by Gil Lackey '84
I was afeared of her ages
before she had me raking leaves on the hill to work off her demerits. The legend
of June Bowen, militaristic 7th grade English teacher, had preceded
her.
But the truth behind Mrs.
Bowen turned out to be more complex than the folklore. She was tough and fair
and intimidating and hilarious. With her infamous in-class grammar contests,
she fostered competition and a demand for perfection. I vividly recall
diagramming sentences in my restless sleep (hopefully not while in her class).
Because of Mrs. Bowen, I can’t
help but cringe when I hear the split infinitive at the beginning of each Star
Trek episode, “To boldly go where no man has gone before.” That is just poor
grammar up with which I will not put!
But Mrs. Bowen didn’t just
cultivate lifelong grammarians. She mass-produced proper grammarians. Yes, Mrs. Bowen’s discipline ushered me to
demerit hall on many a Saturday. There, I learned a myriad of didactic
vocabulary words but mostly just raked a boatload of leaves.
Many years later, I broke
free from the bondage of school, teachers, parents, bosses, or any authority
whatsoever. Yes, I purchased my own house.
As I strolled to the mailbox
on that first autonomous day, my next-door neighbor introduced herself. “Welcome
to the neighborhood. I’m June.”
Holy moly, it was Mrs. Bowen!
If I yawned without covering my mouth or left my shirttail hanging out, would I
once again be relegated to raking leaves on Saturday? I felt that familiar
shiver of afearedness!
On the contrary, Mrs. Bowen
(no way I was calling her “June”) turned out to be a dear friend and extraordinary
neighbor. She probably hadn’t changed much since I was in 7th grade,
but 20 years had changed my perception of her. She was brilliant and witty and
sarcastic and wonderful.
She called on me for small
favors every once in a while, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw her name on the
caller ID that day. I agreed to come over to help her with a diagram. Only
after I got off the phone did the terror hit me. A diagram? Are you kidding me?
This lady wrote the book on diagramming sentences. That’s not an idiomatic
expression - I mean she literally wrote grammar books. I hadn’t had fitful
dreams about diagramming in 20 years, so how in the world could I not look the
fool? This time, she really, really afeared me!
I searched in vain for my old
“Rulebook” to jar my grammatical memory before fretfully knocking on her door.
As I crept into her living room, I saw ceiling fan parts strewn about the
floor. Next to the clutter, you may have guessed, were the ceiling fan instructions
in the form of a diagram.
I have never been so relieved
and overjoyed to put together a ceiling fan in all my life. I filled her in on
the diagram miscommunication, and we both belly-laughed until tears ran down
our faces.
These days, I envision Mrs.
Bowen, red pen in hand, sending even the finest souls to rake leaves on an even
bigger hill in Heaven. I also fancy thinking she would be pleased with the way
she influenced my life. Although I graduated Mrs. Bowen’s course with flying
mediocrity, I think I have applied more of what I learned in that class than
any other.
I married another hopeless
grammarian and enjoy a career as an outdoor writer and editor. I have my own
red pen, although it’s in the form of a computer editing tool. I daily use a
superfluity of didactic vocabulary words. And there are plenty of leaves to
rake in the outdoors. But I must confess, she still afears me a little.