Published November 17th, 2015 in the Telegraph Herald
Lila Belle Koffron was my ninth grade English teacher. I remember her as being aged, demanding, strict, and not easily charmed by what I thought was my winsome personality. She didn’t even smile in our senior Yearbook picture. Every teacher smiles in a Yearbook portrait; after all, they have the last laugh. But not Mrs. Koffron.
Mrs. Koffron taught me how to write. Actually, she was the first of many teachers who tried to teach me how to write. Writing isn’t easy. It takes a lot of practice, and the end product isn’t worth reading until it has been edited at least a dozen times. Good research, fluid writing, and sound editing were disciplines that Mrs. Koffron drilled into her ninth grade class. She demonstrated that commitment by requiring us to work on one research paper throughout the semester. By the time I started writing the piece, I had a collection of neatly organized, 3×5 research cards standing in perfect order. It didn’t take me too long to discover that there was a lot more to a good paper than stringing together quotations from deceased American authors. I had to tell a story which was introduced by a thesis, and I had to support the thesis with well-researched arguments. I learned that a semester wasn’t long enough to do the kind of research and writing required by Lila Belle Koffron.
I have been fortunate to have other good teachers as well. Early in my college career, one teacher sat with me and corrected every paper I wrote with a green pen. After that correction, I re-wrote the paper. It was patiently edited yet another time before I typed the final version. In retrospect, I learned more about sentence construction from those editing sessions than I ever picked up from the Chicago Manual of Style. One of my seminary professors, a retired marine, once called on me to parse the Greek word λεγον. “It’s a nominative, singular, masculine, linear, active, participle,” I declared. “Are you sure?” he barked. “Yes.” I was in his good graces for the rest of the year. Another graduate school professor pushed me (and still does) to be more concise with my writing. I’m a preacher, and preachers like to tell stories. Concision doesn’t come naturally to us. With green marker in hand (what is it about green markers?), he edited and corrected, even while he offered generous amounts of encouragement and insight.
Teachers aren’t perfect. Mrs. Koffron was sterner than she needed to be. Teachers make mistakes. They have bad days. They like some students better than others, and there are probably times when they’d rather stay at home. But committed teachers have a way of mesmerizing a classroom. They understand that they must reach a student before they can teach a student. Once they’ve made that connection, a student begins to experience the profound joy of learning. Having that experience is a gift that lasts a lifetime.
I am grateful for the committed teachers in our community, and I’m even more thankful for the committed faculty at the University of Dubuque, Clarke, Loras, Emmaus, Wartburg, Divine Word, and NICC. I have the privilege of witnessing the power of personal transformation that takes place when a student “gets it.” At graduation, moms and dads who also experience that metamorphosis regularly thank me. When done well, teaching is a holy endeavor.
I encourage each of us to take a moment to thank an influential teacher in our lives. In the words of one of the greats, “Remember: an ounce of taffy is far better than a pound of epitaphy.”
