Senior Year
Saint Johns School, 1968
Written by Rick Archer, August 2005

Forward: 2005 Looking Back on 1968

"You just had to be there to understand why it was so funny."

It was lunch time and the majority of the Senior Class was assembled in the Senior Room, our "hangout". The raconteur, Fan Crow, was busy explaining to her fellow high school seniors the details of what had happened that morning in First Period Chemistry.  There in the Senior Room, Fan had a dozen classmates hanging on every word.  Fan could barely stop from laughing as she carefully related every detail of what had happened that morning.

I didn't need to hear the story since I had the privilege of actually witnessing the event myself. Nevertheless as I sat in the background I enjoyed hearing Fan tell the story.  I was grinning from head to toe. What a funny story!

Then an odd thought came to mind.  I wondered how difficult it would be to explain why the story was so funny to someone who hadn't been there. 

Nearly forty years have passed.  I hope I can do justice to the story that remains my fondest memory of the nine years (1959-68) I spent at Saint Johns School here in Houston, Texas. 

Wish me luck!

The standard of excellence begins with the Saint Johns Faculty.  I can say without a doubt that I deeply respected practically every teacher I ever had at Saint Johns.  Across the board, the men and women who were my teachers were intelligent, well-educated, and deeply committed individuals. 

Not only were they good teachers, many of our instructors took a personal interest in our lives. They became our mentors as well as our teachers.  Corny as it may sound, they were true role models. They taught us how to behave and how to conduct ourselves as young adults. 

I am not even slightly embarrassed to say I feel a reverence for many of my teachers at Saint Johns.  There are at least a half dozen men and women who have a near-mythic status in my memory for the impact they had on my life at the time.  I will tell anyone who asks that the most important break I ever got in life was receiving my Saint Johns education.

Nor am I alone in my respect for Saint Johns and the people who made the institution come alive for me.  I am positive there is a veritable legion of SJS graduates who would gladly sing praise for their school given the chance.

Now that I have explained the Saint Johns tradition of academic excellence, let me continue by saying that achievement of this magnitude is not accomplished easily.

Yes, it is true the reputation of Saint Johns draws talented students from every corner of the city. But someone has to teach them.

During my years at Saint Johns, I discovered the faculty was not only just as bright as the students they taught, they were also skilled manipulators and actors.  They knew just what buttons to push. They motivated us. They challenged us. They demanded our best and found ways to inspire us to give it to them. 

Above all, we knew beyond a doubt that our teachers respected us. Rather than berate us or intimidate us into doing the work, they relied on our self-determination to produce the work willingly. 

In turn we were expected to show RESPECT at all times to our teachers.  We were to address them as 'Mr. This' or 'Mrs. That'.  We were expected to say "Sir" or "Ma'am". We were expected to rise when our teacher entered the room. We were expected to raise our hands if we had a question. We were punished for speaking without permission. 

Our instructors expected us to behave and to pay attention.  For the most part we cooperated because we knew our teachers had our best interests at heart.  Plus our teachers were so talented themselves, it was natural to respect them as our leaders and to follow their direction without question.

But teaching a group of gifted and talented children like us could not have been "easy".  How these instructors kept such tight control over us without breaking our spirits is perhaps their greatest achievement.

What you may not realize is that brilliant kids are not necessary well-behaved kids. We were all a bunch of spitfires, each and every one of us potential barbarians at heart.

"Lord of the Flies" by William Golding is a famous story about school kids who revert to savagery when authority is removed.  It was a favorite book that we read and discussed during high school. The consensus among all of us was the book wasn't that far from the truth.  Saint Johns students could be savage!  

I saw it happen.  I remember how sad I was when Mr. Powell, my favorite 6th grade English instructor, left the school after only two years. He was bitter and disillusioned with teaching. I always thought he met his downfall because he was too soft-hearted.  

Mr. Powell was a very kind man who took an interest in me. He encouraged me to write write write.  One day he made an offer to the class - write a hundred page story and he would type it up.  I took him up on his offer.  Under his guidance, I wrote a hundred page story called "The Evils of Gold". It was a story about Spaniards searching the labyrinths of an underground cave for Incan treasure.  Not bad for the sixth grade. He thought I could be a writer someday. Not surprisingly I worshipped the ground he walked on.

