Teaching the lessons of life, armed with knowledge, compassion and love
We've heard a lot of discussion recently about how classroom teachers can be helpful in providing a level of defense against armed intruders in a school.
This would be on top of their existing duties as instructors, counselors, confidants, liaisons, organizers, subject experts, witnesses to social ills, innovators and, you know, having home lives.
I'm here to offer another perspective: Let's give teachers — and schools, in general — the support they need to be even better at what they already do, and let's help them help our kids become the best adults possible.
And then, let's thank them for doing great work.
You might remember that we used to do things this way, long before anyone thought a firearm in a grade-school classroom was a reasonable idea.
So, I'm taking a few minutes to thank a few of those people for making a positive difference, even without a nearby weapon. They were armed with the knowledge, skills and personalities to create better people.
Bless them all, and the teachers who made a difference for you.
The teachers and staff of Mole Lake Elementary School.
From kindergarten through fifth grade, my formal education was done in an old, white building near the corner of State 55 and County Road M, about eight miles south of Crandon. It housed a wonderful school of 70 or 80 kids during my time there, when it was a K-6 facility.
The building was taken by a fire in the summer of 2010, but had been closed since the early 1990s.
But in the early to middle 1960s, I couldn't have been luckier to be in the classrooms of Flossie Schallock, Inez Cedzo, Jeanne Kochenderfer and others.
There was no better place to begin exploration of reading, writing and arithmetic.
And it's just not possible to find a better playground, surrounded by the fragrance of pines, open spaces and young, fertile imaginations.
It was love at first sight.
I've written about the most emotional day we endured there, but I don't know that I can write enough about the great days.
The way we were treated as pupils. They way we were fed. The way we knew to pay attention when we had kindergarten story time in mid-afternoon. The human kindness showed to one kindergarten classmate when he stood up after one of those stories, exposing the truth of a puddle of urine where he sat on the floor.
We had a flag football team, a basketball team, and a Little League team. We did school Christmas concerts, PTO meetings and open-house events. Our school janitor helped with the cooking, and he drove one of our two school buses.
The building was taken by a fire in the summer of 2010, but had been closed since the early 1990s.
There was no better place to begin exploration of reading, writing and arithmetic.
And it's just not possible to find a better playground, surrounded by the fragrance of pines, open spaces and young, fertile imaginations.
It was love at first sight.
The way we were treated as pupils. They way we were fed. The way we knew to pay attention when we had kindergarten story time in mid-afternoon. The human kindness showed to one kindergarten classmate when he stood up after one of those stories, exposing the truth of a puddle of urine where he sat on the floor.
We had a flag football team, a basketball team, and a Little League team. We did school Christmas concerts, PTO meetings and open-house events. Our school janitor helped with the cooking, and he drove one of our two school buses.
And we learned. From books and from our surroundings. From music lessons on Wisconsin Public Radio ("Let's Sing! Let's Make the Rafters Ring!") to occasional field visits to Crandon or Rhinelander or Minocqua. Learning was the only reason we were there.
Our teachers made me feel safe, loved and wanted in their classrooms and everywhere else in that building.
Our teachers made me feel safe, loved and wanted in their classrooms and everywhere else in that building.
I was a pretty good student, but 56 years later, I now realize I had little previous exposure to other kids, other behaviors, or other ways of learning, aside from my sister’s textbooks and children's publications she brought home from school.
That wonderful team helped me deal with those differences, guiding my growth at that tender age.
Thanks to all of you at Mole Lake Elementary. You made me and my friends feel safe at a crucial time in our lives.
That kind of security was needed, and it wrapped us like a warm blanket. And it still feels good.
Thanks to all of you at Mole Lake Elementary. You made me and my friends feel safe at a crucial time in our lives.
That kind of security was needed, and it wrapped us like a warm blanket. And it still feels good.
Chuck Enders.
I was 17, and Mr. Enders was my typing teacher, school newspaper advisor and basketball coach. I was a senior at Laona High School, and like a lot of others in his classroom, I was struck by his teaching style, his sense of humor, his way of connecting with all of us.
