Rona, how I love your tiny touches: “cast her lot with my father”, for one.
As you know, my sister Lucy had the great advantage of your mother’s adjunct classes at Dover High in the 1960’s. My mother idolized yours, even though their relationship consisted of barely more than pleasantries at our farm stand as your mother selected her strawberries. My mother often lamented that by the time I hit high school Fredelle was no longer there, inspiring and fascinating her students. My mom, like yours, scorned the hidebound education that I’d have to endure sans Dr. Maynard.
(In my senior year in Honors English I attempted to write a spare, Hemingway-esque story. I made mention of birds in a tree. My teacher edited it to read “robins trilling”. It’s about all I remember about that teacher).
My mother, Joan, was a whip-smart adventurous Boston girl who aspired to be a pilot. Not long after her first solo flight in a Piper Cub (which included an emergency landing on Revere Beach), she met my father, a handsome Harvard-educated New Hampshire farmer. A shotgun wedding ensued just before she turned 19. Not once did I hear her lament the life she might have had. That’s what those women did: they accepted their lot. They baked amazing pies and taught night classes, like Fredelle, or smilingly sold vegetables by day and devoured books by night, like Joan.
How much must have been bursting in them, though, just under their skin? I wish I’d appreciated her more.
Lucy was one of my mother’s favorite students (she had quite a few favorites). Those Dover classes nourished her spirit. And do you remember the magazine they started, aptly named THE GREEN FUSE?
Love this one, Rona. On several levels. Your mother as a teacher, you witnessing your mother as a teacher, your mother witnessing you as a student, your precocious take on the story... I'm envious of this memory, of the two of you seeing each other's minds. I don't remember how old I was when I first read The Lottery, but I do remember being absolutely freaked out by it. The story pulsed in my brain for the longest time (it still pulses now, I see)--I had never read anything that scared me before. I remember being absolutely shocked. I remember wanting to rewrite it, to stop those people! I thought, can't she just cross out this ending and rewrite it? Oh, the power of the written word! Walking around the world after reading that story, seeing everything differently, and realizing the power another person can have over you, if you let them in. Because nothing was changed, not really, and yet everything was changed.
"Seeing each other's minds." Yes, that's exactly it. The thrilling part of raising an adolescent is the young intellect emerging; the flip side is the mouthiness and the disdain for all things parental. My feminist turn of mind was an unwelcome gift from my mother, who never forgave the UNH English department for hiring less qualified men instead of her. She taught me that great literature deserves a great reader, and she also taught me to see the injustice borne by women.
"“I swear I didn’t coach her!” What an incredible moment to have your mother's approval so publicly.
My grade 8 teacher, Mr. Wilson influenced me. He asked the class what they thought was the most important quote from Fahrenheit 451, and I put up my hand and said "“There must be something in books, things we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house." He made me feel that I said something profound. Every book I read after that had me searching for the meaning. I don't think he was a teacher for long, at one point he took a smartass kid and tossed him across the desks to the other side of the room in exasperation, but we loved him and thought his class was exhilarating.
At home I had a way of sparking disapproval, as mouthy pre-teens do. Today your Mr. Wilson would be in deep trouble for man-handling a student. But he did it out of love for his subject, as you and your classmates could see.
Rona, I thoroughly enjoyed this. I lived for 25 years on the NY border close to North Bennington and Shirley’s son was my son’s guitar teacher. Small world. I too remember reading the lottery, sometime during high school, and being both repelled and oddly drawn to it. Thanks for this walk down memory lane laced with the always-enthralling story of your mother and who she was to you.
Shirley's children got around. An FB friend knows one of them well. He says he learned table manners from Shirley, a maven of etiquette (who knew?) and a great cook.
The Lottery is one of those perfect stories that once read can not be forgotten. That said, I haven't read it for many years and now I want to go back with teenage Rona as my literary guide. There's an implication that the lottery is rigged, which never crossed my mind, but now makes sense.
Tessie certainly thought it was rigged but I didn’t get the sense that she was right. This is one of those stories that evolve with the reader, revealing a little more of itself on each return. If you enjoy literary biographies, Ruth Franklin’s biography of Jackson is a treat.
It sounds like your mother had high respect for you at that age, to hand you that story and take you along. And kudos to young you for speaking up in such company!
