One year ago, I traveled home to attend a funeral to say goodbye to my English teacher, Mrs. Jallo.
I haven’t been in high school for over 25 years and I still can’t call her Nancy; and I still can’t believe she’s gone.
My first column I shared with you earlier this year on March 4, entitled “I’ve always been a writer” gave her a nod as I couldn’t imagine being confident enough sharing my stories with you had it not been for her.
In that column I wrote, “From elementary on, I enjoyed writing assignments, tried creating my own family newsletter and wrote short stories and poetry. My high school English teacher not only encouraged me, she believed in me. She entered some of my stories into a Midwest high school newspaper and not only did I become published, I won my first writing award. Mrs. J always said ‘write as much as you want, we can edit later.’”
The Clifford-Galesburg High School in eastern North Dakota was torn down many years ago, but in my mind it’s so easy to find myself in her third-floor classroom in the second row in the second desk. I heard so many horror stories of her as she wasn’t my brother’s favorite teacher (or should I say English wasn’t his favorite subject?), but to me, she was the best of the best.
During my high school years, I always looked forward to her class. We listened to Shakespeare on an old record player; read many novels including The Pigman, The Lord of the Flies, And Then There were None, and Of Mice and Men (her pop quizzes were very detailed so you had to read carefully); recited the Gettysburg Address in front of our class of 12 (I thought she would have a canary the way I sped through the first part); diagramed sentences; learned the rules of navigating our English language; celebrated Shakespeare’s birthday (she supplied the cake!), watched movies like Beetlejuice at Halloween (she loved the makeup and costumes AND she made us monster cookies!) and listened to her speak fondly of Sylvester Stallone.
But outside the classroom, she was our yearbook staff advisor, a class advisor, our prom coordinator and our theatre producer. We learned she was tough, but fair, enjoyed Tab pop, Oreos, and Nike shoes. I can still visit the old Clifford elementary school and stand on the very stage she turned students into actors through numerous plays and musicals. I only participated once for the production of the musical Bye Bye Birdie, but her constant reminder to me was to SLOW DOWN (as I liked to talk fast) and PRO-NUN-CI-ATE!
Part of me will always be in her classroom. I will always see Mrs. J walking in the rows between our desks, twirling a flyswatter on her finger creating that whirring noise, then SMACK! She’d hit a desk. Sometimes she’d throw erasers at us to snap us back into attention. She always commanded the stage, if you will, and dressed the part of a respected teacher wearing skirts and blazers and we always heard the clickety clack of her high heels on the wooden floors throughout the school.
Last year, Mrs. J spent a lot of time in medical care. When she decided to come back home, the highway of Mayville-Portland was lined with community members welcoming her back. She was escorted by the local fire trucks and drove past the very school she taught in for the past seven years.
Meanwhile, I was here in Bowman wearing pink just for her and posting my support on facebook where others were sharing their stories and memories of this amazing lady who touched so many lives.
The last thing I wrote for her was on a card that accompanied flowers a couple of classmates and I had delivered to her home.
I simply said to her, “We loved you then. We love you now. We’ll love you forever.”
I have many regrets of time not taken to stop, check in, and say thank you. But a part of her will always live in me.
Love you forever, Mrs. J.
