30 Years Ago Today: I saw the Little Town in the Valley for the 1st Time

I wasn't in the best mood when I came back from northeast Kansas with a note on my dorm room door that read, "Call Don Wells, sup't. at Cheney."

I had just completed another interview. It was the spring of 1989, and I had driven all over the state from South Haven to LeRoy to Winfield to Scott City to Jetmore to Ness City, and Horton to name a few.

The view driving from Horton back to Tabor College in Hillsboro, Kansas, was incredible. The hills, the landscape. But I was tired and prayed aloud if I'd ever get a job in an area that wasn't so far away from a larger city.

So, I traipsed down the flight of stairs in the dorm to the payphone and set up the interview. Yes, a payphone. Back when we had to use a calling card and everyone around us could hear the conversation.

I was drained. Missing too many classes and filling up the Olds Calais on a daily basis. But I needed a job, for I was graduating with an English education degree.

I'm not sure what made me apply at Cheney. Was it the visit to the district's booth at the Fort Hays job fair when Russ Busenitz and I drove out there from Tabor College one spring day? No one else went, and there were other potential teachers graduating that spring. Why were we the only two to go?

where it all began

Or did I see Cheney's opening on a paper print-out in the career development office in the TC Library? Spent a lot of time there looking at the teacher openings. Spent a lot of money on stamps too sending out application letters and transcripts. So different from today. I also received by mail, the South Dakota teacher openings bulletin and even had an interview lined up at Miller in my home state once college was out.

But I went ahead and called USD 268 to set-up the interview. It was for Friday, May 5, 1989. I don't remember seeing any students or athletes around, so the interview must have been later in the day. Maybe I requested that time, so I wouldn't miss anymore classes.

My interview began with the 7-12 principal, Dick Wells. No relation to the school's superintendent, Don Wells. This was back when principals and superintendents interviewed the teachers, not a team of potential colleagues (although the Winfield interview was done in that manner due to the team-teaching nature of the position).

what a jewel, this note from Jim Gillett on day one

The Cheney opening was for a 7th and 8th grade literature teacher. Literature. Not really my thing. I preferred writing, grammar, punctuation. And my student teaching experience included 9-12 at Halstead High. Would I want to teach jr. high students? I did have coaching experience with them at Hillsboro Middle School during my college years. So, maybe.

The current literature teacher, Theo Voth, was going to be the 7-12 librarian, so that's why there was an opening. I was reassured she'd be able to guide me if I needed help. Theo also taught public speaking, which the district called oral communications due to certification issues. Since she would be taking over the yearbook, they wanted me to have the public speaking duties. I never got to meet Theo during the interview, but I did get introduced to co-workers, Paula Voth and Jack Goss.

school year #1: 1989-90

Next I had my interview with the superintendent. He was conversational and pleased with my interest in basketball. Seems they'd been wanting a woman on the coaching staff for the high school. And for years that was the norm. Always had to have a female on the bench. You can read more about my coaching and teaching life at Cheney by clicking here on my school website.

Sup't. Don Wells also wanted me to get certified to teach speech, something that would require more college classes. This was almost a deal breaker for me. It had already taken me five years to get the degree I had because I'd changed my major my sophomore year.

But I liked the small school atmosphere of Cheney, the proximity of the classrooms, the size of the town, and its closeness to Wichita where my sister Brenda lived. I agreed, that if offered the position, I would do my best to get as many hours as I could towards that speech certification.

Mr. Wells wrapped up the interview by assigning me an essay. I do not remember the topic. He handed me his pen and told me to sit in his chair behind his desk. We said our goodbyes, and I was to leave when done.

No other interviewer had asked me to do that. It didn't phase me a bit. I had been editor of our college newspaper for two years, so I welcomed the chance show him one of my strengths. I sure would like a copy of what I wrote. Maybe it's in my personnel file.

I had not worn my typical interview outfit that day. Was I tired of it? Was it even clean? Instead, I wore a crisp white oxford type shirt and a black and white skirt. It wasn't new. And after I landed this job, my sentimental nature kept me from giving it to charity until many years later.

That interview outfit: me on the right.
I'm with college pals Julie & Teresa in 1983.
The only picture I've taken with Santa.

Afterwards, I drove around the town to check out the homes and the environment. I chuckled wondering if I could ever live here with all the dips at the intersections. You see, my car had a hook installed in the front of my car in case I ever needed to be pulled out of a ditch. Dad's South Dakota thinking.

I called my sister from the payphone in the southwest corner of the Jim's Foodliner parking lot. I love telling students there used to be a payphone there.

We met on the west side. I remember telling Brenda that I liked Cheney, but there was one teacher I met, a long black-haired lady, and she was quite the whipper-snapper.

Yes, that was my first impression of Paula Voth. Don't worry, I told Paula this story when she retired.

I began fantasizing about having an apartment in west Wichita and driving to work in Cheney. I'd be all grown-up and on my own. Making my own money. Dad would not be telling me what to do.

And that could have happened because Cheney did offer me the job. And I did accept it. And I did go back to take some classes that summer at Wichita State University. Interpersonal communications and introduction to radio and television. Spending more money to make money. Isn't that the saying? But once my Cheney job started, I did not live in Wichita. Cheney became my home.

in the dorm signing the teaching contract

In fact, I didn't even get to pick out my first apartment. Dad, Mom, and Brenda did that. They drove to Cheney during the weekend of my graduation, found me a one-bedroom apartment, and put down a deposit. They saw Wilma Brandes walking among the Jefferson Condos on 2nd Street. I learned later that she was Theo's aunt. Wilma got them in touch with Stan and Darlene Woolf who owned the unit. The rest is history.

