Forty years ago Margo and I moved to Washington Island
Wisconsin to begin what was to be a year of teaching math and science on the Island. Washington Island is in Lake Michigan, a
ferry ride off of the tip of the Door County Peninsula – a seven mile in
diameter lovely piece of northern Wisconsin surrounded by water.
As a newly licensed teacher without experience in a glut of
baby boomers heading into teaching, getting a job was difficult. The Island may have had trouble attracting
teachers as they offered a lower salary than most rural Wisconsin districts,
wanted teachers licensed to teach a broad range of subjects and of course was
unique in location.
The idea of moving to an island with a very small school
system (90 students 1-12), was intriguing to us as well as the only real job
where we actually were invited to an interview!
The island looked very much like my own rural farming community in NW
Wisconsin—a familiar surrounding with Scandinavians as neighbors and the rural
life.
As a rural school student myself, I had experienced learning
in a combined classroom of 8 grades, and was not particularly concerned about
teaching all of the science and math to grades 7-12. My own background with double majors in Math
and Physics and heavy in Chemistry left me only weak in Biology for the
subjects setup for my first year on the Island.
I have written some of my memories of the Island previously—stories
with a mixture of memories and embellishments that may or may not have happened
on the Island or in some ensuing role as a teacher – at my age memories tend to
run together with the exceptional items sticking out and the more average
disappearing. See Washington Island for those stories.
After the 1974-75 school year, Margo and I left the Island
under sort of complicated conditions—the school board non-renewed Tom and I for our teaching styles (I think) and
then after a community meeting with the three new teachers, Sally having thrown her
lot into that of Tom and I, rescinded
the non-renewal. We ended up deciding to leave anyway rather than cause more problems. We new teachers had come to the island fresh from college and unknowingly
changed education there from what might be called “old school” to new fangled
methods, causing some controversy and somewhat dividing the Islanders. We were clueless about this until the non-renewal (teacher speak for firing).
I had grown to know three
other new teachers quite well during the year and have always remembered them
fondly, as I do our year on the Island and the wonderful experiences and especially the students. We were hopeful that some of
the students would remember us as fondly as we remembered them.
Something like 20 years ago, Margo and I returned to the island quietly to see how things looked.
We
visited with one of our former teacher friends, Estelle, and visited the Mann store
where Orion, one of my students worked with his family keeping the store. Then things looked much the same although the
charming old school with its incongruous additions had been replaced by a
modern building (charm replaced by utility).
My room had been in the SE new
addition to the old building—I had found it very much to my liking with morning
and daytime sunshine brightening our days.
I managed to keep up
with fellow teacher Tom after he left the Island and moved to a Madison suburb
and eventually to Polk County, WI where I grew up and spent summer weekends. Every few years we visited and caught up, and
now in retirement we see each other every few months to check up on
things.
The other new teacher in 1974 was Sally, a native of Antigo,
WI and a wonderful friend and colleague as the English and History
teacher. We completely lost contact with
her after we left the Island in the spring of ’75. Tom thought she was in the Madison area, but
had lived to Green Bay.
Not knowing if she married and changed her name, and before
the days of Googling, we despaired ever finding her again. A few years ago, I finally signed up for
Facebook, so I could too annoy my friends and relatives with cats, dogs, trees,
and political posts. Facebook tends to
pander to those of us wanting to contact old friends, and most women enter
their maiden and married names so they are available to be found more easily by
their first true loves just in case they feel the urge to dump their current
partners.
Back in 2011, when I still wrote the River Road Ramblings
column for the local newspaper, I did a series of 4 stories on our winter on the Island
entitling it “Fired on Washington Island” or something lurid like to grab my
reader’s attention with their love of gossip about their neighbors.
In thinking about the stories, I visited with Tom for his memories. He and I agreed on much and differed on much,
so I though a third view would be helpful and attempted to find Sally—unsuccessfully
at first – as she was not yet on Facebook.
Eventually I found her and made contact. She was still working full time. We talked about a “reunion” of former
teachers and a visit to the island, but health issues, jobs (she was younger
and still working) and inertia intervened.
Finally, with this being the 40th year since our
Island sojourn, I got commitments from Tom and Sally to do it, and finally we
set a date as October 10th weekend, the Island Fall festival weekend
where some entertainment was built in to our visit.
We delayed getting reservations for a motel until a couple
of weeks before, and then scrambled to find them as it was a homecoming weekend
for islanders and a color tour for tourists and seasonal folks closing up for
the winter. Margo thought the Holiday
Inn (not connected with the big chain) would be nice as she worked there making beds,
doing laundry and cleaning for a time while we were on the Island. It and most
other motels were filled up for Friday night. Eventually the Townliner, down to
its last room gave us a reservation.
Margo has sciatica
(severe, sharp, disabling pains in her leg from a disc in her back pinching a
nerve) and was unsure until the last minute if she could handle the trip. Two steroid shots in her back and lots of
pain killers and a cane and some strong desire to return and keep Tom and I out
of trouble pushed her into coming along.
