy, one that schools committed to teaching good citizenship encourage, support, and respect in a serious manner. it is one way, even a dramatic way, to teach the principles of the Constitution.

As it happens, in those days student government was strong. The Junior Class, for example, had spent almost a year developing their constitution under the guidance of teachers. The constitution had been voted upon by the members of the class and accepted by them as the framework

T “word quiCkly sprEad throughout thE Community and thE sChool; and soon, as thEy say, all hEll BrokE loosE.”


1987 | PersPeCTives

within which they would conduct their affairs.

Among other provisions, that constitution contained an article on the removal of a class officer. it was quite clear: an officer could be removed only if (1) specific charges were preferred against him, (2) the officer was given an opportunity to defend himself before the whole class, and (3) the class voted by a two-thirds majority to remove him.

The class appointed a committee of students to investigate the charges. They went about their task with considerable maturity. They spoke with the police, with me, with others who had information, and of course with the president himself. When they had completed their investigation, they wrote a report which was submitted to the class at a meeting. They recommended that on the basis of evidence they found the president should be removed for “conduct unbecom-ing the class president.” The president defended himself at the meeting, admitting the charges but insisting upon his constitutional right to hold whatever political principles he chose to hold.

Following the class meeting, a recall election was held and the students voted in their homerooms by secret ballot. A majority of the class voted to remove the president, but this majority fell short of the two thirds specified in the class constitution. Accordingly, the president remained in office.

it was an exciting time. To be sure, there were some who thought that the time spent had been wasteful. The class meeting did, after all, take up most of three periods. others thought it was ludicrous that the principal should have “abdicated his authority and allowed the students to decide.”

But there were many who saw it just as it was: a simple matter of the school’s practicing what we preached. The textbooks have exercises for teaching about the Constitution. This exercise was the real thing. The Junior Class — and a good many others — learned that a constitution is not merely an abstraction. it is a living guide for the protection of all of our liberties.

As it turned out, the president went on to be a very good one. i lost track of him after his graduation and i have no idea whether or not he changed his political views. Somehow, i feel certain he must have. He was an intelligent young man, and he could not have gone through this experience with-out gaining understanding and appreciation for those values which are enshrined in the Constitution

As for the rest of us, it was also an important learning experience. We found that it is easy to proclaim our allegiance to the principle of “liberty and justice for all.” it is quite another to have that allegiance put to the test, especially when the liberty and justice we are called upon to protect is for an idea we consider reprehensible.

Francis T. Bresnahan, currently the Superintendent of Schools, served as principal of Newburyport High School from 1958-1966.

“...thE ElECtion oF Class oFFiCErs and studEnt CounCils is an authEntiC ExprEssion oF dEmoCraCy...”

6 impreSSionS

1989 | insighTs

kindErgartEn authors?A child’s skill in story writing does not have to be perfect

as long as ideas can be expressed.

By Jean m. Jacobson

n my desk i found a piece of paper on which a five-year-old had written the whole alphabet above a

large picture of a sharp knife. When asked about it, the little girl replied that she knew all of the alphabet letters, but was mad because she could not make them say anything like her older brothers and sisters could. in my kindergarten program (which included open Court Letter and Sound books, many worksheets, skill games, stories, and some chances for chil-dren to dictate stories about their art work), i had not given the little girl the skills or opportunities she needed in order to see writing as a tool she could use. Though she recognized all of the letters and could print them beautifully, she was not able to use them to express her thoughts and ideas — and we were both frustrated.

During the past summer, i took a course called “Teaching Children to Write (K-8)” with margaret m. Voss and mary ellen Jaslowich at Salem State College. We learned about the work of Donald graves, Susan Sowers, mary ellen giacobbe, and Lucy m. Calkins who, as part of a national institute of education grant, worked together to observe children for several years at the Atkinson elementary School in Atkinson, new Hampshire. These researchers learned from the day-to-day observations of children’s writing development. Their suggestions for changes in the way in which writing was taught in the classroom were very practi-cal and the results were exciting.

Lucy Calkins points out in The Art of Teaching Writing that we need to make classrooms rich literate environments. We need to give the children plenty of real reasons for writing and then we need to see through their errors to what they really want to say. i hope to be able to give my kindergarten children time to write, materials with which·they can play with words and writing, functional reasons for writing in the classroom, opportunities to write from their own experiences, ownership and control over their own writing, and the chance to use invented spelling — or “kid’s spelling” — which will free them to get their thoughts down on paper. All of this needs to be done with a positive emphasis on what the children can already do — thus bringing about responses to their work which will help them extend their learning.

i’m looking forward to trying the writing process with my kindergarten children and, as a result, hope to see children who have a reason for learning letters and developing readiness skills and who find the excitement of discovering that they can put their thoughts, feelings, and ideas into writing that can be understood and shared by others.

rEfErEncES

Calkins, Lucy mcCormick. The Art of Teaching Writing. portsmouth, new Hampshire: Heinemann educational Books, 1986.

Furnas, Alfreda. “Watch me.” in Breaking Ground: Teachers Relate Reading and Writing in the Elementary School, ed. J. Hanson, T. newkirk, and D. graves. portsmouth, n.H.: Heinemann educational Books, 1985.

graves, Donald H. Writing: Teachers and Children at Work. portsmouth, n.H.: Heinemann educational Books. 1983.

Hilliker, Judith. “Labelling to Beginning narrative: Four Kindergarten Children Learn to Write.” in Understanding Writing: Ways of Observing, Learning and Teaching K-8, Second edition, ed. T. newkirk and n. Atwell. portsmouth, n.H.: Heinemann educational Books, 1988.

Sowers, Susan. “Six Questions Teachers Ask About invented Spelling.” in Understanding Writing: Ways of Observing, Teaching and Learning, K-8, Second edition, ed. T. newkirk and n. Atwell. portsmouth, n.H.: Heinemann educational Books, 1988.

Jean M. Jacobson is a kindergarten teacher at the G. W. Brown School.

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1992 | refleCTions

miraClE?You be the judge.

By James marshall

miracle is an event which should not, under the laws of nature happen, but does. it has no natural

explanation, and so is thought to be an act of Divine intervention. i believe in miracles, because of what happened to me one night, long ago at sea in palau.

it was Thanksgiving morning, 1968, when Chief rechedor, his teen-age son and i set out for the village of ollei, 28 miles away in my not too reliable outboard motor boat. i was traveling there to pick up guests for the holiday, Jim and Daphne Stanton, his mother, and their young son. They had contacted us by short-wave radio and a Thursday morning meeting was arranged in ollei. They would transfer boats and i would take them across the 28 mile stretch of open ocean north to Kayangel atoll where we lived.

The trip to ollei was uneventful. We arrived about one o’clock. After waiting two hours or so, i called Koror (the district center of palau) on another contract teacher’s short wave radio, but received no answer. Finally, about 3:30, a boat

approached ollei from the south. Bob miller, the Ameri-can teacher in ollei, was on the boat, but not the Stantons. He handed me some boxes and a letter from Daphne. mrs. Stanton, Jim’s mother had become so excited about the long trip, she had suffered some sort of stroke shortly before they were to depart. She was ordered to rest, so their trip would have to be postponed. The boxes contained a large turkey and other Thanksgiving foods.

Sun sets early in the tropics. By 5:30 it is dark. A decision had to be made: to stay in oilei overnight or travel home to Kayangel in the dark. it was to be a nearly full moon, the tide was high, and the chief was with me, as a guide, so i felt little apprehension about deciding to go. Another factor was the extra five gallons of gasoline loaned to me by Bob miller. That would bring my supply up to about twenty gallons, plenty for the one and a half hour trip.

We set out at 4:30 for, what should have been, a routine and pleasurable trip.

a

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1992 | refleCTions

What had been soft show-ers in ollei became heavy rain five miles out at sea. outside the barrier reef, the waves were six feet high and the wind seemed against us. The conditions did not, however, alarm me as the boat performed well in rough water. The wind and the waves were not enough to deter us, but two miles further out, the rain became so heavy, the vision was limited to about fifteen feet. At this point, there was no turning back, as the sun has set, and ollei and the island of Babelthuap was no longer visible. i began to worry a bit, but kept saying to my-self, “The chief knows the way; the chief knows the way...”.

not knowing much english, the chief ’s directions consisted of “go round! go fast!” His decision to circle, apparently, was to keep us in place against the wind and current. Three times we almost ran onto the large reef which lay half way between Babelthuap and Kayangel. We would be travelling at full speed when suddenly, high surf, was seen breaking over the reef ahead of us. Turn-ing quickly, we averted disaster each time. At the speed we were traveling, the bottom of the boat would have been torn out had we encountered the reef. We would surely have drowned, as the high waves would have prevented our standing on the reef, and the water was too rough to swim in for any length of time.

