Two teaching opposites shaped my future

I recently wrote a love letter to my elementary and high school teachers, but there were also two college professors with opposite personalities who shaped my future.

I’d never had a panic attack, but on a fall day in 1975, I came close. As I pulled into my dorm parking lot at Central College, my heart surged not from joy, but terror. The Dutch definition of Pella as “City of refuge” wasn’t cutting it.  I wanted an escape.

I was fresh from a one-blinking-stoplight-town. I graduated with a class of 13. I wasn’t valedictorian or salutatorian, but I was in the top 10. My elementary and high school teachers had worked hard to help me conquer 12 grades, but even sitting in the middle of campus, college still seemed a big reach.

I’d eked out a barely good enough ACT score for acceptance. With detasseling money, Iowa Tuition Grants, work study, Pell Grants, and a sizable, subsidized loan, we cobbled together enough for college.

I really was a freshman at Central College.

Still, I felt like vomiting every time I asked myself unanswered questions. Did I belong here? Will everyone be smarter than me? What if I fail?

For the first 10 weeks, I was enrolled in Professor Arthur Johnson’s boot camp for college writers, also known as Composition 101. Students didn’t just write, turn in papers, and wait patiently for a grade.

Writing was critiqued and graded at a one-on-one conference with a no-nonsense professor. No small talk; no excuses. I quickly learned what dead wood meant.

In fact, a few of my compositions had a big red X covering the page and dead wood scrawled across the top.  Professor Johnson believed in economy of expression. Flowery adjectives were dead wood. Words that didn’t add to the description or move the narrative were dead wood.

Sometimes I felt like dead wood.

But by the time the 10 weeks ended, I’d gotten a little better. One class began my journey as an English major. Professor Johnson helped me clear most of the dead wood.

Professor Johnson also taught Shakespeare and American literature. I took as many courses as possible from him even though it meant a quiz over assigned reading every day. There wasn’t anything fake about a Johnson class. You either did the reading, or you failed the quiz. That provided clear motivation.

Professor John Allen was the exact opposite of Professor Johnson. While Professor Johnson might have seemed serious and chilly, Professor Allen was warm and folksy. He taught English teaching methods, Children’s literature, and supervised student teachers.

Professor Allen saved me from myself. 

I was assigned student teaching with a veteran teacher in a nearby town. He didn’t like me. I didn’t like him.

Our dislike came to a head when a sophomore wrote a beautiful essay about her grandmother. This teacher had a fixation about using “alot” as one word. Granted, it’s a mistake, but not a capital crime. But that beautiful essay had that mistake.

I was grading papers and I circled the mistake, but still gave her an A. The teacher demanded I change the A to an F just because of “alot.” I refused. We argued. I felt my fists clenching and my temper boiling.

My future teaching career hung in the balance. But Professor Allen mediated and saved my future career. The teacher also gave me a horrible recommendation, but John Allen found a way to neutralize it.

I became a teacher.

While my elementary and secondary teachers paved the way to college, these two opposite professors gave me a chance at a career.

Bruce Lear lives in Sioux City. He has been connected to public schools for 38 years. He taught for 11 years and represented educators as an Iowa State Education Association regional director for 27 years until retiring. Contact: brucelear2419@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Des Moines Register: Two teaching opposites at Central College shaped my future