Sitting on the
Throne Was Miss Cotter
by Don Drewniak
What were the
odds? Having survived the disaster that was my
first two days of teaching (see the addendum),
things went smoothly until the appearance the
next week of Miss Willington the Second.
The first Miss
Willington was my once a week, fifth grade music
teacher. At the end of our last practice before
the class was going to sing at a year end school
assembly, Willington the First did something she
had never previously done. She told us that we
could talk quietly during the last two or three
minutes of class. Of course, she knew that within
seconds the decibel level would hit 160.
She then
pointed her index finger at me and motioned for
me to come to her desk where her rather hefty
body was stuffed into a chair. With her face
uncomfortably close to mine, she said in a low
voice, “If you don’t sing at the
assembly, I will give you a good grade.”
That hurt. I
imagined her being trampled by Killer Cows. Or
disintegrated by one of Retik’s lunarium
powered ray cannons that were featured in one of
the Saturday afternoon serials that I saw at a
local theater. Or trapped in a sewer with
hundreds of hungry rats. Or dropped into a river
filled with piranha.
Willington the
Second was also a traveling music teacher. She
made an appearance once every two weeks. I had
been instructed by the principal to stay in the
room when she conducted the music classes. He
didn’t mention her name and I didn’t
ask.
In she walked
on a Thursday morning.
That face.
Where have I seen that face?
“Good
morning, boys and girls.”
“Good
morning, Miss Willington.”
I nearly fell
out of my chair.
No, it can’t
be! My fifth-grade music teacher?
It wasn’t.
She was a somewhat older sister. Again, what were
the odds, especially since the two schools were
48 miles apart?
The class
carried on in a fashion similar to that of her
“baby” sister. She introduced three
songs and spent 15–20 minutes leading the
class in singing each one.
Then came a
bolt out of the blue at the end of the period.
“You will practice these songs with Mr.
Drewniak next week. Good-bye, boys and girls.”
“Good-bye,
Miss Willington.”
What the…?
The dreaded
day came all too soon. I purposely delayed the
start of the music class by eight to ten minutes
before instructing the kids (35 of them) to take
their music books out of their desks. I had them
open the timeworn books to the first song to be
practiced.
“Okay
kids, when I count to three, start singing. One…two…three…”
Crickets. Not
even a peep.
“One more
time. One…two..three…”
Crickets.
Andrew, a
fearless student, blurted out, “Mr. D, Miss
Willington always starts the songs for us.”
“Thank
you, Andrew. Please come up and show me how to do
it.”
He took center
stage. Mimicking me, he blurted out, “One…two…three…”
and started to sing.
A few of the
kids followed suit, the rest broke out into
laughter.
I had them put
the books back in their desks and to a chorus of
cheers, I brought them out for gym class.
The next music
class came in what seemed like the blink of an
eye.
“Good
morning, boys and girls.”
“Good
morning, Miss Willington.”
“Did you
practice your songs with Mr. Drewniak?”
“No, Miss
Willington.”
She glared at
me, but said nothing.
“Mr.
Drewniak, may I see you?” she asked at the
end of class. Out of earshot of the students, she
asked me why I failed to do as instructed. I
explained what happened.
“Here,”
she said as she reached into her purse and handed
me a pitch pipe. “Use this next week.”
“Good-bye,
boys and girls.”
“Good-bye,
Miss Willington.”
As she
approached one of the two classroom doors, I
intercepted her.
“Do you
have a relative who is a music teacher in Fall
River?”
She tersely
replied, “Yes.”
That was the
only time I ever spoke to her.
The school
lacked a gymnasium. As a result, P.E. was held
outside weather permitting. Otherwise it was held
in classrooms. However, holding P.E. in a
classroom crowded with 35 students didn't allow
enough room even to do jumping jacks without
risking kids getting poked in an eye. How many
times could you have the kids do bean bag toss?
During a
normal five day school week, the music time slot
was also used for an art class, two P.E. classes,
and an extra reading class. I pondered the
situation over the weekend and came up with a
possible solution. The fifth grade teachers had
the same time slot for the specialty subjects as
did those of us who taught grade six.
I paid a visit
to the fifth grade teacher, Miss Cotter, who
taught in a room opposite mine. She, like eight
of us on the faculty, was a first year teacher. I
offered to cover both of her P.E. classes if she
handled my music classes. She didn’t
hesitate to say yes.
With the
memory of my first two days of teaching firmly
entrenched in my mind, I suggested it might be
best if she cleared it with the principal.
She laughed.
“Gee, I wonder why?”
The switch was
approved.
A twenty
minute recess followed sixth grade lunch. I drew
outdoor recess once or twice a week weather
permitting. A second teacher was on duty with me.
This allowed me to play basketball with some of
the students.
I was playing
on a very hot and humid day shortly after the
switch was made. Male faculty members were
required to wear long sleeve white shirts and
narrow ties. I was covered with sweat when the
end of recess bell rang, and hurriedly asked the
other teacher on duty to bring the kids back into
the school. It was off to the only faculty room.
The room was
small and had just enough square footing for an
ancient couch, a wooden chair and a small wooden
table with a coffee pot on it. A tiny restroom
containing only a toilet and a World War I
vintage sink was positioned at one end of the
room. The toilet rested atop a foot high wooden
square and faced the restroom door which in my
haste I pulled open without given it a second
thought.
Uh-oh!
Sitting on the
throne was Miss Cotter. Both her skirt and
panties were around her ankles. To make matters
worse, we both froze for a few seconds until I
came to my senses and closed the door. Needless
to say, I was highly distracted during the
afternoon’s teaching. I didn’t want to
have to dwell overnight on what happened, so I
decided to offer an apology as soon as the
students were gone for the day.
I knocked on
her door.
“Come in.”
She was
sitting at her desk. I stopped ten feet away.
“Miss
Cotter…”
“Jane.”
“Jane, I
apologize. I should have knocked.”
“And I
should have locked the door. Don’t worry
about it, you’re not the first guy to see me
with my panties down.”
My brain
turned to mush. I have no remembrance of what I
said in return. Most likely, I sounded like a
blithering idiot. We became good friends
throughout the rest of the school year.
When I
returned for year two, she was gone. Another
faculty member said that she had traveled to
Hawaii for a two week vacation. While there, she
wired her parents asking to have some of her
clothing shipped to her. She accepted a teaching
position on The Big Island.
Addendum: The story of my first two days of
teaching is told in How They Ended Up
Upside Down and Dead published in the
anthology The Bad Day Book – Volume
1.
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