At this point, i could see no way out of the situation. There was not enough gasoline to last. normally it took two full tanks (six gallons each) to make the 28 mile, ninety minute trip. i expected fuel to run out at any time, leaving us with only the five gallons of reserve. High waves and driving rain would push us westward toward the philippines five hundred miles away. i made my peace with my maker and prepared to take whatever came.

After circling and circling for over two hours, we observed the clouds breaking up and the moon becoming visible. As we crossed the reef safely, i began to feel more at ease. using the moon and reef as guidelines, we headed in a northeasterly direction. Within the hour we spotted Kayangel as a long shadow over the water. Taking time to put the remaining fuel in the tanks, i discovered that now one motor was not functioning at full speed. normally this would not be a serious problem. Yet, traveling out of the rela-tive calm of this-horseshoe shaped reef and getting back into the open ocean necessitated high speed.

The waves were coming in as we were going out. Just when i began to think we could make it through, a large wave came in and began to crest. The chief, tapping in on his meager supply of english, was yelling, “go fast! go fast!” as we dropped with a horrible bang on the other side.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. A little after nine o’ clock the chief, his sleeping son, and i came into Kayangel’s peaceful lagoon. my wife was waiting on shore as we

arrived. A trip which should have been about ninety minutes had taken four and a half hours.

Though a day late, this Thanksgiving dinner was perhaps our most memorable. To eat a turkey that did not come out of a can was, in itself, reason to be thankful. And yet, we had more than good food

to be thankful for. my life had been spared that first Thanksgiving out in the pacific ocean.

The next morning, i sat down and tried to tie together the threads of the previous night. There were several facts which made no sense. The boat trip should have taken no more than ninety minutes at a cost of twelve gallons of gasoline. That was the rate at which the motors consumed fuel. At that rate, the twenty gallons of gasoline should have lasted no more than 150 minutes (two and one half hours). Also, like most engines these were less economical the harder you ran them. We were not only on the ocean for two hours beyond our normal time, but we were driving at full speed through rough seas. under the best of conditions we should have used thirty-six gallons of gasoline.

Somehow the gasoline in those tanks lasted well be-yond what they should have. i have no other way to explain my survival on the open sea that night, than to say, i have experienced a something unique... a miracle.

James Marshall is a seventh grade language arts teacher at the Rupert A. Nock Middle School.

“Just whEn i BEgan to think wE Could makE it through, a largE wavE CamE in and BEgan to CrEst.”

“i madE my pEaCE with my makEr and prEparEd to takE whatEvEr CamE.”


1996 | refleCTions

a look at thE ninEtiEsBy margaret Taranda and eileen Flaherty

etirement brings with it the luxury of leisure time — time to pursue interesting sideroads; time to

research and remember. Here is such an adventure occasioned by a chance encounter with school department annual records uncovered on the way to finding something else.

Come with us as we take a peek at school data in the nineties of yesteryear. These seemingly dry, old reports, when seen through the eyes of a ‘native,’ stir up many fascinating stories of Who’s ‘Who Hundred Years Ago, and How Things Always Were, up until nor so very long ago!

sCHool DeparTMenT — 1824The first page lists the School Committee of 1824. Their

names reflect many well-known, local families and typical newburyport Yankee names. immediately obvious to the women of today is that the school committee consisted of males only!

mayor orrin J. gurney’s name brings to mind gurney’s bike shop and radio repairs located at the foot of green Street on the water-front side. Bicycles of all sizes and descriptions, new and used, filled the space between the street and the front door. inside the shop were more. Behind the counter was the entrance to the back, a long, deep extension of the building where repairs were made and things were stored. Later TVs came to be sold and repaired here as well, until the late 60s — early 70s when urban renewal came along and rearranged the buildings and landscape of the downtown area including market Square.

The Vice-Chairman of the School Committee, Henry Bailey Little, was none other than mr. H.B. Little, president for many years of the institution for Savings. Driven by his chauffeur in a big, black Cadillac limousine, he appeared in his three-piece suit at the bank every day until just before he died, well into his hundreds.

His address, listed as 215 High Street, tells us that High Street must have been renumbered. At that time there were only four High Street houses from Johnson to Summit place. on the corner of Johnson was mrs. Driver, who was H. B. Little’s daughter, then in from the street was the

large Tudor mansion that belonged to Judge Jones; next door was the Dr. Hamilton estate and then the Little estate. Today several houses fill the spaces of these three estates where once stood only trees and shrubs on beautifully landscaped front lawns. The additional houses necessitated the renumbering. now the big, grey house has been converted to apartments and renumbered 227.

But then, 215 High Street was the Little estate, a large Victorian with a massive front porch set back on the property at the corner of High and Summit place and graced by a long front lawn and a lovely hedge. it was the greatest place for sledding and skiing! The sloped lawn provided two nice winter ponds at its base for skating. The tall, thick hedge went from the corner of High up to the top of the hill on Summit place. in the summertime if was a super place for hide-and-seek, especially at night! in those days when every-body knew everybody else, we children from the immediate neighborhood were allowed to use mr. Little’s front lawn since we were so well-behaved. Those years in the mid-40s i spent growing up on Summit place are among my fondest childhood memories.

Another member of the committee was george W. Worcester whose family was connected with the Worcester memorial, a homeopathic hospital whose grounds occupied the whole right hand side of rawson Avenue.

The Truant officer was also an important member of the school department. His job was to visit the homes of students to determine if their absences were justified. From his vast experience he knew all the hiding places in town!

Several generations of present-day newburyporters will remember everett (pinky) Hilton riding his bicycle from plum island to the Artichoke in the conscientious pursuit of his duties to the youth of the city, right up until the late 60s (That’s not too many years back!),

FinanCial sTaTeMenT

December 1, 1889 to December 1, 1890it’s not surprising to discover that the expenditures of

$24,148.04 exceeded the income of $22,948.41! expendi-tured exceed income was as true then as it is now.

in 1890 the single greatest item in the budget was salaries. Just like today! The total expenditure for salaries, $19,064.42, is about half the average salary of a teacher today.

“immEdiatEly to thE womEn oF today is that thE sChool CommittEE ConsistEd oF malEs only!”

r

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1996 | refleCTions

it is interesting to note that the total annual expenditure in the eighteen nineties is about $5000 less than one beginning teacher’s salary in the nineteen nineties. Also interesting is the fact that the total teaching staff, teachers and principals, numbered only thirty-nine. it would be of further interest to know the difference in student population figures for then and now.

TeaCHers anD salaries 1890-1891in those days, married women were not allowed to be

teachers. indeed, women were not allowed to remain as teachers if they decided to marry. We note that there were no male teachers, only administrators. As we recall, the entire school committee was male.

The salaries of the male principals were noticeably higher than all the other staff, even those of the female

principals. The two highest paid female principals (at $750, still well below the $1000 the males earned) must have held particularly chal-lenging positions!

We can speculate about the Training School. Does it refer to the teacher-training program that newburyport once had, as it also had a nurses’ training program? or might it refer to the Special education program at that time?

There was evening School, even then, whose primary purpose

probably was to prepare immigrants for citizenship, since the 1890s saw considerable immigration to this country.

There were fourteen schools in newburyport in the early 1890s; the Kelley School is the only one still in operation as a school today. The Currier School still exists on Forrester Street, but now houses professional offices, not classrooms.

The Jackman School was a typical neighborhood school located on Atwood and School Streets, where Atwood park is now. The large, square, brick building surrounded by playgrounds sat between the two streets. There was ample

space for the boys’ playground and the girls’ playground to be completely separated from each other as was the general rule then. Further, the unstated rules of the playground dictated that the big kids pretty much determined where

they would play, and the little kids would stay out of their way!

The Brown School on milk Street was built later in the 1920s and was named for george W.

Brown, the Jackman School principal listed here, who was both loved and respected by his students and colleagues.

The High School used to be on the corner of green and High Streets where the immaculate Conception Convent is now. Later the new newburyport High was built on mount rural where it continues to reign on High. The class of 1939 was the first to graduate from the new school. in the late 40s the former high school burned and had to be taken down. it happened during the day and the students walking home with their books stood on the mall and watched with rears in their eyes. it was a sad day.

Amazing how such simple facts and figures from the annual school report of over a hundred years ago come alive when combined with the memories and experiences of a “native newburyport Yankee”!

Memories and experiences are those of Margaret Taranda, better known to some as Peg Fuller. She taught fifth grade at the Kelley and Brown Schools in her earlier years. She spent 14 years as an educational consultant for D. C. Heath Company. She returned to teach fifth grade at the R. A. Nock Middle School where math rapidly became her specialty.

Eileen Flaherty taught math and language arts in the fifth and sixth grades. In addition she was a Special Needs teacher.

We carried the Team Philosophy into retirement as we collaborated on this piece, much as we frequently problem solved in the staff rooms after school at the R. A. N.