But not everyone felt the way I did. During class, no one kept their mouths shut.  It was gradual at first, but once he lost their respect, Mr. Powell was never able to regain control for the rest of the year.  I watched in dismay as my classmates walked all over him.  I could how their disrespect was getting under his skin.  While his classroom became a zoo, I could see him getting more frustrated.  This was the dark side of teaching precocious children.

So figure this out - the best teachers had to have to a mean streak in order to be effective! 

One word more than any other captured the Saint Johns ethos: Discipline.  From the moment I arrived at Saint Johns in 1959, I was told the rules, the expectations, and the punishments. 

I learned immediately that the Saint Johns Way meant "follow the rules". Coming from public school to start the 4th grade, I could see a big difference in class demeanor. No one spoke out of turn. No one got out of their seats without permission. No one got away with forgetting to do homework. The teacher was in complete control at all times. I was intimidated. I was also impressed.

And of course behind the "Discipline" was the ultimate weapon.  Let me tell you about Detention Hall.   Oh gee whiz this was an effective source of terror! 

Detention Hall was held at 8 am on a Saturday morning. It could range from one hour for a minor violation to two hours for a major violation.

I was no stranger to Detention Hall.  I was an angry kid who bitterly resented authority.  Did I mention I had a smart mouth?  Sarcasm came as naturally to me as breathing.  I was known to backtalk when receiving discipline. And that meant Detention Hall.

Think about it. I had to drag myself out of bed at 7 am on my day off, get on my bicycle and make a 25 minute ride to school or worse take the bus when we lived further away.  I asked my mother to give me a ride so I wouldn't have to get up so early.  Her reply?  "You got yourself into this mess; get yourself out." 

If I was late, I got to come again next week as well!  There was no talking in Detention Hall. If you said something, you might very well come again next week until you FIGURED IT OUT. 

And what did we do for an hour or for two hours?  Whoever assigned you to Detention Hall decided the punishment.  The merciful ones allowed you to do homework, bless their immortal souls.  They actually did me a favor. At least my time could be put to constructive use. 

But with a smart mouth like mine, the majority opted to "teach me a lesson."   I had assignments like writing 1,000 lines of "I will not talk in class" or "I understand that in the future I will get a haircut when I am told to get a haircut".  Did I mention I preferred my hair long?  This caricature of me was drawn by my classmate Lindon Leader for the school yearbook. I had constant run-ins over my long hair.   Yes, I was quite the rebel a la James Dean.  And you know what else?  I always lost.  Idiot that I was, I would push their patience. They would warn me once, warn me twice, but sooner or later they would drop the hammer on me. Not only would I get Detention Hall, I had to get my hair cut as well. Then I had to report to Mr. Murphy on Monday to prove to him I had indeed gotten my hair cut over the weekend.

I spent my entire Senior year looking over my shoulder for Mr. Murphy.  I ducked when I saw him coming in the halls. Out of sight, out of mind.  Maybe he would forget about me?  It didn't work; he always found me at lunch time.  This was a game I never won.

My distaste for Detention Hall began my first year at Saint Johns in the fourth grade.  Throughout my nine years at the school, I estimate I made at least two or three trips a year.  It was simply not in my nature to obey stupid rules like getting my hair cut.

In the Sixth grade, one teacher in particular decided to break me. Mr. Nixon was a well-known disciplinarian and he took a special interest in me.  I spent the whole year in Detention Hall courtesy of Mr. Nixon.

My most poignant memory was the time I dropped a pencil on the floor in Mr. Nixon's class.  I made the mistake of pouncing on it like a monster grabbing its prey rather than simply picking it up.  Everyone laughed at me.  Everyone that is except Mr. Nixon. 

"Mr. Archer, I think that is going to cost you."  The room got VERY QUIET very quickly.

When I showed up for Detention Hall that Saturday my assignment was to write 1,000 times "Discipline will be maintained at all times."

