Geri Rohlff could barely contain her excitement as she was inducted into the National Teachers Hall of Fame on Friday.
“We have just been welcomed like you wouldn’t believe,” the high school teacher from Auburn, Wash., told the crowd at Albert Taylor Hall. “It feels like a great big hug.”
The hug was big enough to enfold five people — Rohlff, John Snyder of Las Vegas, Joseph Underwood of Miami, Norman Conard of Uniontown and Edna Rogers of Sevierville, Tenn. Some cried. All smiled. None remained untouched by the moment.
“I have know John Snyder for the last 15 years,” Conard said, indicating his fellow inductee sitting nearby in a wheelchair.
“John’s been an inspiration to me ...” he said, then broke off to swallow. “...like so many others ...” Another hard swallow. Then he gave a shaky laugh.
“I don’t want to start with emotion right now, or we’ll never get through,” he said with a smile, drawing a sympathetic chuckle from the audience.
With the induction of these five, the Hall now has 80 members. The newest class arrived in town Thursday and has had a whirlwind of an experience since, fielding meals and meetings, interviews and receptions.
For Conard, the magic hit home when the Hall of Fame Honor Choir welcomed them Friday afternoon, singing “My Country ’Tis of Thee” from the second floor of the Visser Hall atrium.
“Moments like that are special,” he said. “(They) help create an atmosphere of happiness.”
Surprise turns
At least two of the members had never even expected to teach. Underwood started out acting and working in radio, while Rogers — then Edna Loveday — went to college only to find a good man and marry him.
“I’m sad to say that school was never a joy for me,” she said. “I was very shy child who never raised my hand to ask a question.”
She met the man of her dreams, who then moved to take a teaching job. A teaching shortage was on and Rogers found herself being begged to teach as well. A second move revealed a second shortage and led to a second job. She wound up teaching for 12 years before she ever got her degree.
She found herself getting a Head Start program going and getting involved in the lives of the little children. But she really committed to teaching kindergarten after adopting 8-year-old Ikey and 9-year-old Molly, neither of whom had their kindergarten basics. Ikey, who had been through 13 foster homes, couldn’t even recite his ABCs.
“I had a new goal in life,” Rogers told the audience. “I had committed myself to see that every student I served had the best education possible. If they miss that foundation in early childhood, it’s very hard to catch up.”
Underwood took the opportunity to explain a pin he’d been wearing the whole time, a Mickey Mouse hand raised in a thumbs-up. He was a Disney teacher of the year and before the training sessions in Orlando, he was looking for something that could signify a “Disney Hand Award.”
Life got in the way. One Sunday morning, Underwood got sick. He was ready to shrug it off, but his wife Nancy rushed him to the ER.
“Seventeen hours later, I was sitting in a children’s waiting room with cartoon characters on the wall,” he said. “I ended up in the operating room for major abdominal surgery.
When an oncologist told him he had large cell non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, his first reaction was simple: “I don’t have time!”
He made time and made some changes, but still drove out to Orlando to meet with the other teachers. On the way, he found the Mickey Mouse pin. It wasn’t quite what he had been looking for, but the thumbs-up seemed encouraging, so he bought it.
The others noticed. And on the final day, with 80 teachers, principals and others standing in a circle, one teacher made an announcement.
“Joe, we know you’re getting ready to go into chemotherapy and we want you to know we’re behind you,” she said. “Honorees, take out your pins!”
“80 people put this pin on,” Underwood said. “I was shaking and crying.”
He’s never gone without the pin since. Others have sent him photos of support wearing the pin and one person has even worn it in several races again leukemia. It reinforced in him just how easy it is to make a difference.
“Besides making a difference in kids’ lives, those who care make a difference in all our lives,” he said. “These folks made a difference in my life. The Hall of Fame has made a difference in our lives. And I want to thank you for making a difference today.”
Honoring an example
Snyder could have told plenty of his own stories: how he transformed a boring technology lesson into an online game, how he and his students all address each other as “Dr.” as a sign of respect, how a young man from Wichita wound up in one of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S. But instead, he spent much of his time Friday night recounting another teacher’s story: that of Bob Coleman of Connecticut.
Coleman’s story described his efforts to teach a 48-year-old retarded woman named Emily who had been in a prison cottage since 13, when she pushed her mother out a window to her death. Coleman, Snyder said, would repeatedly play a question and answer game.
“What is this?”
“Grass,” she would say.
“Who made the grass?”
“God.”
“Why?”
“Because God loves Emily.”
The last question was always the same. “Who made Emily?” “God.” “Why?” “Because God loves Emily.”
On the first day that Emily got to go outside and feel the grass, the game began but this time with the roles reversed. And after asking the final question, why God made Bob, Emily answered it herself “Because Emily loves Bob.”
“I thought, ‘Now there is a person who belongs in the Hall of Fame,’” Snyder said. “And guess what — he is! I found that out just last week. That should tell you something of how I feel at joining this group of individuals.”
Inspiring moments
Conard’s memories went back to one of his students’ greatest achievements — the Irena Sendler project, honoring a Polish Catholic woman who rescued 2,500 Jewish children from the Holocaust. His students researched her, wrote a play about her life that has been performed internationally, and even went to Poland to meet her.
“As we walked into her room — my students, my wife and me — we met this 4-foot-10 woman who had such great courage and warmth to her,” Conard said. “It inspired us. And it reminded me we are all learning, we are all students. And we are all something better ever day because of education.”
Rohlff always wanted to teach, but after Proposition 13 passed in California, there were no jobs. She became a paralegal, but was never really satisfied. The day that she jumped out of a plane — and cut her lip while opening her chute — she faced up to what she really wanted.
“I told myself ‘You’ve got to start thinking about what you want to do in life, because what you’re doing right now is really dumb,’” she said, getting a laugh from the audience.
Since then, she’s been helping other students pack their parachutes. A language arts teacher, she has taught college-prep writing and remedial work for kids who need a second chance. By encouraging her students and giving them a pat on the back when they do well, she said, she helps give them faith in themselves — and maybe the extra push needed to make that leap of faith.
“We’re all givers,” Rohlff said, indicating the other inductees. “And I think the reward is that we get back when they achieve success. We get happy.
“Thank you for giving us all a pat on the back,” she added, “because it feels really good.”