“thE total ExpEnditurE For salariEs, $19,064.42, is aBout halF thE avEragE salary oF a tEaChEr today.”

“wE notE that thErE wErE no malE tEaChErs, only administrators”


1997 | PersPeCTives

thE risE and Fall oF rEspECtLamenting the loss of courtesy and respect from parents

By JoAnne Brislin

ast month i celebrated my twenty-fifth anniversary as the secretary of the Brown School. it was a happy day.

When mike made the announcement on the microphone about a change in lunch, he also announced that it was my anniversary and closed the remark with, “Let’s hear it for mrs. Brislin.” Hear it we did. The clapping, cheering, and yelling could be heard coming down the hall and rolling into the office.

Almost every morning i have this little blond haired, blue-eyed girl come in tardy, i will say, “oK, Beulah is here; we can start.”

She smiles at me with two to three teeth missing and reminds me that her name is noT Beulah. i chug her under the chin and remind her that her skin feels like velvet. i have a little boy who also comes in tardy. He asks me what is for lunch. i tell him it’s chicken lip sandwiches. He says he’ll try it. The kids always have been, are, and will be the best part of this job.

The staff is wonderful. it is not unusual to get a hug or a “thank you for typing my report” muffin or rose on my desk. The staff is an extension of my family. They are truly a wonderful, caring group.

There is one thing that i have seen change over the years: respect for the principal and the teachers. i have seen things go from, “Well, if the teacher had to speak to you, you must have deserved it,” to “Let’s go see what the teacher has to say about this.” When did it happen that parents believed that their youngsters totally understood everything they were told, without any doubt in their minds that their child might be wrong? When did it happen that teachers or principals of long standing had to prove themselves innocent when the parents had them charged guilty? When did it happen that a parent would walk into a classroom or office raising his or her voice to a person of authority who deserves respect?

parents used to call for an appointment with the teacher or principal. now many of them just drop in at their conve-nience, regardless of the fact that the teacher is in the middle of a lesson and that their “popping in” leaves twenty-two children on hold while they talk. parents will want to see mr. Jacobson, the principal, without an appointment. “Have you got a minute?” is a common phrase. They are annoyed if they cannot be seen immediately as they have to be at work at 8:00 A.m. They are not the only people in newburyport who have to be to work at 8:00 A.m.

Due to an electrical problem in the South end during martin Luther King Day weekend, the new furnace shut down. The building was colder than cold. All the machinery in the building was acting up. i heard that the kitchen could not get hot water to use for preparing lunch. What about feeding almost three hundred children? everyone had hats, boots, and gloves on. First it was decided to cancel afternoon kindergarten. This decision was quickly followed by sending children home who were already at school.

All the telephones were quickly manned by volunteer teachers and staff, class list in hand. our goal was to get to the most kids as quickly as possible. We went through the list reaching answering machines as well as people. We kept calling. When we covered the whole school, we backtracked and started calling the Safety Alert back-up numbers. We ran out of time. The principal made the announcement that if they got home or to their Safety Alert place and no one was there, the children should come back to school.

Tuesday was really a production of teamwork. While some teachers were manning the phones, others were delivering messages to children on whose houses to go. other teachers were to receive the children who came back after dismissal and find them a safe place. We had the job of contacting almost three hundred people in a seventy-five minute period. We could not have tried any harder nor done any better. i am very proud of mr. Jacobson and his staff. Frankly, i am very disappointed in my parents. mr. Jacobson has only been in our school for two years. i hope he does not feel that he made the wrong move. As far as i know, we ended up having one child home alone watching TV. The string of angry, yelling parents was endless. even where there was no problem, parents had to call and give their opinions on what could have happened, but did not. on Wednesday morning, more people were in the office to complain who did not get a chance to complain on Tuesday.

one of my parents, Dan edson, came into the office during the middle of the chaos on Tuesday morning. He dropped by Wednesday morning during the middle of more parents complaining. He brought us a bag of muffins to say congratulations on what a great job we had done.

mr. edson, thank you for the muffins.

JoAnne Brislin is the secretary at the Brown Elementary School.

l

12 impreSSionS

1997 | refleCTions

a ghost storyBy Tony Lee

The sea is forever quivering, The shore forever still; And the boy who is born in a seacoast town Is born with a dual will: The sunburned rocks and beaches Inveigle him to stay; While every wave that breaches Is a nudge to be up and away.

“Conflict” by Wilbert Snow

like all sons of things about that little poem. i think almost any kid could appreciate its meaning — looking

up “inveigle” — a girl in the middle of a wheat field in iowa or a boy growing up on plum island. What i like the best about the poem is that it was written by my “uncle” Bill Snow.

When “uncle” Bill Snow came for dinner, my mother would make borscht, even on Thanksgiving, because it was his favorite. She would put flowers in the guest room and turn down the bed. if there was snow, my father would get the driveway extra clear. my brothers would stack the wood box and set a fire.

Bill Snow and his wife, Jeanette were very old. He was a poet and a professor at Wesleyan, and he had an other worldly quality which added to the anticipation of his arrival. He and his wife would often get lost. my father would sometimes meet them in the square in milford, nH, about ten miles away, and lead them back to our house. i didn’t know why the center of milford was any easier to find than our town, but that was the sort of thing we did when uncle Bill came to visit.

i remember uncle Bill and Aunt Jeanette as happy people. Their hair was white, and their faces were heavily wrinkled, with sparkling eyes. They looked like the perfect grandparents, which they may have been. i think they had five children and scads of grandchildren, most of whom spent most of the summer with them at their camp in Spruce Head, maine.

i remember staring at uncle Bill’s remarkable nose at the dinner table. it was a proud feature. most of the talk went over my head, but i could tell that adults were hanging on his every word. He had many stories. my mother would prompt him to tell about his childhood as the son of a lighthouse

keeper on Whitehead island in penobscot Bay,or his days as a teacher and reindeer agent in Alaska in 1910. She would ask him for stories about being an artillery officer in WWi and for political stories — his day as acting governor of Connecticut. or he would tell stories about his many famous acquaintances: robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, edna St. Vincent millay, “Andy Wyeth,” and Wallace Stevens.

recently, i listened to a recording of Bill Snow reading his poetry. i heard the playful Down-east accent and his old style of reading, but the voice was different from the way i re-membered it. i remember the way he told ghost stories to us when it was time for bed. His voice was low and soft and powerful. There was one story about the ghost of an orangutan with a moustache cup and a razor, who chased you calling, “Come shave me.” Bill Snow would furrow his brow and wag his tremendous nose as he repeated the line. Before he would go back downstairs, he would give us “The Hungry Shark” with its silly but refreshing refrain, “And under the place where he had no chin, the Shark was a tuckin ‘of his napkin in.”

one of my favorite books is The Collected Poems of Wilbert Snow. i wouldn’t say this is great poetry. it’s corny in places. But i like to read it, especially the poems i’ve heard and read many times before. once in a while i’ll share one with people i like, hoping that someone else will be able to explain why they haunt me.

These poems were quoted in my family — at the dinner table, outside, in the car, at a bedside. Bill Snow was around

“most oF thE talk wEnt ovEr my hEad, But i Could tEll that adults wErE hanging on his EvEry word.”

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1997 | refleCTions

our house a lot and for a long time, even though he only visited occasionally and died before i got out of high school.

my dad loved the poem about a father who takes the spruce banking around the base of his house two months earlier than he should because he is weary of winter and wants to “hurry spring.” my father talked about this poem while he was hauling green branches and rotten wood to his saw-rig. He stunk up the cellar and gummed up his stove with flue burn-ing pine and other stuff that should have gone to the dump. i spent a good part of my adolescence letting him know what a fool i thought he was. He did a lot of things that didn’t make good sense, but which take on a kind of nobility as i remember them now — because of, not in spite of, their impracticality. Who did i think did whacky things? The lunatic, the lover, the poet — my dad.

He liked to quote Bill Snow’s poem about the village drunk, “george mcgoon,” with its refrains, “that’s a’right,” and “i don’t know.” my father would look down and wag his head, slurring an imitation of a maine accent and say, as if to a worried child, “Tha’s a ‘right,” and then more darkly and more measured, “Well, i don’t know.” He was being playful, but i think he was hinting at some of his own doubts.

my father admired Bill Snow’s tranquillity. He had driven to milford to lead Bill and Jeanette back to the house and had gotten home before he realized he wasn’t being followed. He drove the ten miles back to milford and found Bill Snow at the gulf station, standing by his car and looking across the road at the river, calmly waiting to be retrieved. my father repeated that story with wonder in his voice, the way a believer talks about a monk spending years in a cave.

my mother loved the poems, too. Her father had been a friend of Bill Snow’s, so she had known him since she was a small child. Her favorites were “Advice to a Clam Digger,” “etching,” and “must i Say Farewell.” i read those poems to her when she was dying of cancer, and when i read “must i Say Farewell” at her memorial service, i felt like i was speaking to her in the words she was most likely to hear.