Did I mention how effective this was?   I may have been an angry, bitter kid with a big mouth, but I dreaded Detention Hall with a purple passion.  No Lion Tamer's Whip could have been more effective at teaching me to keep my big mouth shut.  Just the hint of Detention Hall would shape up my attitude in a snap.  It was the Ultimate Threat.

DISCIPLINE WILL BE MAINTAINED AT ALL TIMES.  I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night. 

Mr. MacKeith
Written by Gail Wandel Hendryx

"The rather large man stood in front of the class, arms clasped tightly, toes pointed out. He shook his head with a smile and made the request, "People, people, let's get down to work."

He has just exposed twenty wondering… and wandering… minds to the magic of the periodic tables, neutrons, electrons, protons, and ions. Many of those wondering minds were merely wondering what he was talking about. He persevered, pacing before the class, explaining about those different electron orbits, and how krypton was a gas rather than the birthplace of Superman. Perhaps because chemistry is a more foreign field of study than say history or even biology, he was a picture of patience.

He would go slowly (just fast enough to finish the weekly chapter) and answer all questions of those who understood enough to ask a question. By Thursday, we would feel satisfied that something had worked its way into the minds of those non-chemists. But every Friday morning without fail he would arrive early to find a large portion of his class assembled on the terrazzo steps outside his office above Study Hall 70. After getting coffee and lighting his pipe, he would patiently answer questions from the student chemists who had just discovered a mystifying world while studying for the weekly Friday quiz.

I can still remember on Friday feeling particularly panicked as the morning bell was about to ring, madly asking questions, and hearing the soothing comment, "I wouldn't worry too much about that." He was really nice. And he was brave, too, living through labs which bristled with dangerous items such as Bunsen burners, glass beakers, and distillers, all manned by students who sometimes had trouble balancing themselves on those lab stools. He would move from lab team to lab team, explaining results or kindly explaining that a 50% error margin was not an acceptable result. He was truly a kind man who smilingly taught his students about a lot more things than chemistry." Gail Wandel Hendryx, Class of 1967

Introducing the Senior Chemistry Class for Retards

We really didn't want to be there.  There were sixteen of us.   All sixteen of us were there for one simple reason:  We weren't going to graduate otherwise. Enough said.

The rule in those days was you had to take two science classes to graduate.  Since our entire class of 50 total students had taken the mandatory Biology class in the ninth grade, that meant sometime in the next three years each of us had to take one more science class.  Sixteen of us had put off taking the other science course as long as possible.  It was now our Senior year. 

Where were the other 34 classmates?  They had all voluntarily taken a science course at an earlier time because they were interested in science.   Not us.  We hated science.  There could only be One Reason why we would ever take another science course - we had no choice.

Making matters worse, Senior Chemistry was scheduled for First Period. Groan. It was our first class of the day every day of the week.  At 8:10 AM we were supposed to be in our seats prepared to take Chemistry.

So we banded together.  Because all of us could have cared less about Chemistry, the details did not naturally adhere to our brains. Mr. MacKeith went over the same material again and again and again.  We felt so stupid sometimes, but he honestly never berated us or belittled us.

We knew he preferred to teach the students who took his class willingly. These were the people who actually liked science and asked clever questions on a regular basis.  But he never rubbed our inferiority into our faces.  We were united in trying to make the best of a bad situation. 

I have already stated that one of Mr. MacKeith's strengths was his respect for us even though we were unworthy of it.  But Mr. MacKeith had other assets as well.  For one thing, he seemed "stern", but the odd thing was he never actually acted "stern".  He never once chewed anyone out or did something as preposterous as launch an eraser.

On the other hand, he was so formidable, none of us actually ever wanted to find out.  We didn't test him.

Yes indeed, we paid attention strictly due to Mr. MacKeith's indomitable ability to keep us focused on chemistry.  How did he do it?  How did he manage to keep sixteen people interested in something they weren't interested in five days a week for an hour each day? 

You know what, I'm not sure!  Maybe that's why I think the guy was sheer magic.  We were Seniors for crying out loud.  We were all completely convinced that we would never use this stuff again in our lives.  We didn't want to be there, but we paid attention anyway.  We weren't brilliant, but we hung in there.  As slowly as the glacier moves towards the sea, over the course of the year we actually learned chemistry.

