Every fall they filed into her room, sullen, unwilling.  They mumbled, stared at the floor, shuffled their feet, hid their cigarettes.  For an entire year–an eternity for a fourteen-year-old–they would be her close companions: pimply-faced, rednecks, farm boys, rich brats, jocks, geeks, boys with their sleeves rolled up to their armpits, reeking of cigarettes and covered with dust from the rocky playing fields at Lanier Jr. High, Macon, GA, where she tried to distract them from bouncing balls and girls with the phylogenetic scale.  She had no Smart Board. No Power Point. No computer. She certainly did not have a decent salary.  I can imagine the uncharitable thoughts that probably went through her mind as she got her first glimpse of the new pimply-faced crop, dragging in, one after the other, bored, and boring.

Mrs. Mary Eva Harper probably located the class of 1959 somewhat lower in the Darwinian pecking order than we would have appreciated; nonetheless, we “liked” her, although “like” is a volatile verb to ascribe to the affections of any fourteen-year-old male.

Some felt themselves anointed, in an all-boys public school, with their Bass Weijuns, alligator belts and madras shirts. Others dressed more modestly. But most of us were lacking one important gift, humility.  How she tolerated the pre-air conditioning stink alone beats me, but she did and did so with panache, wry humor and an occasional thrust of Periodic Chart wit that left our jaws on the floor. 

No self-esteem boosting for Mary Eva Harper. No therapeutic double-speak– “We need to work on his self-image” — to ensure parents that Johnny was receiving lots of coos and strokes in Mrs. Harper’s class. It was get it and get it now! This train is leaving, son! If you want to be left behind, ignorant, and clueless about science, then take your time and turn in your homework next week. You’ll do fine—and flunk.

 Fun? Try an Encyclopedia Britannica filmed account of the Venus fly trap in action. We watched that helpless fly thinking: that’s what she’s going to do to me if I don’t get the science project in on time!  Those Venusian spikes closing painfully slow onto the glue-trapped fly.  In those days media in the schools were more incentive-driven. 

With her posse of Marvin Davis, Guyton Carr, and Ouida Poe in the school named after Georgia’s first poet laureate, she served in the trenches with grace and dignity. I often recalled her in situations where I, as a teacher, had to tolerate soul-killing disrespect or endure a blizzard of useless paperwork.  Mary Eva Harper was a touchstone in my life. I praise G-d He put her there and even though I never had a chance to thank her properly, I hope she recognizes, even as I write this, how much my life, how many lives were shaped by her wise and witty touch.