My Mother and Dad were Good Teachers
My mother (1898-1971) had six children. I’m the youngest. She was 14 when she married my father (1892-1985); he was 21. She left school after the fourth grade, but my mother was a good teacher.
On my way home from school as a child no older than 8 or 9, as an alternative to being beaten by an older bully, I promised him a gift made for me by my father: a model boat. Cunning and deceit came naturally and early in my life, highly suggestive of a life in politics or the law.
Fleet of foot, it was my intention, upon arriving home, to dash into my house, slamming the door behind me, safe from the bully who walked 10 city blocks to my house, anticipating his ill-gotten reward.
My scheme succeeded until my mother asked why I raced into the house. I was sly and scheming, but I lacked the ability to lie well. Firmly but without anger, my mother said, “Get your boat. Give it to the boy.”
Obediently, I took my boat to the back porch, hoping the bully had gone his merry way, but he stood with open arms, took my boat, and was never seen again. I never learned to lie!
Dad loved the water surrounding Norfolk, Virginia, spent his youth on a tugboat, and always wanted to own a seaworthy boat. When the opportunity arrived, my mother would not permit it. My father lived to be 93. He was noted for his skillful hands.
When I hear Judy Collins sing “My Father”(1968), tears fill my eyes for my dad:
“My father always promised us
That we would live in France
We’d go boating on the Seine
And I would learn to dance.”
Having no formal education, my dad had native intelligence and integrity. My dad was also a good teacher.
As a teenager, I loved sports. Needing a sturdy post to support a basketball rim (basket), I spied a pipe suitable for my plan. It had been protruding from under our house for years. It seemed stuck, but I pulled it out readily.
The moment the pipe was ready for its new role, water gushed from under the house. Soon, standing in the water, I remembered Norfolk was only one foot above sea level. Panic gripped me as I ran into the house to tell my parents about my misfortune.
My mother said, “George, go fix the broken pipe.” This is what Dad was good at.
My dad said, “The toolbox is in the woodshed. Get a Stillson wrench.”
This is not the solution I expected! Now, I was puzzled and panicked: my father had never defied my mother.
The darkness of silence fell over the kitchen.
I had never held a wrench. I knew no wrench by name, but I went to the woodshed and picked up a tool.
The worst was yet to come. I crawled under the dark house where water was gushing, spiders were weaving webs I could not see but felt, and time was of the essence. I may have been crying.
By the force of the water on my face, I found the fractured pipe. When Stillson did its intended job, the water suddenly stopped, and I became the hero of my own life. I can break things, even unintentionally, and I can fix things. I was on a new course. Smiling, I crawled out under the tutelage of a remarkable teacher.
I was a “jock,” not a scholar in high school. Kitty Garnett, a substitute teacher, looked into my unawareness and challenged me, seeing talent and value unknown to me. She offered me a counselor job in a summer camp, arranged tutoring in chemistry at camp, and encouraged a football coach to provide housing at UVA. My suitcase was partially filled with her husband’s clothes. Her nephew drove me to UVA.
I arrived at UVA without a letter of admission but with a letter from my high school principal, A. B. Bristow. The Dean of Admissions said, “Your grades do not warrant admission, but your principal’s reputation is solid. We have been pleased with his recommendations in the past. I am admitting you and offering you a scholarship on the basis of his letter.”
I am not especially bright, but it occurred to me that I have been treated with kindness by countless numbers of people. I have also been taught to treat others with kindness, dignity, and respect. I try to keep in mind the words of the prophet Micah (740-698 BC): “… to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God.”
In addition to my loving mother and dad, numerous good teachers, from Sunday School to UVA Graduate School, influenced my journey. Names like Virgil S. Ward, Morris S. McKeehan, David Wilfred Abse, and Waugh Crigler are etched in my memory. I will never undervalue the importance of good teachers.
Robert S. Brown, MD, PHD a retired Psychiatrist, Col (Ret) U.S. Army Medical Corps devoted the last decade of his career to treating soldiers at Fort Lee redeploying from combat. He was a Clinical Professor of Psychiatry and Professor of Education at UVA. His renowned Mental Health course taught the value of exercise for a sound mind.