He played no favorites, as I recall. He seemed to like us all, wanted us to succeed, and had a sly but encouraging way of making us believe that we could do just that.
He taught me to type, a skill that has helped to raise two children under the Flannery roof, put food on our table, paid for a few cars and vacations, and made a lot of lifelong relationships. I’ve had a nice career because Mr. Enders was great at his job.
I owe my livelihood to him.
Thanks, Mr. Enders. Your knowledge, your leadership and your friendship helped me reach the next level.
I was safe in knowing that you gave a damn about kids. And you've proven that time after time after time.
Thanks, Mr. Enders. Your knowledge, your leadership and your friendship helped me reach the next level.
I was safe in knowing that you gave a damn about kids. And you've proven that time after time after time.
Deward Ison.
Hard to imagine any young fella having a better role model in grade school. Mr. Ison, the principal and fifth-sixth grade teacher at Mole Lake, always had a smile, a kind word and a friendly presence.
But we always knew he was in charge, too. He was not to be messed with, and truth is, we didn’t want to. Mr. Ison was on our side, wanted us to do well, had fun with us and was a good person for all the right reasons, not the least of which was the impact he had on a bunch of kids in northern Wisconsin.
I was a lucky kid in grade school, ahead of my age group in understanding mathematics, current events and language. Without a challenge, that could have led to a boring and underachieving beginning to my formal education, but Mr. Ison gave me the confidence and the opportunity to share my knowledge with classmates.
Even at an early age, that experience — made possible by a young educator who somehow saw the benefits for me and the kids who shared our classroom — was a lesson in peer leadership, well before I knew how it would affect my life.
Thanks, Mr. Ison. You taught me that knowledge is to be shared, not suppressed. I've never forgotten that lesson.
I was secure in learning about myself, and in watching you be a leader. You had our trust.
Mavis Weidner.
My first memory of Mrs. Weidner, who taught social studies at Laona Junior High and High Schools, was hearing that she taught my mother, Thelma Wilson, at LHS.
Thelma was a 1940 LHS graduate, so when I was 13-year-old kid in 1970, this circumstance struck me as ... you know ... wrong.
How could I be taught by someone who had taught my mother in ancient times?
Well ... I could. And I was better for it.
Mrs. Weidner did not back away from discussions or the frustration of teaching civics and current events to people who, in most cases, had little interest in either. She was a shining example of strength and dedication and the oft-overlooked value of experience.
Thanks, Mrs. Weidner. In the challenging social atmosphere of the early 1970s, and long before it became a slogan and a potent reminder of the power and potential of all women, you persisted.
I was secure in knowing you cared enough to do your job well as long as you could. You were committed, and appreciated.
Louise DiUlio.
No teacher — and few people in any walk of life — have had a greater impact on me than Mrs. DiUlio, for decades the English teacher at Laona High School.
I'm not sure there was a tougher job in that building than teaching the merits of "Silas Marner" or "Romeo and Juliet" to kids in a logging town in northern Wisconsin.
Somehow, like Mrs. Weidner, she did, and became a small-town legend.
Not just a classroom legend, though. She was involved in a thousand aspects of life for her students, and ran her classes with a mixture of focus on subject, good humor, compassion, and shared purpose.
She was at Mass at St. Leonard's Catholic Church every morning. She was a guidance counselor, helping anyone who was moving on to college or technical school or service in the armed forces.
She helped us rent tuxedos for the prom, and helped us buy boutonnieres for our prom dates.
She coached our forensics team and she supported many graduating classes as their counselor.
Like every educator on this short list, Mrs. D. was a native of the area she served, a professional who returned home to make a difference.
I've never forgotten her encouragement, support, faith and impact.
For many years after my 1975 graduation from LHS, we stayed in touch. Sometimes through a visit to her Laona home, but usually through letters.
In the last one I received from Mrs. D, she told me, "I shall endeavor always to live up to your expectations of me!"
I was stunned when I read that, crafted in her perfect hand-writing, and I remain stunned today.
Thanks, Mrs. D. You were a rock for a community, a role model for anyone in that building, and we loved you.
I felt confident knowing that you helped prepare me — and so many others — for the next steps in our lives.