I think of a few but the revelation I remember most was in English Drama course at Bishops specifically with David Rittenhouse teaching Shakespeare. Was about 1971 - his first year there I think fresh out of his own graduate degree in Boston or somewhere. He was so gorgeous great hair great ties great clothes - always almost lighting his cigarette before going off on another rage rant comic stride. We were breathless waiting for ignition. He talked us - and acted us - through flowery complex boring uncool Shakespeare to the root of the humanity of it all. It really was a fantastic classroom experience. You wanted to perform well for him. Plus he was gorgeous, did I say that? Your mum sounds just like that - passionate - inspiring. Great teachers are remembered. Legacy.
I was one of those UNH (‘69-‘73) students who went to your house for a gathering. Somehow I knew about your mother teaching at Pease and thought it was so unfair. I would have loved and benefited from being in one of her spirited classes rather than a rather stodgy 18th Century English Literature class !
I loved this essay, Rona. It really resonated with me. I remember reading "The Lottery" in high school and it haunted me. I'd never read a story like it. It was so powerful and straightforward and horrifying. Your mom sounds like she was a wonderful teacher, so vibrant and passionate, and I love the way you discover her power when you see her in a different context.
I finally watched the Barbie movie today, and (I hope this doesn't offend you) your relationship with your mom reminds me a bit of the America Ferrara relationship with her daughter in the movie. It's the same thing–the daughter is scornful and dismissive of her mom until she sees her in a context in which she can truly be herself and express her gifts and passions.
Wonderful essay. I was fortunate to have several such teachers (mostly teachers of literature but not exclusively), who perhaps, given the opportunity, could have done “more“ with their lives than to instruct surly teenagers. All blame and credit goes to them for my wishing to become a writer and teacher.
I might have read “The Lottery” at around the same age you were in this piece, and at the same time I would have read 1984, Lord of the Flies, and other unsettling works, both on my own and at school. “The Lottery” has stayed with me ever since, especially since we also viewed a film of it in my class. Graphic and scariest towards the end, but the whole story is scary, isn’t it? Especially as it has not lost its relevance. Alas.
Chilling is the right word, I had never read the story, "The Lottery." Even though they don't follow all the rules, don't think it makes the crops better, the village celebrates the mundane process of the ritual murder because there is that momentum of doing what we have always done. There is unease, there is protest, but as you in the wise words of a young rebel recognized, the only way to stop the travesty-- is to stop it. I'm glad my reading was set in the midst of your wonderful tale of seeing your mother in that moment of her true calling. As I read, I wondered if the young airmen went back to their base and wondered about any of the things that were done, because that is what we have always done.
My most memorable teacher of the power of literature was Mrs. Hall in 8th grade English. My parents had not read aloud to me as a child, they always encouraged us in reading, but never read aloud to us. If Mrs Hall finished her lesson plan early, she would read aloud to the class for about 10 minutes. She could do accents and could make a story come alive, there was quiet in that room of 30 students when she read to us. The book I remember most vividly was Paul Gallico's "The Snow Goose." After that experience I have loved reading out loud, to kids I babysat, to my younger brother, to my own children and grandchildren, just about anyone who would listen! Audible books have also been a great pleasure from cassette tapes, to CDs to digital. Richard Harris reads 'The Snow Goose' on Audible.
Readers beget readers, and there’s nothing like a reader who brings a tale to life with her voice. My mother excelled at that. As for the airmen. I sometimes wonder how many went to Vietnam and what kind of shape the survivors were in when they returned.
I’m going to add this book to my ever-growing Goodreads list. Sadly, I’m at the age where I’m not going to have time to read all the books I’d like to….
I know the feeling, Amy. "The Lottery" is a short story, with full text available online (see the link in my post). It won't take long to read but will linger in your mind for years to come.
I do remember reading The Lottery but not in this detail. In AP English we read, I believe, 8 classics for the year and the students were assigned teaching duties. The sentence that knocked me flat was from As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I had been reading along, not really understanding the changing POV structure, when BAM: “My mother is a fish” blew my head off.
Rona, how I love your tiny touches: “cast her lot with my father”, for one.
As you know, my sister Lucy had the great advantage of your mother’s adjunct classes at Dover High in the 1960’s. My mother idolized yours, even though their relationship consisted of barely more than pleasantries at our farm stand as your mother selected her strawberries. My mother often lamented that by the time I hit high school Fredelle was no longer there, inspiring and fascinating her students. My mom, like yours, scorned the hidebound education that I’d have to endure sans Dr. Maynard.
(In my senior year in Honors English I attempted to write a spare, Hemingway-esque story. I made mention of birds in a tree. My teacher edited it to read “robins trilling”. It’s about all I remember about that teacher).