When i was about nine or ten, i spent part of a summer a Bill Snow’s “camp” on Spruce Head island. Things were not very settled at my home, and he may even have offered to take me in.

i’d never seen anything like it. There were two small buildings near the edge of the water with a birch and spruces all around. A skiff and a small sailboat were moored in front. The place seemed to swarm with Bill Snow’s grandchildren. We played on the rocks, built model boats and sailed them,

made a terrific war movie with real ketchup -bottle blood and flour sack explosions, and took long walks down a dirt road to buy penny candy — all without any adult supervision that i can remember. i felt free and happy.

The land seemed to take on a charmed life of its own. Deep moss covered the earth under thick spruce trees; various-colored lichens grew on the ocean side of every-

thing; the waves hurried into shore, throwing themselves against rocks and shouting to the sun; the salty natural world was all alive, magic, and indescribable. And the words to describe my memories are in Bill Snow’s poems. “morning By The Sea,” “January Thaw,” “The Storm,” and “Vigil” are poems i read over and over.

i read them in the winter when i wish i could hurry spring along. i read them in the fall when i want to un-derstand the way things in nature and in my life seem to be contracting and dying. i read them in the spring when bounty baffles me and makes me grope for new words to describe hope. i take these poems on vacation with me when i go sailing in penobscot Bay. i read a new one now and again, but it’s the old ones i like the most. it‘s the ones i remember sharing with my family that touch me — “miracle,” “Whistle Buoy,” “Heritage,” “The Ballad of poor Annie,” “incident of the Coast,” and “granite.”

i was very lucky to have grown up with poetry around. i ought to share more of it with my son. He’s five, and Mother Goose is buried under a pile of dinosaur pop-up books. i could read him a few from The Collected Works of Wilbert Snow. He wouldn’t care if they were corny. i could read a few to my kids in language arts class and try to encourage them to share the special power of poetry with their families.

Tony Lee is a fifth grade language arts and science teacher at the Nock Middle School.

“hE did a lot oF things that didn’t makE good sEnsE, But whiCh takE on a kind oF noBility as i rEmEmBEr thEm now...”

14 impreSSionS

1999 | insighTs

onE hundrEd and Eighty days oF mEditationBy Chris morton

“Good morning and welcome to fourth grade. I am Ms. Morton and we are going to breathe together.”

hose were my words as i introduced what was to become our daily classroom morning ritual, the beginning of a profound teaching and learning

experience.if there is ever a time you can expect to have your

students’ attention, it’s that first day, that first moment when you come together. i was sitting on the rug waiting as the children began to form, wondering how they would react and anticipating some nervous resistance, perhaps in the form of giggling or fidgeting. To my amazement, my newly formed class of twelve boys and six girls looked down at their hands or closed their eyes and were still during this first guided introduction to eliciting the relaxation response.

i once heard someone say that we teach what we need to learn and this certainly applies to me in this experience. Believing in the process had not eradicated my resistance, and i must admit to coming quite close to hyperventilating the first few times someone suggested i close my eyes and focus on my breath. in college it had been introduced as warm-ups in acting classes; in childbirth it was a focus for my attention during contractions; in graduate school guided imagery was a strategy to elicit creative thinking; and in all three of those initial experiences i encountered my own resistance.

i’m filled with gratitude for what my adolescent daughter inadvertently helped me to discover. my resistance began to weaken as i searched for a way to let go as she adamantly claimed her independence. “Turn your poison into medicine,” a wise Buddhist woman told me as she taught me how to chant. it was in the chanting that i first crossed the bridge that led me to meditation. So i chanted during her last year of high school to the background sounds of loud music, long phone calls, visiting boyfriends, and the memory of many difficult exchanges.

When she left for the university of montana, i was living alone for the first time in my life, and it was in that shift that i pushed through the resistance a bit more and truly felt that i was coming home to myself.

As my commitment deepened, my experience of medi-tation shifted to include the practice of yoga. Being kinestheti-cally oriented, yoga was a natural fit for me and again provided a bridge to another form of meditation, one that encouraged the mind/body connection through breathing and a series of stretches and postures. in hopes of extending the experience, i arranged to spend three weeks during the summer at a yoga and meditation center. it was on the heels of that experience that i embarked on the venture of integrating the relaxation response into the daily structure of my classroom.

i anticipated resistance from some of the parents but this year there was only positive feedback:

“i have a couple of positive experiences to relate. The first was my first hand experience when i assisted in the classroom and on field trips. it was obvious that the meditation helped the stu-dents to make the transition from socializing to focusing, listening, and observing. Secondly, when i asked my son about the meditation, he replied that he learned how to calm himself with it and would know how to do it on his own. Considering that he had been diagnosed in the past with ADD, that was a useful skill for him to acquire.” Cynthia, mother of Will

“my daughter has been involved in a daily meditation program throughout the school year. i noticed she utilized the experience for herself on nights when she had difficulty falling asleep. She has shared her learnings about meditation with her friends stressing that it didn’t have to be done in one particular way but could happen anyway you choose to quiet yourself. Through my daughter’s practice, i have recreated daily meditation for myself. The whole family has and will continue to benefit from ms. morton’s meditation program.” Leslie, mother of Kitri

“i must admit to Coming quitE ClosE to hypErvEntilating thE First FEw timEs somEonE suggEstEd i ClosE my EyEs and FoCus on my BrEath.”

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1999 | insighTs

“Sheila’s experience this year at the Kelley School was definitely enhanced by your introducing the class to meditat-ing. She would meditate at home in bed before she went to sleep to help her relax. Also, if she was angry about anything, she would take a few minutes by herself and meditate… She has even recommended it to me.” Lorraine, mother of Sheila

if i had encountered resistance from a parent, i would have talked about these techniques as tools for helping children learn more easily, tools for relieving stress and reinforcing the natural ability to learn with the senses. i would also point out the benefit of increased concen-tration, memory skills, and improved academic learning. After all it’s used to help athletes excel at sports, help salesmen increase sales, and in the medical world has had a positive impact on healing. i thought of inviting skeptical parents to join the class to experience the process first hand.

in her book, Spinning Inward, maureen murdock writes, “We learn more when we are relaxed. When we shut out noise around us and focus on our breath and muscle relaxation, our brain waves slow down and therefore infor-mation is more easily available to us.”

After encountering, resisting, and experiencing this process first hand, i’m convinced that eliciting relaxation response is a powerful classroom technique that unlocks the creativity and wisdom that is inherent in all of us. After my one hundred and eighty days of meditation, i feel like i’ve just scratched a surface with infinite possibilities for learning.

i thought about the following:How can we reduce the impact of stress?How can we be fully present at any given moment?How do we learn?How do we expand our thinking?How do we know things that we know intuitively?How do we foster creative thinking?How do we respect each child’s unique approach to learning?

it seems that life is so full of what we do that we have little time to simply be. So much time is spent thinking about what is coming next that life can become a series of segmented happenings, neglecting the experience of being fully present at any one moment. Certainly this tendency impacted the classroom environment and in some ways drove the hectic daily schedule filled with interruptions. How could the relaxation response counteract this condition?

Some children come to school stunned by mistreatment, neglect, times of transition, and/or consistent daily chaos in their lives. often children are spending endless hours in front of TV screens and video games. What is the message they’re receiving? is it the same one we all are hearing in our culture? one that tells us that quick, fast action is what life is all about. no matter what your age, happiness is just out of your reach in the form of some new instant quick material gain or cure-all. How could eliciting the relaxation response help to alleviate these influences?

With all these questions swirling in my consciousness, i began a meditation practice with my students on that first morning in September, hoping that the process would bring forth some of the answers and provide more clarity.

Concretely speaking, the process involved meeting on the rug to begin our day with a five to ten minute centering exercise. in an effort to accommodate children’s learning styles and their predominate sensory modality, i attempted to elicit the relaxation response through a number of experi-mental activities. i guided them through breath awareness exercises, body scans, and to special places that children created in their “mind’s eye.” We did centering exercises to music, to the sounds of three bells ringing in the beginning, to the move-ment of yoga postures, and to guided visualiza-tions of places in nature.

The common thread in all of these centering exercises was being yourself as you focus inward, knowing yourself better as you learn, watching thoughts come and go, and learning that you don’t have to react to every thought that comes into your mind. There was an emphasis on letting go of any need to achieve anything and being relaxed in the freedom of being allowed to live in the moment without demanding anything particular of it.