Oh, by the way.
What those teachers did for me? That is what great teachers do.
They prepare. They encourage. They create possibilities. They shape.
They listen. They understand. They suggest. They counsel.
They see a glimpse of the future, and adjust as needed.
They see promise, and build on it. They see struggles, and build on them.
They lecture and they share and they sing and they read and they decorate and they work at home to make the next day better than today.
They put me, my kids, my grandkids — and you, your kids and your grandkids — in a position to succeed.
The greatest difference they make is in the kind of adult your child becomes.
Not long ago, I thought we agreed on that.
I was a lucky kid in grade school, ahead of my age group in understanding mathematics, current events and language. Without a challenge, that could have led to a boring and underachieving beginning to my formal education, but Mr. Ison gave me the confidence and the opportunity to share my knowledge with classmates.
Even at an early age, that experience — made possible by a young educator who somehow saw the benefits for me and the kids who shared our classroom — was a lesson in peer leadership, well before I knew how it would affect my life.
Thanks, Mr. Ison. You taught me that knowledge is to be shared, not suppressed. I've never forgotten that lesson.
I was secure in learning about myself, and in watching you be a leader. You had our trust.
Mavis Weidner.
My first memory of Mrs. Weidner, who taught social studies at Laona Junior High and High Schools, was hearing that she taught my mother, Thelma Wilson, at LHS.
Thelma was a 1940 LHS graduate, so when I was 13-year-old kid in 1970, this circumstance struck me as ... you know ... wrong.
How could I be taught by someone who had taught my mother in ancient times?
Well ... I could. And I was better for it.
Mrs. Weidner did not back away from discussions or the frustration of teaching civics and current events to people who, in most cases, had little interest in either. She was a shining example of strength and dedication and the oft-overlooked value of experience.
Thanks, Mrs. Weidner. In the challenging social atmosphere of the early 1970s, and long before it became a slogan and a potent reminder of the power and potential of all women, you persisted.
I was secure in knowing you cared enough to do your job well as long as you could. You were committed, and appreciated.
Louise DiUlio.
No teacher — and few people in any walk of life — have had a greater impact on me than Mrs. DiUlio, for decades the English teacher at Laona High School.
I'm not sure there was a tougher job in that building than teaching the merits of "Silas Marner" or "Romeo and Juliet" to kids in a logging town in northern Wisconsin.
Somehow, like Mrs. Weidner, she did, and became a small-town legend.
Not just a classroom legend, though. She was involved in a thousand aspects of life for her students, and ran her classes with a mixture of focus on subject, good humor, compassion, and shared purpose.
She was at Mass at St. Leonard's Catholic Church every morning. She was a guidance counselor, helping anyone who was moving on to college or technical school or service in the armed forces.
She helped us rent tuxedos for the prom, and helped us buy boutonnieres for our prom dates.
She coached our forensics team and she supported many graduating classes as their counselor.
Like every educator on this short list, Mrs. D. was a native of the area she served, a professional who returned home to make a difference.
I've never forgotten her encouragement, support, faith and impact.
For many years after my 1975 graduation from LHS, we stayed in touch. Sometimes through a visit to her Laona home, but usually through letters.
In the last one I received from Mrs. D, she told me, "I shall endeavor always to live up to your expectations of me!"
I was stunned when I read that, crafted in her perfect hand-writing, and I remain stunned today.
Thanks, Mrs. D. You were a rock for a community, a role model for anyone in that building, and we loved you.
I felt confident knowing that you helped prepare me — and so many others — for the next steps in our lives.
Oh, by the way.
What those teachers did for me? That is what great teachers do.
They prepare. They encourage. They create possibilities. They shape.
They listen. They understand. They suggest. They counsel.
They see a glimpse of the future, and adjust as needed.
They see promise, and build on it. They see struggles, and build on them.
They lecture and they share and they sing and they read and they decorate and they work at home to make the next day better than today.
They put me, my kids, my grandkids — and you, your kids and your grandkids — in a position to succeed.
The greatest difference they make is in the kind of adult your child becomes.
Not long ago, I thought we agreed on that.