The Michelangelo of Educators

How long one inhabits this old planet is often a subject for discussion among all of us at one time or another. We think about it, the pros and the cons, and everyone has a different take on the subject.

Being of the senior persuasion I’ve been privy to many conversations on how long one does/does not choose to go on living and all things considered the opinions are a mixed bag. I have friends that would be content to be a hank of hair and a bag of bones if they can only keep breathing air. Some are clinging tenaciously to a life filled with doctors, nursing homes and medications.

Others are keeping a foot in the road and enjoying everything they can squeeze into every day. I think I fall in this category as I still have more to do than I can get around to and new and different things appear daily. I recognize I’m among the fortunate to still enjoy reasonably good health, can still climb like a monkey and retain a bit of “fleet of footness” if I have to chase the dog. The things I’ve had to give up I just put in the “sense of humor” bag and laugh at myself.

A good example is I was spot cleaning the carpet the other day and discovered when it was time to get up – I couldn’t. I’m sure Ubba, the dog got a huge kick out of watching me crawl to the sofa on my hands and knees, pull myself to an upright position and then fall on the couch laughing like a loon. He thought I was inviting him to play – so we did.

This longevity thing came to mind today as I received an email from Marie. My brother went to school with her umpteen, jillion years ago. Marie’s mother, Mrs. Russell, was Brother’s English teacher in high school and his favorite teacher of all time. They stayed in touch over the years and when Brother was named Poet Laureate of Texas he credited Mrs. Russell for any/all expertise he might have as to the English language, writing, poetry, etc. I've always believed, for Mrs. Russell, although she’d always loved him dearly, with the Poet Laureate honor Brother became the star in her teaching crown.

As long as she remained able they kept in touch and their affection for one another was delightful to behold. It got particularly interesting when Brother was no longer a young man and one gray head would sit and hold the hand of the other. Marie emailed me a message for Brother a couple of weeks ago wherein she advised me that she and Mrs. Russell had, some years ago, discussed what final arrangements her mother chose. Seems the big thing on Mrs. Russell’s list was she wanted Brother to sing at her funeral. I talked to Brother and emailed Marie back that whenever – it was a done deal.

I received the news this morning that Mrs. Russell passed away peacefully, and comfortably, in her sleep last night – an old body had finally just worn out. I dithered around here until this afternoon as I dreaded having to impart the news to Brother -- knowing the loss would be monumental to him. As fate would have it he called me on something totally unrelated before I could call him and I became the bearer of sad news. He grew very quiet for a few minutes and I just waited on him to gather himself back up and continue the conversation.

He maintained very well – he usually does – and immediately began telling me the wonderful times he’d shared with his old friend. We discussed what he’d sing at the funeral and then he began discussing a poem he’d written called “Paint What?” which was Mrs. Russell’s favorite of his huge body of work. That particular poem has not received as much attention as others and I was surprised that would be her pick although it’s definitely one of my favorites. It goes thusly:

PAINT WHAT?

Each and every endless day

For weeks that had become months,

He rose from his meager bed

Before the first glimmer of that

Glorious light he loved so well

And walked again through the silent,

Early morning to the chapel.

He there climbed the rickety scaffolding,

High into the sky inside the chapel,

To the place where he had

Yesterday stopped his labor

Because the light had faded,

And he had lain on his back, painting

Until he could no longer raise his right arm.

The glorious light

Had just touched the spot

Where he had left off yesterday,

When he arrived at the small pillow

Upon which he would lay his head

Until the light was gone

And he could no longer raise his right arm.

On his back, hour on hour,

Day after day, months into years.

One day I shall finish this, he thinks,

As he hears the huge doors of the chapel

Swing open in the sacred darkness below him.

He hears the voice of the Pope,

His employer, shouting from below,



"Michel,

What the hell are you doing up there?

I asked you to paint the chapel cistern!"

Michael shouts down to the Pope,

"May I finish this first?

It shouldn't take more than 200 years,

Give or take."

StevenFromholz©2007

We finally ended our conversation. Brother was going to call Marie and see where he had to be when for the services, etc. so I’d done my part. The more I thought about Mrs. Russell’s choice of poetry the more I realized what a truly amazing educator she had been and why. Her favorite poem was a tongue-in-cheek thing, indicative of a sharp sense of humor, and a mind that definitely colored outside the lines. Those are the very qualities that had probably sustained her through a 40+ year teaching career.

Those of us who knew her were privileged. She imparted learning, living skills and fun into many, many lives and left a legacy among her former students that will not only remain with them but will be passed on to their children and grandchildren. I have no idea if she was ever recognized by her peers as being an exceptional educator but she definitely left a definitive mark on every student fortunate enough to be in her classes.

Brother’s poem was based on Michelangelo de Lodovico Buonarroti Simon who lived from March 6, 1475 to February 18, 1564 and was close to 89 years of age at his death. He’s recognized as one of the greatest artists who ever lived.

Mrs. Russell lived to be 104 years old and will be remembered by many as a friend, confidante, exceptional personality, and quite possibly…. the Michelangelo of Educators.

Rest in peace, dear friend – a life well lived and a job well done.