Mr. T. retired from the private school that NB attended in the year of her 8th grade graduation. He had had a rough year at the school because he was responsible for secondary school placements and packaging the students for the best possible presentation. He had already stepped down from active teaching. Unfortunately Miss NB's class was a motley crew with few credentials to lay claim to and the high schools that the students were accepted to were far below the expectations of their parents.
NB had opted out of the private school scene and was adamant about returning to our local public high school. Therefore, we were not a part of the lynch mob mentality who blamed Mr. T. for their poor outcomes. That class has gone on to fulfill their destinies as would be predicted: in a very inauspicious manner.
NB disliked the private school but to us, there were many positives. She got to sit down to a home cooked, nutritious lunch and eat at her own pace. She had interesting art courses, and being physically fit was deemed important. These things had been cut from the public school budgets. Still, we never quite fit in with the upper class persona of the school and we became renegades in our own right.
The private school reflected the struggles of our country. It had been an all white, elite school for the privileged few that realized that they had to open their doors wider to meet the future. This caused quite a bit of turmoil within the school, and we found ourselves among and also siding with the minorities. Mrs. V., the headmistress came from the Philippines and was a most cultured and educated woman. Yet, she told me on countless occasions, that she was mistaken for a housekeeper. She went on, following in the next year, to have a catastrophic heart attack herself and also retired.
We all did our best to keep Miss NB afloat in this environment and Mr. T became her champion. Something clicked for him about his understanding of Miss NB and he fell in love with her. He became her advocate. He even used to blow kisses goodbye to the tiniest, fiercest girl in the middle school. She sustained his admiration by scoring higher by far than anyone on the standardized tests that were frequently administered. By comparison, the rest of the class looked dismal. NB didn't care about the scores or the accolades she received at the morning assemblies. In fact, she was always about 45 minutes late to school and breezed in on her own schedule, never attending assembly.
Mr. T would laugh about NB's life in "Caribbean time". School began at 8 AM and we live several towns over. Many students lived farther away but wouldn't dare to be late. We were late every single day of middle school and no one uttered one word of criticism to us because of Mr. T. Miss NB was given leeway by this educator. He sometimes got mad at her, and annoyed with me. His complaints were valid but sometimes ridiculous. He would be frustrated about the way NB played softball, wanting her to be the star of every game. If you weigh 65 lbs. and go up against girls who were twice as large, well, it was hard to always shine through. He got pretty wound up, and it's no surprise that he had cardiac failure.
NB was planning to tell him about going to medical school. I thought about Mr. T myself from time to time. I even ran into him a couple of times. He was a Bronx boy and his background reminded me of Frank McCourt's. At graduation, one of the teachers sang "Danny Boy" to honor Mr. T. I felt that there was a bond between us when we were adrift in the milieu of entitlement and social climbing of the private school. Mr. P.T. had a wife, two daughters and recently a grandchild, and we were happy for him.
Rest in peace, Mr. T. We are sad that you are not around.
(Feel free to add on here, NB, if you have anything you want to say. He was your friend, after all.)
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