It was amazing. Mr. MacKeith was amazing.
 

Senioritis I have an odd anecdote that validates Mr. MacKeith's skill as a teacher. At the same time I was in Senior Retard Chemistry, I was also taking Calculus.  When it came to Math, I had always been faster than speeding bullet.  You could just pencil me in for an "A" and forget about it.

But not Calculus in my senior year. It was an uphill struggle, but I had been pulling a "B" average all year long in Calculus even though I disliked my professor intensely.  We had four semesters a year. Heading into the final semester, I had received a "B" three times in a row. Once I was accepted into college, a frightening condition known as "Senioritis" set in. It was like someone had let all the air out of the balloon.  I just could NOT force myself to care any more.

My calculus teacher made that math class so painful that I literally could not find a reason to care about his class any longer.  Once Senioritis checked in, I checked out and spent the last two months in his class daydreaming about playing basketball in the NBA.  The Romans could dream about the Elysian Fields, the Arabs could have their 72 virgins in Paradise, the Vikings had Valhalla, but for me, my basketball fantasies were my sanctuary.

I ended up not even studying for the final exam.  When I got my final report card I was stunned to discover he had dropped me all the way to a "D".  This was the only grade I ever received below a "B" in my entire nine years at Saint Johns. 

Nevertheless I still graduated from Saint Johns "with distinction."  Nevertheless I still went to college on a full scholarship.
 
And my first point is - So what?  There was no negative effect.   I went to college anyway.

As the Senioritis plague reached epidemic status throughout my entire class, there was a vague suspicion that circulated among us that we could fail all our courses and it would make no difference.

And like the good little rebel I was, I was the only one who actually went to the trouble of using Calculus to prove our suspicions were basically correct.

Then he pointed out that Problem 11 in particular had been a collective black spot. Not one of us had gotten it right.  He stared at us for a while saying nothing.  This considerate gesture gave us time to ponder our collective failure and general unworthiness.

We all hung our heads in shame and tried to disappear in plain sight.  We each knew in our own souls we hadn't tried very hard, but we didn't realize everyone else had decided to do the same thing!  It was embarrassing to realize ALL of us were THIS BAD. 

Let's face it, we had gotten our butts kicked because we didn't like this particular subject in the first place, but now since the external threat not getting into the college of our choice had been removed, what difference did it make? 

We had ALL been accepted into college!!  Who cares?

Still, we did have Saint Johns Pride.  You don't get this far by not caring.  There was enough academic guilt left in each of our souls that Mr. MacKeith's disappointment could still reach us.  We stared down in abject surrender.  We were humiliated.  We were not worthy.

"All right, Students, let's review the test." 

A witty professor would have said, "Let's revisit the tragedy" or "Let's begin the Post-Mortem" or something equally cool. Not Mr. MacKeith.  He was always no-nonsense, no frills, no bells and whistles, just stick to the facts, Ma'am.

As I said previously, we all liked Mr. MacKeith.  I never heard one bad word about the man. We hated Chemistry, but we liked Mr. MacKeith.

You had to admire him for the way he embraced his beloved Chemistry. If our lack of effort on this particular test had to aggravate him personally, he never let on.  I for one appreciated his mercy.  A less noble man would have rubbed our noses in the disgrace.

So now we began to review the cursed Redox Reaction test, the academic equivalent of a torturous walk across the desert without water.  Each and every one of us secretly groaned when we realized Mr. MacKeith was serious about going over the Redox Reaction test.

We were not looking forward to this...

Time for Blackboard Mode There is something I need to explain.  Going over Redox Reactions meant Mr. MacKeith would turn his back to us as he began doing the mathematics of the chemical equations on the board.

Once Mr. MacKeith launched into "Blackboard Mode", you might not see his face again for ten or twenty minutes.  I am not kidding.  Once Mr. MacKeith put his chalk to the board to begin to his Chemistry Math, he actually spent almost the entire time facing the blackboard with his back to us.  He would talk to us as if we were listening while he kept up a steady scribble of numbers on the board.  He assumed we were respectfully paying attention.