The daily experiences varied but the consistency of meeting each morning was the key that established the continuity. There were just two rules: no noise making and no interfering with another’s experience. interestingly enough, students let each other know if they were being disturbed.

in February i asked the students to respond in their interactive journals to the writing prompt: When i meditate... The following are excerpts from their journals:

“When i meditate i feel more relaxed. it’s like falling asleep but still being awake. it makes me feel comfortable.

“‘turn your poison into mEdiCinE,’ a wisE Buddhist woman told mE as shE taught mE how to Chant.”

“somE ChildrEn ComE to sChool stunnEd By mistrEatmEnt, nEglECt, timEs oF transition, and/or ConsistEnt daily Chaos in thEir livEs.”

16 impreSSionS

1999 | insighTs

At first i couldn’t concentrate and i couldn’t get the hang of it, but now since we meditate everyday, i’m starting to get used to it. i sometimes meditate at home before i go to school, hoping i have a good day and it works.” Jade

“When i meditate i sometimes have trouble if i am not comfortable. i meditate at home on my bed and it is comfortable. usually at home i meditate at night or early in the morning. once i showed my mom how to meditate and she liked it.” Caroline

“it’s easy for me to meditate. i picture the ocean roll-ing up and down. When we first started it was hard keeping the thoughts out, but now it is easier. i picture the thoughts raining down or floating away on a cloud.” Will

“When i meditate i feel more comfortable. i enjoy meditating because it makes me relax. i sit, relax, and then i feel more focused.” DJ

“When we meditate it is easy for me to sit and close my eyes. i soften behind my eyes and i put my mind on my breath. i really like to meditate.” Sheri

“When i meditate i move around. i do that because i don’t like meditating. i’m just not into it. it doesn’t relax me. it feels like napping and i haven’t napped since i was three years old.” Andy

“When i meditate i still have trouble because i’m thinking about who i hate, i mean, dislike, but i know i am getting better. i sometimes feel happier when i meditate though. i think about being on a green bay with crystal water. i have big white bird wings. i sometimes go sailing. i look down and see mermaids under the glassy sea… drifting off… until another meditation, another day.” Zach

Two months later students were asked to write a letter to a third grader describing what they could expect from the fourth grade experience. The following excerpts were transcribed from their letters:

“We meditate to release tension which i am having along with stress and apprehensiveness” Zach

“every morning we do meditation. meditation is when you sit on the rug, close your eyes, focus on your breath, and let the bells bring you inward to your spot inside you.” Yorgo

“in the morning we do a ten minute meditation. it really relaxes your body and gives you brain power. You will really like it. i did.” Sheila

“You’ll start your day with meditation. At first you might think it is weird but you’ll get used to it after a few days. plus it helps you concentrate.” Will

“everyday you will meditate. You might have had a bad day and this will help you get relaxed and get rid of the tension in your body.” Brandon

“in ms. morton’s class we also meditate. We meditate by sitting in a circle and focusing on our breathing. it is very relaxing. Sometimes ms. morton does a guided visualization. A guided visualization is when ms. morton takes you to a place in your imagination. i like those best.” Kitri

“i’m ConvinCEd that EliCiting rElaxation rEsponsE is a powErFul Classroom tEChniquE that unloCks thE CrEativity and wisdom that is inhErEnt in all oF us.”

Chris Morton is a fourth grade teacher at the Kelley Elementary School.


2000 | PoeTry

a summEr walk in maudslEyBy ellen erekson

I start along a wide and rutted path mottled by pebbles and framed by meadow. To the left a smaller path, raised slightly, forms a tier running alongside. Its dirt is compact, hard as pavement, suited for bikes.

The weather has been moody lately like a prepubescent teenager, first sunny, bright, and cheerful then dark and ominous. It releases thunder, lightning, and torrents of rain like emotions erupting under the sheer pressure of growing.

Today is hot. The air is humid. It presses against my body as if possessing its own gravitational force. I strain to move forward as the almost liquid air laden with earthen smells tugs at half remembered images of long forgotten forest walks.

My eyes squint to look in the glare of the overcast sky which is over bright, yet opaque like gray aspic.

I stand on the pathway and gaze across the meadow. A group of spruce and fir trees, a blue green mingle come within my view. I stare. My eyes are drawn to the perfect order of the trees. They stand shoulder to shoulder in careful geometric progression. I wonder if such order is possible in nature. It seems too neat, too deliberate, incongruous against the woodland backdrop. I walk towards, then past these “look to be Christmas trees”, and as I move deeper into the woods, I am swallowed by nature’s richness.

Inside the woods the air is noticeably cooler, the light dimmer. There is a quietness, a hush, broken only by my footsteps and the cadence of natural sounds.

I watch a chipmunk freeze as I near, then skitter across a fallen log finding cover under a blanket of pink and white mountain laurel. I listen while birds speak in staccato voices through a veil of trees.

18 impreSSionS

Up ahead where the road bends I spy a stone bridge. As I approach the sound of rushing greets me. At the bridge I place my hands on the cool surface of the granite wall, and lean over to inspect the stream below. I fix my eyes on the swift water which undaunted by tangles of forest debris races on its downward course to the river.

I turn to go, and spot a tree. The trunk is stripped bare, bleached white as bone with leaden colored ripples spilled across its length.

I wonder if the work was done by some industrious nesting critter, or a child unable to resist the urge to peel away the rough to find the smooth beneath. Surrounding it five pine saplings, joined together, gently caress the lifeless tree. They look like grief children, their tree top heads bowed in silent mourning. I am struck by such a haunting sight.

My thoughts are distracted by the rumble of distant thunder. I look up at the window of sky. Dark serrated edges are etched in the gray. The threat of rain fast becoming a promise fulfilled. Quickly I retrace my steps to seek shelter. I leave the forest now, but take it with me.

Ellen Erekson is a fourth grade teacher at the Brown Elementary School.

2000/2001 | PoeTry

Three stoles hang in the closet together under a sheet, soft and pliant after all these years. One each for my mother and her sisters. They smell of dust and lipstick and cigarettes with a slight animal edge. They take up space; I should sell them, or give them to the local dinner theater. The sisters would laugh at my reluctance, their teeth sparkling and ever so slightly canine. They would take a long drag on their cigarettes, ask whose deal it is, who’s going to make the drinks. They would turn back to their own world, which includes me even less than mine includes them, really.

Bernadette Darnell is the Leaning Lab instructor at Newburyport High School.

thE minksBy Bernadette Darnell


2002 | PersPeCTives

musings on loCal natural history

By John Halloran

i’ve been doing some yard work lately. Actually, to be honest, i’ve mostly been inspecting my wife’s work. The other day my eye caught on the birch by the driveway and the cedars by the back fence. Both of these species, had been hit by ice and frozen snow two winters back; the birch bore scars of the damage, but the cedars had recovered nicely. The difference? Shape.

The birch tends to grow great numbers of lateral branches and each branch subdivides many times. it is costly for a tree to keep its leaves or branch laterally in a north-ern climate while trying to maximize its exposure to the sun. This cost must be balanced by the time and resources required to regrow leaves each year. The scars on my birches and apples reflect that this is an experiential learning process for the tree.

The evergreens manage to keep their leaves all winter and not topple in the ice because of their conical shape. This shape is determined by three to six buds arranged around one center bud. each of these becomes a shoot each spring with the center bud being the topmost shoot and ultimately the tree’s trunk. The other buds become lateral branches growing from the trunk at nearly right angles and giving the entire tree access to the light.

Bernd Heinrich in The Trees in My Forest explains that the trees seem to know the importance of having a leader and will alter a lateral bud, if needed, to become a new leader. The trees practice priorities. The first priority is growth at the apex. Branches are secondary. if trees didn’t set priorities,

then they would stand no chance of reaching the light. This apical dominance typically works and gives trees their shape.

most of the trees in my forest agree with Heinrich, but my backyard cedars and several other trees on my property do not. i’ve often wondered at the failure of apical dominance. in most cases, some sort of accident occurred at the apical shoot, and the tree, while trying to respond, grew multiple new leaders, giving it a lateral crown we call “witches broom.” According to Heinrich, there are two main causes of this “decapitation.” one is a beetle which lays its eggs in the apical bud and the ensuing larvae eat the bud. The other is a failed production of a growth hormone which, in a perfect world, trickles down from the apical bud inhibiting growth in its neighbors and elongating its own cells.

my forest is quite dense which makes it difficult for a tree to reach the canopy and get sufficient light. Those evergreens that have managed to get their share universally show apical dominance, whereas those that haven’t often show failure of this phenomenon. i’m glad to know the causes, but it doesn’t explain my cedars. They are growing along the fence inside an enclosed, cultivated yard. They have an indistinct conical shape and no competition for light. i prefer to think that they just got lazy with all that available light and didn’t pay any attention to their internal chemistry calling for them to “shape up.” i guess that ice storm taught them a lesson. Shape matters to a tree.

