While poring over miscellaneous scraps of paper from my
past recently, I encountered an eighth-grade history test, replete with both a matching
column and "True or False" section. Mr. C, I’ll call him, hand wrote the test and
had it mimeographed. That was the technology of the mid-1970s. One of the questions on it was: “In 1924 the first pizza
parlor in America was opened by Sacco and Vanzetti?” I’m proud to report that I
got the answer right as well as the previous question: “The 1920’s was a time
of great hardship and depression?” As for the former test query, Mr. C, I
suspect, would have to think twice today about associating an Italian
surname with pizza pie. I'm certain somebody would turn him in for the offense—and toot sweet. Then again, everything is so standardized nowadays that a Mr. C history test—we called it "Social Studies" back then—wouldn't even reach the modern-day equivalent of the mimeograph machine.
Another snippet of paper in my archives was a handwritten
summary of the "Best of Mr. O’B," my geometry teacher in high school. While I
didn’t care much for the subject matter, Mr. O’B was a true original—both a good teacher and a
performance artist extraordinaire. When the school year ended, and he reported
that he wouldn’t be returning in the fall for another go-round—he got
a better offer—I recall being profoundly saddened to think that I would never, ever see
him again. His lectures were entertainingly frenetic and he loved nothing more
than having fun with people’s names—both their first and their last. He was an Irishman who,
above all else, enjoyed calling on kids with multi-syllabic Italian
surnames. We had an awful lot of them in our high school. Somebody named Vanzetti in his class, for instance, would have had his name
pronounced in a melodious sing-song:“VAN-zet-TI.” He liked one-syllable first and last names, too. A kid named “Bell,” I remember, rang well in the classroom.
From where I—and just about everybody else—sat, Mr. O'B's class is where entertainment met education, and his antics didn’t offend anybody. In fact, we wanted to be included in the show. "Oh, Nick...oh, Nick," are in my notes, so I was indeed, although I don't recall the context. More than
three decades have passed since the Mr. O'B show and—so it seems—virtually everybody is conditioned to be offended for
one reason or another. Mr. O’B very likely had to clean up his act at some
point in his teaching career, if that is where he pitched his tent. (He
probably was in his mid-twenties when I had him.) If this is what in fact happened, the
irony is that his students from the 1970s—who adored him—did him in as the humorless, uptight adults they became.
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