Usually we did pay attention, but not today. Almost immediately the class began to stare out the window and imagine touch football games, frat parties, late night bridge parties in the dorm with pizza and beer and best of all finally getting away from our parents and... well, you get the picture.

Unlike most of my 15 fellow partners in crime, believe it or not I was actually paying a little attention. For one thing I didn't have anything better to do.  I usually followed Mr. MacKeith's play-by-play on the blackboard especially when it was a problem I had gotten wrong.  I was curious to watch the progress to see where my math had failed.  If it was a problem I got right, I sometimes daydreamed.  Not today however. As I looked at my grade, I grimaced with the realization that I had plenty of reasons to watch the blackboard.

Occasionally I would look around the room. I noticed that many of my classmates had begun to enter various states of suspended animation. No one was worried about getting caught for two reasons. 

First of all we had our secret weapon - Fan Crow. Fan Crow was the only member of the Retard Senior Chem class who appeared to be trying the entire year.  Sitting in her spot on the front row, Fan would actually respond to practically anything Mr. MacKeith said or asked.  She was so cheerleader/ goodytwoshoes you wouldn't believe it! We all knew Fan would go far in life because she could fake being there better than any of the rest of us.  But today we were grateful for her skill because it meant we could continue to be mental zombies.  As the rest of us went blank, I was amused as Fan and Mr. MacKeith kept up their non-stop dialogue.

Now I had something to think about besides my pathetic test score. I stared at Fan in amazement - she was talking non-stop to Mr. MacKeith with his back turned to her and the absurdity of it didn't seem to phase her one bit.

Fan Crow was a pretty girl which gave me a good reason right there to watch her.  But mostly I watched her for another reason - she was my closest rival.  Fan was smart.  For years we had matched each other grade for grade, but in high school she had begun to pull ahead of me.  It seemed like Fan was always one step ahead of me academically. 

Although we were even-steven in the wattage department and the determination department, Fan possessed marvelous diplomatic skills while I had practically none.  Any time in our head to head competition a grade might have been affected by how fond the teacher was of the student, I was in trouble.  I would never be able to overcome an edge of this magnitude because all her teachers adored her.  Actually I liked her too.  I didn't begrudge her superiority over me too much.

But there was something I was curious about. Speaking of those "diplomatic skills", the cynics among us thought she was a bullshit artist.  Just like the debate over Lance Armstrong and performance-enhancing drugs, I had watched Fan for all these years and I still hadn't figured out whether she was sincere or simply the consummate actress. 

Then I decided to let it go.  After all, Fan was single-handedly fooling Mr. MacKeith into thinking we were all paying attention.  Why mess with a good thing?  Today I was definitely a member of the Fan Crow Fan club.  Go Fan Go!

The second reason we weren't worried about getting caught was Mr. MacKeith's phenomenal concentration.  Mr. MacKeith loved doing math on the board. He really got into it!   As a result, this was the only time we actually dared to take advantage of him.  He was so engrossed in his work he never bothered to check on us.

Had he turned around he would have discovered our body language was seriously indicative of complete apathy.  As I said, all of us were suffered from an advanced case of Senioritis.  Cynical, bored, blase... yeah, we all had a bad case of it although I had to admit Fan was hiding it pretty well.  This girl was a "Closer" par excellence!  No staggering to the finish line for her.  

From my vantage point in the back row, I saw that half of us (including me) were leaning back in our chairs twiddling our fingers.  Some of the girls were doing their nails. 

Two boys actually had their heads on the table.  That was brave!  We used to sit two at a table. We would count on our tablemates to poke us in the ribs when it was time to pay attention.  No one said a word.  We all had the sense to stay perfectly quiet so as not to distract Mr. MacKeith from his reverie.  There was a rebellion going on, but it was definitely a QUIET rebellion.

The fact of the matter was that our mood was sullen. We were mad at ourselves. We had dropped the ball and we were getting chewed out in a highly sophisticated way.

