FOUNDER’S LETTER

from Greenwich - September 2021

by Moffly Media

POSTSCRIPT

founder’s page

SEPTEMBER 2021 / DONNA MOFFLY

I reported this to my father … and he sent the FBI to school to investigate her. OF TEACHERS AND LESSONS LEARNED

It’s a new school year, a good time to reflect on what our teachers mean to us.

Long long ago, I was a “lifer” (K-12) at Hathaway Brown School in Cleveland— starting in kindergarten when I chose H.B. over Laurel, the rival girls’ school, because it had a bigger dollhouse. Like everybody else, I had my favorite teachers and my not-so's, but they taught me sundry skills well beyond academics. Some examples: BEING UNDERSTANDING—During one rest period in first grade, for a change of pace I carefully spread my blanket under a doubledecker trolley of Mason jars full of paint for art class. Except I woke up, sat up, knocked the thing over and made a giant multicolored mess. I was grief-stricken, but Miss Van Houghton was all comfort and forgiveness— something to remember, especially when I had children. Accidents do happen. MAKING DECISIONS—When it came time to choose what to learn next, my piano teacher Mrs. Schneider would play three pieces and let me decide. No, no, definitely not that pizzicato, I told her at age seven, because “it sounded like a beetle peeing on a leaf.” I was more the “Malaguena” type. I loved having a voice in my own destiny. ESCAPING REALITY—In upper school Miss Thompson, a frazzled French teacher, was always rushing around looking for somebody. She snagged me before class one morning and breathlessly asked, “Have you seen Donna Clegg?” “Yes,” I answered, pointing down the hall. “She went that way.” And off the poor soul went in hot pursuit of— me! I’d learned how to be an artful dodger. SHARING STORIES—Then there was Miss Cleveland (yup, her real name), a wonderful old English teacher from whom I learned the magic of storytelling—probably the reason I still love my job today. Every so often she’d come out of retirement to tell us tales from Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad. We were spellbound. ACCEPTING OTHERS—From our chemistry teacher Mrs. Kerti, I became intrigued with other cultures. After escaping from Germany during World War II, she’d found a job teaching at a girls’ school in Turkey—a real challenge. To get a grip on what they already knew, she’d ask them things like, “Do you know what H2O means?” Though clueless, they’d all say yes, because it was considered impolite to say no. Weird, fascinating and wonderful. KEEPING A LID ON—Probably trying to get our attention, our Latin teacher Miss Blake said that “there ought to be a war in this country” so we’d appreciate what the Romans had to go through. Hmm. I reported this to my father, an exec with TRW, a company that supplied the defense industry, and he sent the

FBI to school to investigate her. Me and my big mouth. I dropped Latin senior year. FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS—Our upper school English teacher was just plain scary— tough and a stickler for rules. Miss Bruce should’ve been a college professor. When she asked us to write 800 words about something we were familiar with, for some mad reason I wrote about a guy escaping from a Nazi concentration camp. I still remember her announcing for all to hear: “D for the day, Clegg!” Now I’m a stickler about assignments— and have given plenty of them. (As an aside: When I was an editor of our yearbook, I had to call her one weekend over a pressing matter, except I was staying at a friend’s house. “Sure,” said my hostess. “You can use Bobo’s phone.” With fear and trepidation, I dialed. What I didn’t know was that her grandfather was deaf as a post and my “friend” had turned the volume up full blast. So when Miss Bruce bellowed “HELLO!!!”, my heart stood still.) NEGOTIATING SUCCESSFULLY— Tradition had it that seniors gave parties for their classmates, and six of us had banded together to give a dance at the Union Club. Miss Coburn, the headmistress, called me into her office and said the granddaughter of the chairman of the board would be in town and asked if she could be invited. I’d met the girl, liked her and said we’d be delighted to have her join us if we could make a deal. When we went out to lunch on Fridays (a senior privilege), we wanted to be able to wear lipstick and loafers instead of tied shoes. Shocked, Miss Coburn called my mother. “Do you know the stunt Donna just pulled?” “That’s not my problem,” Mother told her. “YOU deal with Donna.” We got lipstick and loafers, and the young lady had a lovely time.

For sure I learned more than academics from my teachers, but on at least one occasion, I think I taught them something, too—how to change a tire. Senior year we were allowed to bring cars to school, and one day I had a flat right by the main entrance. Fortunately, after we Clegg kids got our drivers’ licenses, Dad had insisted we take tire-changing lessons at the company garage, so I was prepared—and drew quite an audience.

Anyway, here’s to our wonderful teachers and, thanks to them, all the “extras” that we can take with us for a lifetime. G