When I was a senior at OPRF High School, the student teacher for our English class was Helen Dickerson, the daughter of my mother’s best friend. I knew Helen was a shy person and was probably tense about being in front of a group of people not much younger than herself. Helen was a senior at Northwestern, but she was not yet 21.
During the first week of Helen’s presence, our English teacher did everything possible to help Helen adjust in the areas of taking attendance, grading and returning papers and working one-to-one with students when extra help was needed.
During that first week, the students got to know Helen, and she got to know some of our strengths and weaknesses, so she should have been ready to take over our academic training.
The day came for Helen to teach, but many of us saw that she was very nervous. She appeared to be well prepared, with hopes that she would not get rattled, but it didn’t work out that way.
After starting the lesson on her first day, she couldn’t evoke a single response from us. Not only were there no hands raised to answer her questions, but even the brainy kids did not seem to know the answers. Helen had the look of complete failure on her face.
After she graduated from college, she told me that her knees were shaking and her stomach was churning. In fact, she vowed that if she lived through the day, she would never return. She felt she did not have the skill to be a teacher and would be better off as a librarian or a researcher.
But suddenly, as she believed all was lost, a boy in the back of the classroom asked her to repeat her last question. The boy, Jack Timmins, was a friend of mine. Helen repeated the question and Jack answered correctly. Jack then asked Helen to explain something else, and my class began to come alive, as did Helen.
For all of us, the period flew by in the most exciting way.
Helen told me that from then on, she found only great delight in working with the class, and if things started to get slow, Jack came to her rescue and she told me that, because of Jack, she discovered she truly was a teacher.
Helen retired after teaching English for 30 years, and she often thought of Jack and wondered what career path he followed. She wished that she could personally thank him because raising his hand that day in 1957 saved her from despair.
I told Helen that Jack had joined the Marines after high school graduation and served three years. After his time in the service, he studied at Northwestern for eight years and became a physician with an office on the North Side of Chicago.
As it turned out, she contacted him and they resumed their friendship. So both of their lives turned out to be successful and gratifying.
Truly a happy ending.