None of us were in a very good mood. We had been deeply embarrassed over our poor performance on a subject none of us liked and cared about. Furthermore we knew once the review of this test was over, we would move on to another subject and never revisit this stupid subject again.

Let's get this over with!  My mind wandered for a moment. There I was in the NBA shooting jump shots and driving the lane.  No one could stop me!  Only in my dreams...

Maybe Mr. MacKeith was secretly more sympathetic to our plight than he let on, but he was always kind enough to turn around s-l-o-w-l-y.  Since I was more or less paying attention, I woke up my tablemate as Mr. MacKeith began his carefully measured about-face ritual.

I suppose Mr. MacKeith had decided eye contact was necessary so that he could announce it was time to go over Problem 11.  He reminded us this was the problem not one of us had gotten correctly. Sixteen of Saint John's finest had taken a swing at it and not one of us had connected.  Is that pathetic?

We shook our heads in disbelief.  Not one of us had gotten it right?  We wondered if a human sacrifice would be necessary.  Even Fan Crow, the only person who appeared to still care and someone who was destined to get a sure "A" in the course, had gotten it wrong. 

I had mixed feelings about Fan's demise. On the one hand I was secretly happy at her discomfort, but on the other hand it would have been nice to avert a shut-out.  Did you know I was competitive?  So were all of us!  There were a lot of ruthless people at Saint Johns.  We were academic gladiators honed to a sharp point by years of endless competition to stay ahead of the curve.

But today we had met our match.  We were highly unaccustomed to feeling like morons. Our failure with Redox Reactions and Problem 11 had kicked us into collective despair.  We were grouchier than angry bulls running at Pamplona!  

Mr. MacKeith turned his back to us again.  I noticed a change in the group. Everyone was paying attention now.  They were curious to answer this question: How come NONE of us got it right?

Somewhere in the corner of my consciousness something began to bother me.  It seemed odd that Mr. MacKeith was taking more time than usual on the troublesome Problem 11.  Or was it my imagination? 

I wasn't sure why, but I really started to concentrate.  Something was afoot.  I took another look at my test paper.  For the life of me, I could not figure out what I had done wrong.

Mr. MacKeith stopped scribbling for a moment. Then he resumed.  Then he stopped again. These unusual pauses created a stir in the room. There was a sense that something very out of the ordinary was transpiring up at the blackboard.  No one said anything, but glances were passed around the room.

Mr. MacKeith was behaving differently.  That hesitation move was new.  Plus he had also stopped talking.  This meant he was really concentrating hard! 

I permitted myself a slight smile. Maybe the problem was harder than he thought it was.  My wounded pride needed soothing wherever it could find it. 

Then Mr. MacKeith made the extraordinary move of stepping back from the blackboard as if to get a better perspective.  We all began to tense.  What was happening?

Then he put his right hand to his temple just above the ear and began to scratch his head.  It was the classic sign of confusion!!   What was this!?!

Out of nowhere Tom Wimberly sat up in his chair and said, "What now, bright man??"

Tom's words shot like a lightning bolt across the air. We gasped as we saw Mr. MacKeith flinch as if he had been physically hit!  Tom's words had cut like a knife!

With his back to us, we couldn't see his face!!  But we watched without breathing as Mr. MacKeith stood up straight, pinched his shoulders together and tensed his hands into a ball. Then he crossed his arms, the classic defensive posture.  For several moments he continued to stand there with his back to us.  I guessed that he was fighting to regain self-control.

Our hands covered our mouths in collective shock!   What had Tom done?  What was Tom thinking??!!??  

No one can insult a teacher like that and ever hope to live!  

Tom had broken the DISCIPLINE!! 

Would he be suspended?   Would he be sent home?  Would his parents be asked to come get him?  Our hearts raced with panic.

Mr. MacKeith still had his back turned to us. He was rigid, no question about it.  The tension in the air was electric. There was certain to be a confrontation!

Now our eyes darted back to Tom who looked horrified.  He was alone - his tablemate had moved towards another table to disassociate with him as fast as possible.