As long as we didn’t walk very far she thought it would be OK – and it
was. She is probably headed for back
surgery in a few months if the latest shot doesn’t help. She had liked the island and islanders and
wanted to visit again too.
Should we let anyone on the Island know we were headed back
for a 40 year reunion? Tom worried that
as we had left ahead of a tarring and feathering party, we might not be welcomed
and should quietly arrive and check things out.
Sally, who had been back previously, but not really publically, did not
seem worried. I never like to do anything
surreptitiously especially if it is legal, and was really curious what had happened
to our former students and wanted to do it with a splash.
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During our year there I had grown to really like every
single one of my students and fellow teachers was hopeful as I blogged “we hadn’t
scarred any of them for life.” One of
the good and bad things about living in small community, amplified greatly by
living on an island, is the complete knowledge of each other’s good and bad
points. To get along you have to know
and accept people as they are and that means toleration of a wide range of
behavior, even if you might privately disapprove. (One of our former student's Melody (Melodie?) has written a poem on this--quite wonderful but I don't have a copy of it).
The school was a microcosm of the island. I knew that I would have my 7th
graders for the next 6 years, so we had to adjust to each other or both of our
lives would be difficult ahead.
In my life, I have always tried to understand what makes people who they are—that unique mixture of inborn traits , family influence, church, peers and schools and teachers—the mixture of genes and experience.
In my life, I have always tried to understand what makes people who they are—that unique mixture of inborn traits , family influence, church, peers and schools and teachers—the mixture of genes and experience.
A “difficult” student was, to me, one who didn't learn
something or didn't want to learn something while in school or at least attempt to learn something. The
difficulty was in getting them engaged in learning so they chose to learn
rather than were forced. I knew
whether or not they thrived in geometry was less important long term than a
positive attitude towards learning. Most
important was self control and the self motivation to do things—and a teacher
should work with the student to remove whatever was in the way of the self part
of learning.
Having spent 2 ½ years working full time in a nursing home as
a nurse’s aide between college and grad school/teaching, and getting to know hundreds
of folks at the end of their lives and talking to them about their lives gives
one a broad view of things. What seemed
to matter? Attitudes towards life, the
ability to accept new things and to change and learn new things as the world
changed too.
Many of the men were WWI
veterans; all lived through the Great Depression and World War II—the years of
want and deprivation and their ability to thrive and adapt to changing
conditions made them successful or not. I guess I gained a better understanding of people and tolerance for their struggles through
life as I saw them finish it in a nursing home.
If you try to see
every person as a result of many conditions out of their control, you can
accept them and work with them to bring more things under their own control—education
being one of the tools to gain control. That made me, as a teacher believe what I offered was valuable.
Teaching is not a one-way street. Teachers learn a great deal from students and
their families if we are open. Sadly, I
didn’t stay on the Island long enough to learn much from my neighbors. I think the commercial fishing was what I was
most interested in, but never made the effort to follow through in that short
year, thinking summer vacation and following years would create opportunities –
hadn’t really planned to be there only one year.
On the Island it is hard to think of living off of it; off the Island it is hard to think of living on it. I felt that during this visit too.
On the Island it is hard to think of living off of it; off the Island it is hard to think of living on it. I felt that during this visit too.
To alert some Islanders we were coming, I found an Island
Facebook page that one of our former students, Melody, was helping – an Island
history as seen through the children of the island in previous decades. The
website is a growing collection of old photos and reminiscences. I posted a comment that Sally, Tom and I
planned to visit after 40 years on the October 11th weekend and were
hoping to find out if any of our former students had come our year there
unscarred.
Friday at 7:00 am we left Cushing. An hour later we picked up Tom over by Turtle Lake. The Google map and estimate said about 7 hours and a ferry ride. Hwy 8 through Barron to Hwy 53, Hwy 29 to Green Bay, Hwy 42 to the ferry and across.
When we arrived at the ferry loading dock, I asked the ferry
center person about our former teacher friend Estelle. Her father was Arni, the ferry company head
for half a century or so and only passed away a few years ago. “She is not well, in a hospital off the
island—not sure where. She has not been
well for many years.” Margo often spent
part of a day volunteering to help in her classroom of grades 1-3 upstairs and
they were good friends and kept up by exchanging Christmas cards until a few years
ago when she no longer replied.
Tom struck up a conversation with the man working in the
ferry ticket office who it turned out to be a teacher who came in about 77 and
taught math (I think) until a couple of years ago. He brought us up to date on a few of our
friends. On the ferry on the way over,
we visited with another original islander going back for the weekend – and I
can’t remember her name, but she was the older sister of one of our students
and I can’t remember that name either –terrible getting old! Tom, a Navy sailor before becoming a teacher,
headed directly for the bridge where he politely asked for permission to enter
(sailors have their way of doing things that we land lubbers are not versed in)
and spent the trip over visiting and learning more about the islanders and
island and ferries.