My mother, Joan, was a whip-smart adventurous Boston girl who aspired to be a pilot. Not long after her first solo flight in a Piper Cub (which included an emergency landing on Revere Beach), she met my father, a handsome Harvard-educated New Hampshire farmer. A shotgun wedding ensued just before she turned 19. Not once did I hear her lament the life she might have had. That’s what those women did: they accepted their lot. They baked amazing pies and taught night classes, like Fredelle, or smilingly sold vegetables by day and devoured books by night, like Joan.
How much must have been bursting in them, though, just under their skin? I wish I’d appreciated her more.
Lucy was one of my mother’s favorite students (she had quite a few favorites). Those Dover classes nourished her spirit. And do you remember the magazine they started, aptly named THE GREEN FUSE?
Indeed I do!
Love this one, Rona. On several levels. Your mother as a teacher, you witnessing your mother as a teacher, your mother witnessing you as a student, your precocious take on the story... I'm envious of this memory, of the two of you seeing each other's minds. I don't remember how old I was when I first read The Lottery, but I do remember being absolutely freaked out by it. The story pulsed in my brain for the longest time (it still pulses now, I see)--I had never read anything that scared me before. I remember being absolutely shocked. I remember wanting to rewrite it, to stop those people! I thought, can't she just cross out this ending and rewrite it? Oh, the power of the written word! Walking around the world after reading that story, seeing everything differently, and realizing the power another person can have over you, if you let them in. Because nothing was changed, not really, and yet everything was changed.
"Seeing each other's minds." Yes, that's exactly it. The thrilling part of raising an adolescent is the young intellect emerging; the flip side is the mouthiness and the disdain for all things parental. My feminist turn of mind was an unwelcome gift from my mother, who never forgave the UNH English department for hiring less qualified men instead of her. She taught me that great literature deserves a great reader, and she also taught me to see the injustice borne by women.
"“I swear I didn’t coach her!” What an incredible moment to have your mother's approval so publicly.
My grade 8 teacher, Mr. Wilson influenced me. He asked the class what they thought was the most important quote from Fahrenheit 451, and I put up my hand and said "“There must be something in books, things we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house." He made me feel that I said something profound. Every book I read after that had me searching for the meaning. I don't think he was a teacher for long, at one point he took a smartass kid and tossed him across the desks to the other side of the room in exasperation, but we loved him and thought his class was exhilarating.
At home I had a way of sparking disapproval, as mouthy pre-teens do. Today your Mr. Wilson would be in deep trouble for man-handling a student. But he did it out of love for his subject, as you and your classmates could see.
Rona, I thoroughly enjoyed this. I lived for 25 years on the NY border close to North Bennington and Shirley’s son was my son’s guitar teacher. Small world. I too remember reading the lottery, sometime during high school, and being both repelled and oddly drawn to it. Thanks for this walk down memory lane laced with the always-enthralling story of your mother and who she was to you.
Shirley's children got around. An FB friend knows one of them well. He says he learned table manners from Shirley, a maven of etiquette (who knew?) and a great cook.
The Lottery is one of those perfect stories that once read can not be forgotten. That said, I haven't read it for many years and now I want to go back with teenage Rona as my literary guide. There's an implication that the lottery is rigged, which never crossed my mind, but now makes sense.
Tessie certainly thought it was rigged but I didn’t get the sense that she was right. This is one of those stories that evolve with the reader, revealing a little more of itself on each return. If you enjoy literary biographies, Ruth Franklin’s biography of Jackson is a treat.
It sounds like your mother had high respect for you at that age, to hand you that story and take you along. And kudos to young you for speaking up in such company!
She did indeed. And of all the people in my world, she was the one I most wanted to impress.
Awww. Nothing beats a mutual admiration society.
I think of a few but the revelation I remember most was in English Drama course at Bishops specifically with David Rittenhouse teaching Shakespeare. Was about 1971 - his first year there I think fresh out of his own graduate degree in Boston or somewhere. He was so gorgeous great hair great ties great clothes - always almost lighting his cigarette before going off on another rage rant comic stride. We were breathless waiting for ignition. He talked us - and acted us - through flowery complex boring uncool Shakespeare to the root of the humanity of it all. It really was a fantastic classroom experience. You wanted to perform well for him. Plus he was gorgeous, did I say that? Your mum sounds just like that - passionate - inspiring. Great teachers are remembered. Legacy.
Shakespeare, boring? Not with Professor Rittenhouse, surely. It's a gift to unlock literature for students who come to class jaded and leave on fire.
