Old School

It's municipal election day across Ontario. The polling station where I voted was in the very school that I attended from Kindergarten to Grade Eight. I've set the Wayback Machine for the spring of 1963. Lester B Pearson was Prime Minister of Canada. John F Kennedy was President of the United States. It was recess time and my classmate Wayne and I were deep in discussion about one of the issues of the day. Wayne loved talking about current events; he was much more up on it that I was. Wayne was also more articulate and a better debater than me, but I never understood why his grades weren't better than mine.

We were interrupted by a shrill, stentorian voice. "What are you doing here!" It was Mrs. T, the walking definition of the stereotypical "old bat" schoolmarm. The school had two entrances designated as "Girls" and "Boys." So also was the schoolyard divided into girls' and boys' sides. Wayne and I hadn't watched where we were going and had inadvertently wandered onto the girls' side. This was an eggregious faux pas. For some reason, seregating the girls and boys outside the classoom was deemed crucial by the educators of the time.

"Who's your teacher," she demanded of us. "Mr. Scott," we replied. "Well, since you like it on the girls' side so much, I expect to see you lined up with Mr. Scott's girls when class is called back in!" The only way she could embarass us more was to demand that we go into class naked. "I don't know about you but I'm not doing it," Wayne said. I had never bucked authority before, but I was so impressed with Wayne's fortitude that I joined my companion in defying Mrs. T. We went back into class with our fellow boys, acting like nothing had happened.

It wasn't long before Mrs. T came to speak to Mr. Scott and we we summoned into the hallway. We were told to apoligize to Mrs T and Mr Scott assured her we would be dealt with. I think Mr. Scott was inwardly chuckling his bald head off. He was a very kind man, a passionate teacher and in no sense a disciplinarian. We were given a week's detention for half an hour after school. On the first day Mr. Scott explained that we should never be rude to our elders. He also pointed out that we would be going to high school in September and if we wanted he would give us a head start on the subjects. We accepted his offer.

Mr. Scott taught us algebra, French, physics and chemistry. When the week was over, we asked him if he would be willing to continue the lessons for the rest of the school year. He obliged, and when we told our classmates what was happening, about a dozen asked to join in and stay after class. When I started high school, the first months were a breeze because of the prep work Mr. Scott has given us. I heard a while ago that Mr. Scott had departed this mortal coil. If there's a place in heaven for wonderful teachers, he's surely its principal.

When I showed up at the school to vote, I defiantly strode up to the Girls' door. It was locked. The main entrance is now the Boys' door. I wondered how they knew that 43 years later I would be looking to redress an old injustice.