“thE trEEs praCtiCE prioritiEs.”

shaPe

20 impreSSionS

2002 | PersPeCTives

i’ve been frequently hearing the sound of woodpeckers lately, but i haven’t seen any during my early morning walks with my dog, nook. However, the thumping of these tree borers resonates through the air. Try as we might, we had yet to see them in action. it sounds as if they are everywhere, but just as we approach a likely tree, we hear activity start up fifty yards away.

The sound seems to be getting louder each day, and i’ve convinced myself that the loud thunking i’m hearing must be caused by a large, pileated woodpecker. The genus to which woodpeckers belong has an awl-shaped bill that hits the tree at 20-25 km/hr. An ordinary brain jarred like this hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of times a day would be reduced to pulp. According to e. o. Wilson in his book, The Diversity of Life, there are two unusual features which allow woodpeckers this unique adaptation. Firstly, he relates that the brain case is made of unusually dense, spongy bone joined with sets of opposing muscles that appear to act as shock-absorbers. Secondly, woodpeckers bring their heads up and down like a metronome in a single plane, thus avoiding

the rotational forces that would skew the brain from side to side and tear it loose from its moorings.”

Two afternoons ago, i finally found one of these elusive creatures. it was high on a dead snag, busily drilling and taking no notice of me. Anchored to the branch with its stiff, wedge-shaped tail, its drilling produced a cloud of dust and chips. Bris-tle-like feathers covered the nostrils and shielded the air passages. i could imagine the long, sticky tongue readying to probe. my expected “Woody”-like pileated was a more common downy or hairy woodpecker. The back lighting of the low sun made it impossible to distinguish the species, but not its activity. i stood, watched, and marveled at this unique set of adaptations. The sap is flowing. Dormancy is ending. Beware bugs!

“an ordinary Brain JarrEd likE this hundrEds, or mayBE EvEn thousands, oF timEs a day would BE rEduCEd to pulp.”

Snow this morning. Heavy and wet. nook, our Chinook pup, waits patiently while i don snowshoes and head toward the fence. The house sparrows are busy at feeders filled yesterday. rations would be short today otherwise.

i beat the branches overlaying the gate to reduce their heavy load. This causes my companion to take some backward leaps. Down toward the apple trees, we go looking for the usual tracks of our deer neighbors. nobody came to eat this morning, neither the deer nor their silent watchful canid followers. it’s a good day to sleep in.

nook bounds toward the woods, stopping for a roll and making a series of “dog angels” in the snow. His exuberance

in winter weather seems to be a response to some inner signal: snow = sled dog = this is your time. usually, he stays close through the network of paths to the trail corridor, but today he romps off, happy to announce to all that he is here. His neck and back snap like a shot as i call him to come, and i reward him with a treat.

The woods are hushed and cathedral-like. The wind and snow make dim background music screened off by the pines. The woods show me no sign of tracks or noise of living things. All is still. The deciduous branches break the visual scene with their sharp tips. many are in bud and refuse to hold the cold snow on their appendages. They seem to say next week is spring. give thanks for the rest of winter; now it is our time.

Tracks — only ours. We return, leaving the cathedral door open.

“thE woods arE hushEd and CathEdral-likE.”

firsT TraCks

sPring WoodPeCkers


2002 | PersPeCTives

Snakes. i’ve been thinking about snakes lately. Some of my reading has invoked memories of past experiences in my life and in the lives of children i’ve known. Fear of snakes is common in adolescence, and, for many, that fear persists throughout adulthood. my experience with my own children seems to confirm the idea that this fear is not inborn, but genetically predisposed to develop in some way. How do we know this?

e. o. Wilson, in Consilience, uses responses to snakes to explain ultimate and proximate causes in biology. proximate causes answer the question of how biological phenomena work, while ultimate causes address why they work. Said differently, “What advantages do the responses create?” Wilson addressed the ultimate cause by referring to studies of old world primates, our close phylogenetic siblings, whose fear of snakes is deep. A unique chattering call emitted by many species seems to distinguish poison-ous from harmless snakes. our nearest relative, the chimpanzee, is unusually apprehensive around snakes, even with no prior experi-ence. This aversion heightens during adolescence, parallel-ing the development of such fears in humans.

my own children were fascinated with snakes in the woodpile as toddlers but now, as older teens, are at best indifferent if not somewhat fearful of a snake encounter. i have had students captivated with observations of a boa

constrictor in the classroom who would scream at the sight of a snake in the field. For myself, i have never been afraid of snakes, but recall boyhood chums who would stone or club any serpent unlucky enough to cross our path. of course i did not grow up where poisonous snakes are common; therefore, can i really draw on my irish heritage and the deeds of St. patrick to explain my lack of fear? i suspect that the last glacial period may have had more to do with the lack of snakes in ireland than St. patrick.

other fears of childhood seem to wane with adolescence while the propensity to fear snakes becomes deep-seated and grows with the slightest provocation. Because biologists have not explored the neural pathways of snake aversion, we do not know its proximate cause. The ultimate cause, the survival value of the aversion, is well understood throughout many cultures and in many places. perhaps we have evolved as a species with a memory of past encounters as a reminder to those of us living today. Snakes are powerful. They can kill; but, if we treat them with respect like any wild animal, perhaps we need not fear.

John Halloran is the K through eight science coordinator.

The serPenT

“For mysElF, i havE nEvEr BEEn aFraid oF snakEs, But rECall Boyhood Chums who would stonE or CluB any sErpEnt unluCky Enough to Cross our path.”

22 impreSSionS

2004 | PersPeCTives

thE sECrEt gardEnBy meg Atkins

Secret garden, was a story i loved as a child. i loved the discovery of the door in the wall by

the forlorn sour mary, the mysterious intervention of the robin, the Dickon’s wisdom about living things, the discovery that underneath the wild tangle of the garden there were living shoots and buds, and finally the sharing of the secret with miraculous results. Last year, we began creating our own secret garden at the Kelley School as we undertook a Schoolyard Habitat project. The results seem almost as miraculous.

in the fall, we were invited, along with other teachers and administrators, to join a project Wild Schoolyard Habitat Work-shop. There were to be two sessions in the fall and one in the spring. in the first two, we learned how other schools had turned parts of their schoolyards into wildlife habitats.

We were assured that no schoolyard was too small. The Kelley staff made eye contact knowingly. Kelley school would indeed be a very small site. The front and the sunny side of the school are bounded by sidewalks with a narrow bank of grass between sidewalk and school. This grass bank already has a planting of shrubs at the front, and a memorial tree and bulbs that come up in the spring, at the side. The back of the school has a wider area of blacktop where parents congre-gate at the end of the school day to pick up their children, and where the children spill out of the backdoor and return in line for morning and lunchtime recesses. Here, also, are old twisted bike racks and the dumpster. on the fourth side, the cold dark side, is a narrow strip of blacktop and a fence separating Kelley from the next door house. nobody ever goes here. Why would they? it is bleak and open to busy High Street. once, i took a class out there to release our painted Lady butterflies. There were a few bushes and a

straggle of weeds by the fence. We released the butterflies, but neither we nor they wanted to linger.

However, our instructor encouraged us to dream a little, and made us aware of some of the possibilities for attracting wildlife through ponds, plantings, and birdfeeders, and the richness of such projects in learning activities in all areas of the curriculum: writing, math, history, mapskills, art, not just science. in this the planning phase we were re-

minded of the importance of getting the children and parents involved from the start, and forming a steering committee. more nitty- gritty advice about making inventories and maps of the site, using local resources, doing fund raising, imple-menting the plan, and main-taining the site, would be covered in the April session.

An actual wildlife habitat in Kelley’s school-yard did seem just a dream

in the distant future, until, shortly after these first two

sessions, the Schoolyard Habitat project appeared on a faculty meeting agenda. our principal announced that she had applied for and been awarded a $7,000 grant for the project. What was

more, and most serendipitous, a new part time member of the faculty, was discovered to have expertise in landscape design, and was willing to take part in the project. We also learned that the grant money must be spent by the end of the school year, so we needed to get busy!

A timeline was sketched out and the entire staff agreed to get their classes involved in the project. Teachers took their classes outside and the area around Kelley was surveyed and mapped, possible wildlife was researched, and ideas were brainstormed and recorded.

As April vacation approached, and beyond it mCAS and end of the year assessments and activities loomed, a new timeline was necessary. it was decided that the only

“wE wErE assurEd that no sChoolyard

was too small.”

a

penny Lazarus, one of our ‘Dickons’ working with a group of 1st graders in the Habitat.


2004 | PersPeCTives

place for the Habitat was on the cold dark side. However, the City’s DpW had agreed to rip up the blacktop over April Vacation. it was decided that we should have an assembly for each class to present what it had been doing, and that after the assembly each child would buddy up with a child from another grade level and show on a map what they would like the habitat to look like. our landscape design staff member would look through these ideas over vacation and incorporate as many as she could into a viable plan.