We knew from experience if we talked to a few folks and told
them about our 40 year return that the Island would soon be aware of
things. My first inkling of this 40
years ago was when after I bought a loaf of wheat bread at the store across the
road at the Clover Farm store and one of my students asked in class “So you
like wheat bread?” that things were
different. I suppose there was some practicality
to the question, as the store keeper likely needed to know to order an extra
loaf of wheat bread each week for us.
So I expected the Island to know we had arrived and was intrigued to
find out the reaction if any.
We had our
question down—do you know if there are any “Islanders” who are living here
53-58 years old who went to school on the island. Islanders tended to mean “born here” with a
pedigree of a few generations, but probably in colloquial use indicates folks
who life here year round. I suppose half
of our students weren’t born Islanders, but the shorthand quickly distinguishes
visitors and summer folks.
We got off the ferry by 3 pm and chose to
first stop at the school. It was an
in-service day for teachers so no students, and the teachers still in session--a chance to look around the school and possibly visit with some teachers, including Becky, one of our students from 40 years ago now teaching.
Sue, the administrative
assistant or ?? gave us a tour of the building.
Very nice and roomy and well kept up.
Different from our old/new mixture building, but not at all
crowded.
When I thought about the new vs old, as with everything else
in my experience, I advantages and disadvantages. Having the tight quarters when we were there
made it easy for us to keep track of students and pushed teachers together –
great advantages and probably much of the reason why we worked together so
closely and also were able to let students have a somewhat freer campus. Other than the attic, there were really no
places to disappear—and if, for instance, Amy wanted to go to work on the
yearbook, we knew someone would be at every place she might be tempted to
dally.
The old school was charming. intimate and, like a spouse you
intend to keep, worth ignoring the fault. However, the new school’s extra space
would have given us room to stretch and likely have stimulated us in different
ways. I think I would have missed the
laughter and excitement spilling into my classroom from Sally’s as she engaged
the kids in a new learning game, but probably not missed the longing looks
coming from my students as they heard it while struggling to find X.
Extra room, to spread
out projects would have been great too when we were there. You adapt to whatever you have, sometimes the
constraints adding more value than you realize at the time.
Becky, one of our former students, is an elementary teacher
at the Island school, and we had hoped to say hi—but the in-service droned on
and being former teachers we were reluctant to disturb teachers being educated—so
postponed that part of the visit.
We stayed in room 2 of the Town Liner motel, a quiet and
pleasant place in a rural setting, yet within staggering distance of the Island
center – stores, bars and restaurant all within walking distance. We had dialed many motels to find one with a
room on Friday, and appear to have gotten the last available one. It was setup so Tom had the main room with a
sofa pullout bed and we had a separate bedroom.
We used it only for sleeping, but thought it fine. Our neighbors were fishermen, early to bed and
early to rise and very quiet for the same hours we were there and willing to
share some freshly caught and grilled fish.
About $100/night. It was, as Margo
says about me, adequate. I thought it
fine and as it had WIFI, noticed nothing else – a true sign of adequacy.
After checking in at the motel, we headed to the restaurant
nearby, the K. K. Fiske (I think) as Sue had recommended it for the Friday fish
meal. “Not serving until 5 pm.” As it was 4 pm, and Tom was suffering a bout
of gout and had sworn off beer as the most likely culprit with any alcohol
suspect, didn’t want to mess up what walking ability he still had. (Tom and I grew up in fundamentalist homes
where alcohol was a wicked, iniquitous, sinful beverage brewed by friends of
the Devil himself, so even though we have mellowed a little since then, still
attribute our bad health to living sinfully).
Across the street is the Mann grocery store, which 40 years
ago was one of two groceries on the Island.
“Let’s see if Orion is there,” I said to Tom and we walked over –Margo sitting
in the car with her bad leg. “He’s in
the back” said the clerk.
The grocery store was large and had an excellent selection of
foods—much better than local groceries in my neighborhood. Stepping into the back, we found Orion, taller
than his student days, but looking the same.
He seemed pleased to see us and remembered us from the year on the
Island. He got called away to help a
customer so we headed to the bar across the road where Tim was still in charge.
Tom, before Sally and I came to the Island to be a good
influence on him, had spent some time in the bar. He and Tim reminisced about streaking the
women’s club next door and got reacquainted.
Having not dared to go to the bars as a teacher worrying about his
reputation, I had bumped into Tim but didn’t know him. He was the scoutmaster when we were there and
knew the same boys we had in school.
Twelve years later, I too became a scoutmaster when Scott got involved
in Boy Scouts in Byron, MN.
Five o’clock and we headed back to the K. K. Fiske for dinner. Melody met us there – the second student we
saw. As she was as pleased to see us as
we were to see her, we decided that maybe students remembered us—and not too
terribly. Amy came later and also had
good memories and said she would plan some kind of reunion for Saturday night
and for us to stop over when Sally came across Saturday morning.
I didn’t realize it, but the Island was already weaving its
spell on us—the closeness and closed-ness of a self-contained community.
Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.
You wanna go where people know,
people are all the same,
You wanna go where everybody knows
Your name.