When my family came to Hillsboro on graduation day and told me this, can you imagine me being okay with that? I can't either, but I guess I was. One less thing to worry about.

That's how it all began.

Whenever I'm returning to Cheney from Wichita and arrive at the top of St. Joe Road, there's rarely a time I don't recall that day. The day I first drove over that hill. Thirty years ago today.

It's a beautiful scene.

The little town in the valley.

My home.

Student made a Difference in Life of a Teacher

Every student needs an advocate. Even the ones who get a bit mouthy, challenge you, and bounce all over the room with ideas. When I student taught in the fall of 1988 in a small rural town outside of Newton, Kansas, I encountered such a kid. 

He’d gotten into some trouble in his hometown school so he attended nearby Halstead. He was personable, witty, and smart. His name was Steve Elliott. 

Steve was a part of a small group of freshman I taught from the Class of 1992. 

They were a rowdy bunch, unlike the sophomores and juniors that I taught under my main cooperating teacher, Lois Loflin. 

She's the one who suggested that I also teach freshman—that way my certification would be valid for upper elementary.

I am certified 5-12 English, rarely seen now days. It means I don’t do cutesy bulletin boards, but I know grammar and a bit about Shakespeare and poetry to the point where I might be able to get a 10-year-old, as well as a 10th grader, interested in it. And since I’m a secondary English major, I am a comma fiend. 

So in addition to Loflin, I had a freshman class under a different teacher. They talked while the teacher was talking, bickered with each other, and seemed uninterested in learning. It was a rowdy bunch.

Maybe all freshmen are like this, but I don't know because I have not taught the age group since.

One can about imagine what happened when it came time for me to take over the teaching duties with the freshmen. I was the young thing, not even taller than most of them, and what did I know about teaching English. I also knew my supervising teacher from my college would be judging me on classroom management. So when I tried to break their chatty habits, I was met with resistance. Eventually, things got better, and I'm sure glad this cooperating teacher supported me.

Until.

One day.

There was a sub. A sub that thought she was in charge.

I was doing a punctuation review game, but this sub went into armed-guard mode. Her helicopter monitoring of the students turned them inside out. The kids rebelled, talked back to her, and bucked me. They'd never quite acted that way before--even with their regular teacher, so this shocked me.

I went home that Friday never wanting to return even though my classes under Loflin were going fine. The progress I'd made with the freshmen, thanks to the help of this cooperating teacher, was all undone that day by a sub that didn't know how far they'd come, and they felt like she nitpicked their behavior.

I wasn't sure how I was going to get through another couple months with those freshmen. Come Monday, I made a gutsy move. I told my cooperating teacher what happened with the sub and suggested that we split the class. I'd teach half and he'd teach the other half. He'd use my lesson plans, so that way he'd still know if I was on track with the content.

I made a list of the challenging students and split them up. We did a lottery system for the rest. And since I took what I thought he would see as some of the biggest stinkers, he agreed. We found an available room for me to teach them in, and he stayed in his classroom to teach the other half.

the freshmen ~ Steve is third from the right

It was with this small group of freshmen that I really connected with Steve. He made me feel like I was okay. That I could make it as a teacher. That my expectations of their behavior weren't out of line. That I could show a little bit of my sense of humor and maintain management of the classroom.

I would survive. And they would learn.

My student teaching days were coming to an end, but I didn't know if I still wanted to teach.

Until one day shortly before Christmas at the end of the term, I received a note from Vickie, Steve's mom.

It was written on a piece of blue scratch paper.

the note

Vickie's words helped shape my future.

I did get to meet Vickie when I attended Steve's wrestling meet. In fact, I got to spend an early Thanksgiving with them one year at their home. I made a trip to see Steve perform in the school play too.

And one school year, he made the journey to Cheney for me to help him with his research paper. It was during that visit he suggested we take a break and run to Wichita, so we went to Towne West Mall.

He wore his Bart Simpson shirt with the character giving the bird. I told him to close his jacket and he refused, so I walked on the other side of the mall from him in fear that a Cheney board member would see me walking with him. I never really ever went out of teacher mode with him.

Throughout the years, we've managed to stay in touch. He wrote me letters about his high school crushes, commented on the news of the day, and when he got engaged to his first wife, my sister Brenda went to Tulsa with me so I could meet her.

Years passed. Sometimes I'd get a phone call or a letter. Then a couple years ago we reconnected on Facebook. In 2013, when we were in Omaha for my niece Suzanne's wedding, we met up for lunch. I met his wife Barbie and two children.

And this summer, we had an impromptu get-together at his mom's in Burrton one afternoon—one in which he corrected my grammar.

Whenever I get to be around him, it's like time hasn't passed. He’s the same Steve. What you see is what you get. What he's up to will always matter to me.

Steve with me, summer 2015

We hear stories all the time about a teacher who helped turn a kid around.

With me, it was the other way around.

My heart knows that I would not be a teacher today had it not been for Steve Elliott and his mom.

The year after I taught Steve, I encountered a few more like him. Students in a classroom of my own. Kids who made me feel like I could do the job.

And do it for a long time.