After vacation, the staff was shown her plan. The children wanted a pond, but this was full of complica-tions so she had abandoned the idea. After all, we had Frog pond available on our doorstep. All the other ideas, however, she had been able to ac-commodate. She turned over her land-scape designer’s professionally plotted blueprint plan for us to see.

First, she felt we needed to block off High street so there would be an L-shaped fence there with a gate. next, at the top end there would be a trellis to screen the dumpster and with peepholes in it for viewing nest boxes, bird feeders, and birdbaths. Then, there would be a peastone path lead-

ing from the gate to the edge of the trellis which would define a pattern of rectilinear beds, swelling in the middle of the area into a space where there would be benches so a class could gather. The rectangular beds would be planted with shrubs and ground cover chosen with wildlife in mind. There would also be three great granite

rocks as sitting places, and, of course, places for birdbaths, nesting boxes, and feeders, and a place for a weather station.

We had only praise for the plan. i particularly liked the way the Habitat was enclosed, yet invited entry with its gate and peepholes. i also liked the rectilinear pattern of the space, more formal than a winding path, yet somehow in keeping with the formality of the school building and High Street.

The Saturday before school got out was set as the plant-in date.

The intervening weekends and Wednesday afternoons were slated as workdays for parent volunteers with strong muscles, under the supervision and direction of our landscaper, to prepare the ground and lay out the paths and beds. The rest of us, for the most part, went about our hectic may/June schedule.

one day, though, during recess, each class spent time picking up rocks and stones from the dirt under the blacktop. We were also aware of piles of topsoil and peastone appearing, and one day a bulldozer working back and forth muddily. The fencing on High Street went up. A trellis ap-peared in the basement. much work with pickaxe, wheelbarrow, and rake went on unseen by those of us inside.

on Wednesdays, there was mud on the stairs.

i went out to give an hour’s labor one Wednesday and was set to filling in soil behind the thick black plastic edging which was beginning to define the boundaries of path and border. Sweating heavily, i leveled the short

piece of path from the gate and backfilled the plastic edg-ing on either side of it. What had once seemed such a small space to turn into our Habitat, grew larger by the minute, and the overall task we had set ourselves became daunting. Yet, when the three great granite rocks were placed, and the peastone path began to be laid, i took to looking out of my classroom window regularly and with growing excitement. i looked forward to the fast approaching plant-in date. Also unseen, many parents went down to the Birdwatcher store at the traffic circle and signed off on a wish list of butterfly boxes, birdfeeders and birdboxes, and other equipment for the habitat.

plant-in Saturday came and went. it was not to be. Like other weekends during this may and June, the weather did not cooperate and the plant-in was postponed to the day after school was out. By contrast, this turned out to be one of the hottest days of the season so far. But the trellis was up, a birdbath placed, and a steady stream of families, teach-ers, principal, and Steve grinley from the Birdwatcher, came at one time of the day or another to dig those big holes

“an aCtual wildliFE haBitat in kEllEy’s sChoolyard did sEEm Just a drEam in thE distant FuturE…”

gretchen Joy, landscape designer, part time librarian Kelley School 2001 - 2002

“a timElinE was skEtChEd out and thE EntirE staFF agrEEd to gEt thEir ClassEs involvEd in thE proJECt.”

24 impreSSionS

2004 | PersPeCTives

two feet across and one foot deep or cart in a shrub and the topsoil to surround it or work on hands and knees to put in ground cover or ferns. A kin-dergartener and i even planted some bulbs dug up from the old fence border. By 5:00 p.m. the plant-in was complete, the planters empty, the tools stacked, and the site made tidy for the night. We left, some for the summer, some till the next day, all tired but satisfied.

The following day was bright and sunny again. Several of us had come in early to finish our end of the year class-room or office cleanups. As if by common consent the word went round, “meet for coffee in the Habitat.” As we sat in the sun on chairs from the kindergarten classroom, with our backs to the wall of the school looking down into the garden and enjoying its tranquillity, it was then that i real-ized we had created our own secret garden. it was a place full of potential, a place that invited discoveries and new views.

Looking down the Habitat to the fence on High Street, the morning sun struck the three great granite rocks which beckoned saying, “Come sit on me and contemplate. Come write a Haiku.”

Once it was blacktop.Now the sun slides over rocks,Shrubs, plants, through trellis.i looked up and noticed the dome of St. paul’s episcopal

Church framed by a tree. i would like to paint that, i thought. i looked along the old fence and noticed the variety of trees in the neighbor’s yard making a play of shadows on the cream clapboard walls of the house. What fun we will have leaf collecting and categorizing in the fall, i thought. Then, near

where we sat, the sunlight glinted refreshingly on the water in the birdbath, and created a geometric pattern of diamonds on the beds and path through the trellis. i picked up a hand-ful of peastone pebbles. How many in a handful? How many handfuls in a shovelful? How many shovelfuls in a barrowful? How many barrowfuls had we tipped and raked?

Dreamily, i stopped this line of thought, and enjoyed the camaraderie of the moment in the sun. i felt sure that this Habitat which had so quickly invited us in would also draw in birds and other creatures, and, for Kelley students next year and in the future, become a special place, the Kelley’s secret garden. once we teachers began sharing the Habitat with our classes, i felt sure there would be wonderful results.

June, 2002 — meg Atkins

“swEating hEavily, i lEvElEd thE short piECE oF path From thE gatE and BaCkFillEd thE plastiC Edging on EithEr sidE oF it.”

our Kelley School Habitat – June 2002 – The day after the plant-in

We are now two thirds of the way through our first year with our Schoolyard Habitat. over the summer the watering system worked and the new plants and shrubs in the Habitat thrived. in September, the carefully chosen wrought iron benches, the birdboxes, birdfeeders, and weather station equipment were in place, but the steering committee was gone or in the process of going.

Fortunately, the new principal of Kelley, though not a gardener, didn’t let the project falter. The Habitat was dedicated in october. We teachers were encouraged to apply

for a newburyport education Business Coalition grant to help get needed supplies for the Habitat. We were award-ed $1,000. Then two parent volunteers were recruited to coordinate the care and maintenance of the Habitat, and liaise with the teachers. The parents are proving to be as empa-thetic and nature wise as ever Dickon was in the Secret gar-den story. They have organized a calendar of activities, have taken small groups of students into the Habitat to plant bulbs, rake, set up a ladybug house, and listen to bird songs. They are knowledgeable about plants and trees and composting.


2004 | PersPeCTives

They are actively soliciting donations and discounts on supplies from area companies to eke out our funds.

Just as i hoped, wildlife and Kelley students are enjoying the new Habitat. on those warm afternoons we had in early fall, classes could be seen out on the benches taking their D. e. A. r. time. our counsellor even had a picnic lunch there with a group of students. in December, the conifer was decorated with cheerio and cranberry chains, and citrus fruit rings, for the birds. each class has helped with the tasks of keeping the birdfeeders filled, raking leaves, and clearing the path of snow. Kindergarteners have been mak-ing monthly visits and documenting these with a digital camera. my class did collect leaves in the Habitat and categorize them. We also released our painted Lady butterflies

there. This time some of the butterflies lingered and were discovered in the Habitat by another class later in the day. one day, while learning how to use the weather equipment in the Habitat, we caught a close up view of a Downy Woodpecker when it flew down and pecked at the suet feeder. We discovered beautiful lantern-shaped seed-pods on a tree. research by one of our ‘Dickons’ revealed that it is an imported golden rain tree. it has stood there unnoticed all these years. more recently,

from the classroom window by the Habitat, we sighted more than fifteen American robins in a nearby maple. We, like they, can’t wait for the snow to thaw and spring to come to the Habitat.

march, 2003Meg Atkins is a second grade teacher at the Kelley School.

Kindergarteners in the Habitat in September 2002

in April, 2004, in the second full year of the Habitat, the Kelley Schoolyard Habitat received the massachusetts Secretary’s Award for excellence in environmental education. At an assembly in April, representative michael Costello came to Kelley to present the certificate of excellence.

PosTsCriPT

26 impreSSionS

2004 | insighTs

lovE thE momEntBy michael J. Jacobson

was standing in the hallway of our school last Friday and i had a moment. You know, one of those moments when

you appreciate your life and all it entails. god knows that these moments are far too rare. most days we spend our time stressed out and frustrated over what is wrong. We worry about what needs to get done or what should or shouldn’t be. my moment was so powerful that i made a point of going from person to person on our staff and faculty, as well as parent/community volunteers in the building at the time, to share my joy.

people are not used to this kind of behavior. They weren’t sure what i was doing.

