Marjorie
Her ample figure bustles about the room, her piercing eyes watch as pencils in stubby fingers scribble hieroglyphs onto blank pages. An imposing presence from both habitus and experience leaves little doubt about the consequences of cheating. In the stark, fluorescent lighting of this classroom, many have barely endured the passage into sixth grade. I however, have found a kindred spirit.
Marjorie Brunner had seemingly taught her full tenure before I ever entered her classroom as a shy fifth grader. At least one of my brothers had experienced and spoken openly of her well-known practice of strict discipline (including paddling) and overabundance of assignments. And though I was a nervous, apprehension about my new teacher was tempered by my excitement for new books and fresh school supplies.
In our small rural elementary school, Mrs. Brunner was the aging battle axe in a new era of young and attractive educators trying to be every students’ friend. Our teacher would have none of that. But, as the year unfolded, her softness occasionally surfaced. We would return every Tuesday from gym class to find a pretzel rod on each of our desks. She knew well the importance of a salty snack after exertion to keep blood sugars and electrolytes in check for learning. For Washington’s birthday, she would bake delicious sour cream cookies with cherry filling in honor of our first President. And there was nothing more satisfying than watching a smile light up her stern face after hearing about the latest book you had read.
Mrs. Brunner and I became fast friends. I applied myself on paper and read anything I could get my hands on. She, in turn, would continue pointing me in new directions. I was often accused of being teacher’s pet. Perhaps I was. But Marjorie treated everyone the same and she never let me slack off or feel privileged. Her presence in the school district was quietly formidable. And though her soft, directive voice among the teaching staff may have been undervalued, there was one area in which she was rightfully lauded: introducing youngsters to the benefits of academic exertion.
When sixth grade offered an instructor favoring unlimited recess and baseball over academics, my dissatisfied parents thankfully moved us to Florida — and me into a new middle school with a dizzying array of opportunities. Sixth grade at this school far surpassed anything I would have been exposed to back north … and my parents were grateful. I too enjoyed this much more contemporary venue, but there was one teacher I still missed greatly: Marjorie Brunner.
Mrs. Brunner and I agreed to be pen pals. Her penmanship hailed from an era of carefully exacted cursive and was as much a work of art as an enjoyable read. Marjorie and I continued our correspondence well into my adulthood and her letters were always inspiring. I even took my new husband to meet her on a trip back east. This thrilled her on many levels; that a former student would take the time to visit an elderly woman, and that she continued to occupy such an important place in my life. She presented us with a small handmade wedding gift: a characteristically practical crocheted dish scrubber and tea towel. I used them for years until they, like Marjorie, had nothing left to give. Her passing was bittersweet; a life devoted to the relentless and unforgiving service of shaping young minds was finally able to rest.
The strong woman who helped strengthen me continues, posthumously, to be one of my mentors. I often think back to that pivotal fifth grade year and appreciate her strengths and virtues. Marjorie Brunner was truly lovely, yet greatly misunderstood by many. She was willing to speak up, take names, and take the heat, and always demand respect and diligence — qualities often sadly deficient in today’s world. It may be true that her life had been unkind and her widowed, stalwart exterior the result. But if, as her student, you were willing to dig in, and dig a bit deeper, you were sure to find a goldmine of kindness.
