maid back in the days before she married my grandfather and stayed on good terms with the family after she quit. Dennis’s mother, Emma, was the beauty of the family and married into the equally wealthy Kirby family.
Emma’s older sister, Helen, was quiet, shy and plain, destined to become the family spinster, until she fell in love with and ran off and married Jimmy Spicer, the family’s black handyman. Both sisters gave birth to sons within months of each other. Dennis and Julian had very different childhoods. Helen had been cut off financially by her parents and she and Jimmy struggled to live off of Jimmy’s salary as a bus driver, while Dennis lived a life of privilege. Tragically, Helen and Jimmy were killed in the Highland Hills Supper Club fire of 1977, while celebrating their anniversary, an occasion Jimmy had spent months saving up for, and nine year-old Julian went to live with Dennis and his parents. Dennis and Julian became as close as brothers. They were inseparable.
“I was real sorry about what happened to Julian, Dennis,” I said, finally after an awkward silence.
“Yeah, life sucks, doesn’t it?” he replied shrugging his thick shoulders and handing me the plastic bag with my book in it. I didn’t notice until I looked at my receipt later that he’d given me his employee discount.
Chapter Five
MONDAY EVENING I HEADED to Beekman Hall on the Kingford College campus armed with my book and ready to be bored out of my mind. A class on education theory couldn’t be anything other than a chance to catch up on some z’s. The class was held in a large lecture hall. I was one of about sixty students, a handful of who looked like other teachers in the same boat as me.
My professor, a thin, intense-looking woman named Dr. Petra Garvey had a loud, harsh voice that cut through me like a knife. Her tight dark green knit dress clung to her like a second skin emphasizing her angular figure and making her sharp collarbone, pointy elbows, and jutting hipbones hard to look at without wanting to force feed her. Dr. Garvey was also big on class participation and liked to call on those who didn’t look like they were paying enough attention to the profound wisdom she was dropping on us, which meant sleeping was out. I tried hard to look bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and interested so she wouldn’t call on me. But by hour two of listening to her drone on and on without a break, I was wilting like warm lettuce and ready to slide out of my chair.
“You in the back in the purple top. What can you tell me about the Montessori Method?” she screeched making me jump and bump my knee on the underside of my desk. It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking to me. I heard the distinct sounds of muffled laughter and felt my face get hot.
“Well?” she asked, waiting for my reply with her hands planted on her bony hips.
Everyone was staring at me and I had to dig deep into my subconscious, all the way back to my college days at Ohio State as an education major, for an answer that danced on the edge of my memory before disappearing altogether. I started to open my mouth to apologize before I remembered that I was there to learn from her .
“Excuse me, Dr. Garvey. But, I thought the purpose of this class was to learn about education theory. Shouldn’t you tell us what the Montessori Method is?” My words were met by more muffled laughter.
Dr. Garvey’s nostrils and lips were pinched together in anger and I wondered how air was getting to her brain. She shook her head and walked quickly back to her desk.
“Okay, class, we’ll go ahead and end now. For class on Wednesday I’d like you all to read chapters one through three in your textbooks, and I want a five page paper on the Montessori Method of teaching,” she said, smiling triumphantly.
Just great. Amid the groaning and heavy sighing, everyone was glaring at me like it was my fault. I gathered up my stuff and got the hell out of
Emma’s older sister, Helen, was quiet, shy and plain, destined to become the family spinster, until she fell in love with and ran off and married Jimmy Spicer, the family’s black handyman. Both sisters gave birth to sons within months of each other. Dennis and Julian had very different childhoods. Helen had been cut off financially by her parents and she and Jimmy struggled to live off of Jimmy’s salary as a bus driver, while Dennis lived a life of privilege. Tragically, Helen and Jimmy were killed in the Highland Hills Supper Club fire of 1977, while celebrating their anniversary, an occasion Jimmy had spent months saving up for, and nine year-old Julian went to live with Dennis and his parents. Dennis and Julian became as close as brothers. They were inseparable.
“I was real sorry about what happened to Julian, Dennis,” I said, finally after an awkward silence.
“Yeah, life sucks, doesn’t it?” he replied shrugging his thick shoulders and handing me the plastic bag with my book in it. I didn’t notice until I looked at my receipt later that he’d given me his employee discount.
Chapter Five
MONDAY EVENING I HEADED to Beekman Hall on the Kingford College campus armed with my book and ready to be bored out of my mind. A class on education theory couldn’t be anything other than a chance to catch up on some z’s. The class was held in a large lecture hall. I was one of about sixty students, a handful of who looked like other teachers in the same boat as me.
My professor, a thin, intense-looking woman named Dr. Petra Garvey had a loud, harsh voice that cut through me like a knife. Her tight dark green knit dress clung to her like a second skin emphasizing her angular figure and making her sharp collarbone, pointy elbows, and jutting hipbones hard to look at without wanting to force feed her. Dr. Garvey was also big on class participation and liked to call on those who didn’t look like they were paying enough attention to the profound wisdom she was dropping on us, which meant sleeping was out. I tried hard to look bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and interested so she wouldn’t call on me. But by hour two of listening to her drone on and on without a break, I was wilting like warm lettuce and ready to slide out of my chair.
“You in the back in the purple top. What can you tell me about the Montessori Method?” she screeched making me jump and bump my knee on the underside of my desk. It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking to me. I heard the distinct sounds of muffled laughter and felt my face get hot.
“Well?” she asked, waiting for my reply with her hands planted on her bony hips.
Everyone was staring at me and I had to dig deep into my subconscious, all the way back to my college days at Ohio State as an education major, for an answer that danced on the edge of my memory before disappearing altogether. I started to open my mouth to apologize before I remembered that I was there to learn from her .
“Excuse me, Dr. Garvey. But, I thought the purpose of this class was to learn about education theory. Shouldn’t you tell us what the Montessori Method is?” My words were met by more muffled laughter.
Dr. Garvey’s nostrils and lips were pinched together in anger and I wondered how air was getting to her brain. She shook her head and walked quickly back to her desk.
“Okay, class, we’ll go ahead and end now. For class on Wednesday I’d like you all to read chapters one through three in your textbooks, and I want a five page paper on the Montessori Method of teaching,” she said, smiling triumphantly.
Just great. Amid the groaning and heavy sighing, everyone was glaring at me like it was my fault. I gathered up my stuff and got the hell out of
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