“What’s he up to?”“What does he want or need from me?”“He looks so emotional.”“is he going to cry?”We are so unaccustomed to positive energy that it makes

people nervous. What does that say about us as we go about our daily lives? i believe that we need to stop occasionally and reflect on who we are, what we do, and how successful we are at doing it.

What was it that allowed me this positive moment? i was out in the hallway so i could speak to a parent who had walked in the door. When i looked down the hall, i saw my librarian speaking with our Director of World Languages and the Spanish teachers from the Brown and Bresnahan Schools. They were smiling and sharing a collegial moment. When i looked to my right, i saw our technology integrator sitting in a first grade teacher’s room. They were at the computer station in the classroom and looking at a piece of software that would support our curriculum in the teacher’s lesson plan. i turned around and saw my secretary, school nurse, and our crossing guard sharing a moment together before the kids arrived in the building. They were laughing. Laughing! The office can be the craziest place in a school and is filled with difficult moments. They were laughing. i moved to the first floor and observed my custodians working with our occupational and physical therapists in an attempt to

make their classroom less crowded and more appropriate for the jobs they need to accomplish in that space. i found our physical education teacher meeting with our third grade teachers on a curriculum designed to get our students outside and exercising while studying the city from a social studies, science, and sense of place perspective.

i could go on and on about what i was allowing myself to see. This was a truly authentic and alternative evaluation and observation of our school. i could not have been more proud. There are days when i wonder why i do this for a living, times when i second-guess myself and miss what is going on around me. This was not one of those days! When i opened my eyes, i witnessed a school where staff, faculty, parents, and community members were working together, in an upbeat and positive way, to do what is best for our kids. i felt like i had fallen in love. What a powerful moment! i could not share my moment fast enough. The building began to buzz with an energy so strong that it had to be felt by everyone. This is a great school. our kids are wonderful and treat each other with dignity and respect. The staff and faculty, as well as parents and community representatives, model this respect for all our students in the truly humane and dignified way they work with each other. i thought to myself, “mike, you are a very good principal.” That thought did not embarrass me. i just enjoyed the moment.

Days later, the librarian gave me a card. it read, “Love the moment and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.” That is a quote from Corita Kent, an American muralist and printmaker, and i’m telling you, it works. give it try.

Michael J. Jacobson is the principal of the Brown Elementary School.

i “lovE thE momEnt and thE EnErgy oF that momEnt will sprEad BEyond all BoundariEs.”

— Corita kEnt


2004 | PoeTry

Ten thousand dollar signing bonuses for new hires Make me want to puke. What do you get for stickin’ it out? Just one more rebuke?

Who rewards the faithful For service they sustain; Masters of their craft and art Who quality maintain?

How about a cash award For us who’ve built your rep? Ten thousand dollars sounds real good; What’s this? Did I o’er step?

You question how professional? How dedicated, too? You teach for money? It’s a job? Oh, that just can’t be true!

So some young whelp who passed a test Will get a chunk of cash To sign upon the dotted line And quit when two years pass.

For us who’ve been here teaching For fifteen years or more, They’ll have to use a crowbar To get us out the door!

So how about a wad o’ dough For those with staying power; A prize for being tried and true A lifetime; not an hour?

whitE pEarBy Vicki Hendrickson

No such thing. Peach is what you’re thinking. White peach as in Hemingway’s Venice, As in Harry’s Bar and Bellini’s White peach juice and champagne.

Oh hell. Pear. Peach. Blackberry. It doesn’t matter.

Rather, take me to Venice. Stay with me through an autumn of Vivaldi sunsets. And let’s not give a damn about anything save music and mouth and sky.

o pEarBy Vicki Hendrickson

O Pear! Would that I had your shiny, pale-green skin. Instead, I have your hips.

whEn paymEnt’s duEBy Sue Creed

Sue Creed is a fifth and sixth grade special needs teacher at the Nock Middle School.

Vicki Hendrickson is the director of the Newburyport Center for Adult Education.

28 impreSSionS

2004 | illusTraTion

James Marshall is a retired seventh grade language arts teacher and contributing illustrator for Impressions.


2005 | PhoTograPhy

whilE driving through walEsBy Aileen maconi

30 impreSSionS

2005 | PhoTograPhy

Aileen Maconi is an art teacher at Newburyport High School.


2012 | refleCTions

niCkBy Joni Annas Vetne

have a student, nick, who is an average guy. He has learning disabilities, which, i know, have defeated him

in more ways than the not-insignificant nature of those disabilities. He has little confidence in his academic abili-ties, he thinks all books are “too long,” and he can become easily defeated when faced with a daunting assignment. nick has been in my co-taught english classes, but last year and this year, he is in my learning center history class. Learning center classes are smaller classes geared toward students with more significant learning disabilities. i truly believe that if nick had more confidence and if he would persevere more consistently through the regular curriculum, he would be successful. But i also know he WiLL be successful in my class.

nick is the shining star in my class. He completes his assignments, he retains information, and he invests himself in the projects i assign. He likes history and always asks pertinent questions. He did a research paper last year on whether Brown v. Board of education worked: do black students receive the same edu-cation as white students in racially mixed communities? He’s interested in race relations and civil rights.

At some point last year, i taught my students about Juneteenth, a Texas holiday to commemorate the fact that it took two and a half years for Texas slaves to be informed of the emancipation proclamation. Although i’ve read that it was June 19 when someone rode into Texas and, in effect, said, “Hey, you guys! You’re free!” i’ve also read that it happened “sometime in June,” and so the holiday is called Juneteenth.

Today, in class, while we were discussing urban cul-tural life in the late 1800s, i mentioned that it was mark Twain’s birthday and that Huckleberry Finn was published during this period. And then... and then.... nick said this:

“mrs. Vetne? Do you think mark Twain was referring to Juneteenth when he wrote Huck Finn because Jim was actually free for a long time but he kept running, afraid he would be caught? Jim might represent Juneteenth.”

i asked where he got that idea. He said he thought of it right that minute. my jaw, i know, dropped.

i have taught Huck Finn many times. it is my favorite book to teach. When Huck “humbles himself ” to Jim, i get a

tingly feeling and i read that passage several times to my stu-dents. it is this turning point, in my mind, that makes Huck Finn noT the racist novel it has often been por-trayed to be. But i never, never, ever even considered that Jim could be a metaphor for an historical event.

And this is the kind of moment that will keep me coming back into the classroom

for as long as i can. These moments are few and far between. i feel as though i used to have important moments like these more often and i sometimes wonder if i’ve just become inured to them. Am i just too tired or stale in my teaching to even notice anymore? maybe. But it

is hearing a question like this, a superior question that one could wrap a master’s thesis around coming from my “average guy,” nick, that makes me so selfishly glad to be who i am and doing what i do.

i told nick how impressed i was with his idea and i’m sure he could see it in my eyes and on my face just how intrigued

i was with his idea and how proud i was of him. i hope, someday in the future, he will remember just how bril-liant he was today. i hope, someday, when he might be let-ting those learning disabilities get the best of him, he will remember the look on my face today and he will know that he is capable of great things. my nick isn’t so “average” any more.

“…this is thE kind oF momEnt that will kEEp

mE Coming BaCk into thE Classroom For as

long as i Can.”

i

Joni Annas Vetne is a special education teacher of English and history at Newburyport High School.

32 impreSSionS

2005 | PoeTry

thE rounds oF tEsting(sung to the tune of “The Sounds of Silence”) with sincere apologies to Paul Simon,

whose SAT scores probably weren’t as good as they should have been

By Deborah Szabo

Hello MCAS, my old friend, I’ve got to teach to you again, Because the frameworks every year have changed, Leaving us teachers feeling more deranged, Yet the vision of a class where learning reigns Still remains Buried in the rounds of testing.

In restless dreams I teach alone, Without TV or telephone, And I subordinate technology To my old-fashioned creativity, And the only flash I see is the flash of an open mind, Not the kind Measured by the rounds of testing.

Although the SATs now claim The newer, better test will aim To judge how well students can think and write, How they’ll be graded has not come to light, Still we teachers try to make our kids’ scores hit some mark In the dark, Baffled by new rounds of testing.

“Schools,” say I, “We all should know Are designed to help kids grow.” So what matter if our AYP Isn’t exactly where it ought to be, Or our scores on the Terra Novas fall? Should we all Defer to rounds of testing?

And school officials bow and pray That scores will bring some funds our way, While the standards we’re supposed to reach Are set by bureaucrats who’d never teach, And testing firms say, “We see lots of profits to be made there in classroom halls, Better than malls… Money lurks in rounds of testing.”

So we need only look to see, What seems quite elementary, We have to model what we know is right, That education should involve delight, And the answers to all life’s questions won’t be A., B., C., or D., So, artfully, Square off with the rounds of testing.

Deborah Szabo teaches English and creative writing at Newburyport High School.

Celebrating in 2013 - Newburyport Public Schools

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