As the catastrophic consequences of what he had just said darted through his mind, Tom froze.  He was in complete shock... Did he really say what he thought he said?  Did his mouth have a death wish?  How much trouble was he in?  Can you spell "S-U-S-P-E-N-S-I-O-N"?   Tom was in so much trouble!

With his back still turned to us, Mr. MacKeith said, "Was that you, Thomas?"

Tom cringed with fear and remorse.  He didn't know what to say.  Or maybe he was unable to speak. We continued to stare in complete shock.  

"Was that YOU, Thomas?"   Mr. MacKeith sounded really mad!  And he still had his back to us!

"I'm so sorry, sir!  I couldn't help it.  It just slipped!  I didn't mean to say it, really!" 

Tom was near tears he was so scared.

Now Mr. MacKeith began to turn around even more s-l-o-w-l-y than usual.  Once he completed his rotation, he bore his eyes bore a hole into Tom.  His arms were still crossed and his face wore a deep frown. 

Tom nearly curled into a ball with fear.  He was white as a ghost.

Mr. MacKeith eyed Tom carefully without changing his expression. The tension was unbearable.  This was High Noon!  For a moment, I thought he was going to tell Tom to leave the room and report to the Headmaster's office.

Then Mr. MacKeith burst out laughing!  He actually started to grin.  He couldn't keep a straight face anymore!   He had been pretending to be mad just to scare Tom half to death!   And it had worked, believe me.

This was even more surprising than anything he could have done.  We could not believe our eyes.  We thought Tom had thrown "Graduation" out the window... But was Mr. MacKeith actually laughing?   Or was he acting? 

No, he was definitely laughing. He was laughing at what Tom had said!  Tom looked so scared and miserable, Mr. MacKeith forgave him almost immediately.  He knew Tom meant no real harm. 

In fact, now that the tension was broken, I thought what Tom had said was very funny.  But I had seen so many times where my teachers had reacted harshly, I was amazed to see stern, foreboding Mr. MacKeith suddenly let down his guard and become a real person with a sense of humor!

Now Mr. MacKeith took a few steps forward till he was in front of his desk instead of behind it.   He said, "You can relax, Tom. It's okay.  You aren't in any trouble."

He paused while Tom took his first breath in many a moment.  The color slowly began to return.

"It looks like I made a mistake when I printed the test.  The reason none of you got it right is there is no correct solution.  I will add five points to all your scores!"

We cheered so loud that the teacher from the next room actually came to peek in the door.  We were ecstatic with joy. 

Meanwhile Mr. MacKeith just stood there in front of his desk. He too was grinning from ear to ear at our foolishness.  Yup, Mean Old Mr. MacKeith was laughing too.  It was so out of character I actually watched him carefully.  He was laughing too.  Imagine that!  

Teachers make mistakes too.  Even invincible Mr. MacKeith.  Who would have thought?
 

Tom became an instant celebrity. He was the most famous person in the school for days. He was the only person ever to insult an instructor and live to talk about it.  My classmate Lindon Leader immortalized the event by putting a caricature of Tom in the Yearbook. And Mr. MacKeith changed.  Now that he had actually smiled and laughed at himself in public, he was pretty mellow with us for the final month. He may have even made a wisecrack or two, but don't hold me to that. I guess he knew that none of us would ever buy his tough act again. He had scared us to death with his "Mean Teacher Act" for an entire year without any of us daring to challenge him.  Except for Tom, that is, in his moment of temporary insanity.  But now we knew deep down inside he was a softy.  The reason Tom didn't get in trouble was simple - Tom meant no harm and Mr. MacKeith knew it.  Mr. MacKeith reacted as a friend would to some gentle teasing, not as a pompous professor who had his competence challenged.

I thank Mr. MacKeith for the final lesson he taught me -  When you make a mistake, you can laugh at yourself, let others laugh too and still maintain your dignity and respect. 

Truth be told, without his tough guy persona, we would not have learned a thing in that course.  His leadership made a world of difference to us.

He kept up his ruse for nearly an entire year till an accident revealed the truth - underneath that scowl, Mr. MacKeith was a very kind man.  

He will always be one the teachers for whom I have a lifelong reverence.