I was one of those UNH (‘69-‘73) students who went to your house for a gathering. Somehow I knew about your mother teaching at Pease and thought it was so unfair. I would have loved and benefited from being in one of her spirited classes rather than a rather stodgy 18th Century English Literature class !
I love your work .💕
Thank you for sharing this memory, Evelyn. It’s good to know she is remembered.
I loved this essay, Rona. It really resonated with me. I remember reading "The Lottery" in high school and it haunted me. I'd never read a story like it. It was so powerful and straightforward and horrifying. Your mom sounds like she was a wonderful teacher, so vibrant and passionate, and I love the way you discover her power when you see her in a different context.
I finally watched the Barbie movie today, and (I hope this doesn't offend you) your relationship with your mom reminds me a bit of the America Ferrara relationship with her daughter in the movie. It's the same thing–the daughter is scornful and dismissive of her mom until she sees her in a context in which she can truly be herself and express her gifts and passions.
Not offended at all, Debby. I think this dynamic is common. It's been a pleasure to share these memories of my mother in her glory.
How lucky for both of you to get to see each other in this way! I think I read that story in high school, but now I want to read it again!
Lucky, indeed. You can read the whole story online, with the link provided.
I will!
Wonderful essay. I was fortunate to have several such teachers (mostly teachers of literature but not exclusively), who perhaps, given the opportunity, could have done “more“ with their lives than to instruct surly teenagers. All blame and credit goes to them for my wishing to become a writer and teacher.
I might have read “The Lottery” at around the same age you were in this piece, and at the same time I would have read 1984, Lord of the Flies, and other unsettling works, both on my own and at school. “The Lottery” has stayed with me ever since, especially since we also viewed a film of it in my class. Graphic and scariest towards the end, but the whole story is scary, isn’t it? Especially as it has not lost its relevance. Alas.
There was a film of this story? I had no idea. As for instructing surly teenagers, what gifted teachers do can change--and save--young lives.
Oh, absolutely. That was what I’d hoped to accomplish (while my mother lamented my disinterest in law school).
Chilling is the right word, I had never read the story, "The Lottery." Even though they don't follow all the rules, don't think it makes the crops better, the village celebrates the mundane process of the ritual murder because there is that momentum of doing what we have always done. There is unease, there is protest, but as you in the wise words of a young rebel recognized, the only way to stop the travesty-- is to stop it. I'm glad my reading was set in the midst of your wonderful tale of seeing your mother in that moment of her true calling. As I read, I wondered if the young airmen went back to their base and wondered about any of the things that were done, because that is what we have always done.
My most memorable teacher of the power of literature was Mrs. Hall in 8th grade English. My parents had not read aloud to me as a child, they always encouraged us in reading, but never read aloud to us. If Mrs Hall finished her lesson plan early, she would read aloud to the class for about 10 minutes. She could do accents and could make a story come alive, there was quiet in that room of 30 students when she read to us. The book I remember most vividly was Paul Gallico's "The Snow Goose." After that experience I have loved reading out loud, to kids I babysat, to my younger brother, to my own children and grandchildren, just about anyone who would listen! Audible books have also been a great pleasure from cassette tapes, to CDs to digital. Richard Harris reads 'The Snow Goose' on Audible.
Readers beget readers, and there’s nothing like a reader who brings a tale to life with her voice. My mother excelled at that. As for the airmen. I sometimes wonder how many went to Vietnam and what kind of shape the survivors were in when they returned.
I’m going to add this book to my ever-growing Goodreads list. Sadly, I’m at the age where I’m not going to have time to read all the books I’d like to….
I know the feeling, Amy. "The Lottery" is a short story, with full text available online (see the link in my post). It won't take long to read but will linger in your mind for years to come.
I do remember reading The Lottery but not in this detail. In AP English we read, I believe, 8 classics for the year and the students were assigned teaching duties. The sentence that knocked me flat was from As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. I had been reading along, not really understanding the changing POV structure, when BAM: “My mother is a fish” blew my head off.
Wow. And I have never read it.
Love this essay about witnessing your mother command the room of men. What a gift!
On top of everything else, my mother was quite a flirt. Yet she never lost control of her classroom.
Nice piece. For me, it was Lord of the Flies — more specifically, the 1963 black and white film version. I wrote about it at length last year: https://open.substack.com/pub/johnmoyermedlpcncc/p/reframing-lord-of-the-flies?r=3p5dh&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
My mother taught that one, too, before it became a classic.