Requiem for a Math Teacher

There was a discussion on Facebook the other day about an incident which I witnessed when I was in the ninth grade. The family had moved to Chillicothe, Ohio from the Cleveland area less than six months previously. While in Cleveland in the seventh and eighth grade, we were taught math from a curriculum developed in one of the local school systems. When we moved to Chillicothe, I eventually came to the conclusion that we were being taught the equivalent of Algebra II in our classroom in Cleveland.

So, I was assigned to take Algebra I in a classroom in an older junior high school along with people I knew little about. One morning, the teacher dropped dead. Plain and simple. The teacher dropped dead. Here, forty six years later, the incident came up on Facebook. I left a link to the first chapter of a book I had written which dealt with the incident. Since the link to Tumblr didn't pan out for some of those people, I am re-posting the story here on my blog. Enjoy:

The Seed

Dreary.

Except for the prospect of attending the annual football grudge match between Magnolia and Pomeroy, Dan Stevens’ morning was dreary. He was already having trouble understanding Mr. Tate’s introduction to algebra class and it was only the first week of school. Dan copied some incomprehensible scribble on the blackboard while his teacher was on his way to explain the problem one on one with him.

Dan didn’t quite understand why Richard Tate was face down on the floor next to his desk, his body twitching while life ebbed out of it.

Dan sat helpless while the world around him swirled into action. Jim Carter almost immediately bolted from his seat and running pell-mell to the school office to report the emergency. Several screams erupted from different parts of the room. In moments, most of the students were out of their seats, either leaving the room or gathering transfixed at the body in the middle of the classroom.

In less than two minutes, students were being ushered out into the hallway while the school nurse and several of the other teachers rushed in, only to be just as helpless as Dan and his classmates. Sirens from the squad were heard, coming in from the firehouse on the north end of Magnolia.

Dan closed his eyes. “This is death,” he thought. He took a deep breath. It seemed to him that somehow the spirit of the man lying next to him touched him momentarily. “It’s okay to let go.”

Dan felt the soft touch of a woman’s fingers on his elbow. “We need to go, now. The squad needs room to work. It’s all right.”

Once clear of the confusion in the room, he realized that Miss Elston, the history teacher, had led him out just before the ambulance people came in. “Live life to the fullest,” she advised him later that year. “You never know when you’ll be called home.”

The funeral was held the following Wednesday afternoon. School dismissed early so Mr. Tate’s students could attend. Reverend Kellough from the Community Baptist Church conducted the service. After the funeral, Dan went to the Pastor’s Study to ask the old preacher why.

Pastor invited the young man in.  The room was dominated by a large oak desk sitting parallel to a wall stacked floor to ceiling with books. Off to Dan’s right was a low credenza with a coffee pot along with several cups for visitors to use. To the left was a window overlooking a small parking lot.

“Please, have a seat.”

There was a pair of large chairs framed in wood, upholstered in leather, facing the imposing desk. Dan sat in the chair on the left.

“I understand that you were next to Richard when he died.”

“Mister Tate? Yes sir. I was there.”

Pastor smiled. “He was a good man. He worked hard to provide for his family. Unfortunately, he worked almost too hard. You know that he would teach nights at the prison in Chillicothe, don’t you?”

“No sir, I did not.”

“It’s okay.  It was his time.  You never know when you’ll be called home. You need to live your life to its fullest.”

They talked for the better part of an hour. The only reason they stopped was that the pastor had to preach at the regular Wednesday evening service.

Daniel Stevens took the advice to heart. There was a spark in him which would not quit. He may have earned the reputation of being a hellion during the next four years of his life, but he was also blessed with good sense – perhaps even with better luck. Pastor’s study became his refuge when he was genuinely troubled.

“There are three things in life which will always be true,” Pastor would keep telling him. “For one, there will always be taxes. Second of all, we will all eventually die. Finally, wherever we go in life, we will inevitably come right back here to Magnolia.”

“Right…” Daniel would always reply. “When I get out of high school, I am so out of this burg that it’ll make your head spin.”

The Reverend Ezra Kellough would just smile. He knew what would happen. It was only a matter of time.

(By the way, Mr. Tate was the name of my math teacher at Middleburg Heights Junior High in the seventh and eighth grade before we moved.  Be Seeing You!)