 |
| The grounds |
It was just a tad over seven miles
from my house to Biola University. It would not have been a bad ride were it
not for the danger. Once I got out of our neighborhood (three blocks) and onto Beach Blvd. there was virtually no
shoulder. Riding the side of the road was to take my life into my own hands.
The bike wobbled every time a semi went by. That was often. I don’t remember the speed limit, but the
traffic was going at least 50. Beach was not a highway.
I rode Beach Blvd. to La Mirada
Blvd. and then left onto Rosecrans Ave. and up to Biola where I chained up at
either the Library or across the road where most of my classes were. The
weather was normally pretty nice, but the smog got me nearly every day. After
sucking in truck and car fumes the entire way I arrive at school, coughing and with
my eyes watering. It was usually about half way through the morning before I
could begin to see.
 |
| Libary |
Every morning I walked by Dr.
Mitchell’s class to get to one I had with Stan Leonard. One morning while
running slightly late for class I passed the large lecture hall usually
occupied by Dr. Mitchell. He was away that day and had left a tape for his
class to hear. I could see a few students scattered through out the room, but
most of the desks had tape records on them recording Dr. Mitchells tape. I was
still laughing when I walked into Stan’s class. He asked what was so funny. I
repeated the story because I thought it was funny. Students smiled but only a
couple laughed. It turns out the practice was not uncommon. I was the only one
clueless. I still thought it was funny.
I told all my CE professors my
future goals and that my present goal was to glean as much out of each as I
could. Stan was a good teacher. He handled the textbooks well and was
interesting. But by the end of my first semester with him I had serious doubts
that I had made the right decision. I seriously questioned whether I could ever
teach. I doubted that even with notes that I couldn’t keep all this stuff
straight. How could I teach what I could not remember? He managed to draw the
class into discussion, but he could also lecture rather well. I took more notes
on how he taught then I did on what he taught.
It was hard to take notes in my
history class. He was also a lecturer, but a very good one. I sat in awe of his
command of his subject and again was intimidated. What was I doing? My Greek
class was another matter. I took Greek at CBC from Mrs. Kincheloe who used a
flip chalkboard to write while she talked and told us not to take notes while
she talked. But she talked all the time and immediately flipped the board over
when she had one side filled. I could not keep up with her and I already knew I
sucked at languages.
The class at Biola was a little
easier. It was a small class (guess Biola
students didn’t like Greek anymore than other schools). Interaction was
good and I pulled a B in the subject. That was what I needed to avoid it in
seminary. I left the class and promptly forgot most of what I had just learned.
It was like I had a delete button in my brain. I never pushed the button, it
just seeped out and I never plugged the hole.
Classes were all in the morning. I
would sit outside to eat my sack lunch while reading and then moved into the
library until 3:00 to get my homework done. I usually left the hard assignments
to last, but this time tackled them first. That helped me spread the work out
so I never got behind.
I was able to pick up the
groceries sold to married student for $3 a box at the college. I never met the
fellow providing them. He just delivered them to the school. He helped us
enormously. We would buy from 3-6 boxes depending on what was available. When I
came home with the boxes, Della and I would tally the prices for each item,
subtract three dollars (our cost) and
enter the rest in our blessing book. We got a few boxes worth about six or
seven dollars, but most were closer to ten to twelve. We had one worth about
sixteen dollars.
There was always flour and sugar
and various cereal boxes. Most the kind the kids loved. We would get some packaged
foods and cans without labels, which meant some meals would have a surprise
food on the table Della got very good at determining what was in the can by
simply shaking it. They each had a distinct sound. We could not tell on
vegetable from another, but they all sloshed in a similar way. Canned fruits
did not bounce as much. The only can she could not guess was the difference between
refried beans and dog food. Fortunately our neighbor had a dog and happily took
those items.
2 comments:
I recall Mrs. K teaching Greek. In one class she kept writing on the boards and we were to copy it all. When the end-of-class bell sounded, she ignored it and kept writing. We all left out the back door and the next class (non-Greek) came in. She turned around to these students and told them, "Get writing all of this." The teacher had to inform her that the bell had gone and this was no longer the Greek class.
As for me, when the semester was over, I placed all my Greek notes on a pile of newspapers at home and by mistake placed more papers on top. Then threw out everything by mistake. However, I don't think I really needed her notes when I taught Greek years later.
I LOVE IT JOHN, If I were have kept any notes, it would not have been hers. She made Greek more confusing than it already was - at least to me.
Post a Comment