On Finding My Favorite High School Teacher

Creative Commons, How Now Design

One of the recent assignments in our Year to Live class was to do a “life review,” and the instructions began something like this:

Sit quietly for a while and bring to mind someone from your past whose kindness touched your heart.

Envision yourself speaking to that person.  Tell them what they have meant to you.

In general, I’m a fan of any exercise that offers the chance of meaningful reflection.  Somehow, though, the process of envisioning myself speaking with people who are very much alive seemed utterly ridiculous.  Why not actually talk to them?  Which is how I found myself on a mission to find my favorite high school teacher from 25 years ago.

Unfortunately, Dr. Montella (for she was one of those rare public high school English teachers with a PhD in the topic) had no discernible presence on the Internet.  A call to the high school led to another dead-end when the receptionist told me that it was against school policy to give out contact information for retired teachers, nor would she be able to tell Dr. Montella that I was looking for her.  I tried the phone book but found no trace of her.

Finally I thought of my sister-in-law’s mother, who taught typing in the high school years back and seems to know just about everyone in the state of New Jersey.

“Yes,” she said.  “I know exactly where she is.  My husband takes yoga with her every week.”

I began to worry if Dr. Montella would have any memory of me.  She must have encountered hundreds upon hundreds of students over the years, and the only thing that might have stood out as a memory of me was that I had won some state writing contest while I was in her class for a literary analysis of the 15th century morality play Everyman, and she had taken me to the award ceremony.  (My own memory of that event was noting how weird it felt to be sitting in my teacher’s car!)

A few weeks passed before this somewhat complicated web of relationships yielded a response.  Dr. Montella certainly remembered who I was, and she would be delighted to hear from me.

I called her immediately, and we did a quick catch-up.  She was exactly as I remembered – no-nonsense, interesting and interested.

“If it seems like I’m writing down what you tell me,” she said, “it’s because I am.”

I wanted to ask if she might like to have lunch someday.  I felt nervous and 17 again.  Thankfully she beat me to it.  That’s how I came to be seated in the dining room of her orderly, yet cheerful, northern NJ condo this week.

For 3 ½ hours we talked like old friends.  She wanted to know about Dave and the children and what I had done with my career.  (“Ghostwriting [part of my work these days] seems so unfair,” she said.  “I understand the function, but really you should think about getting your name on things,” she observed, ever the supportive teacher.)

Much had happened in her life as well.   The momentous news was that her beloved husband had passed away.  After fifty years, it was an adjustment to live without him, though she seems to have dealt with this life-change without a hint of “why me.”  She volunteers at the local hospital, goes on trips with Elderhostel, belongs to a book club, and sings in a choir.  Through it all, fond memories of Tom sustain her.

Which led me to what I really wanted to tell her.

“You gave all of us such valuable skills,” I began.  “But the most important thing you did for me happened the day you put down the text you were teaching, looked around the room, and said, ‘Here’s a bit of advice for your own life when the time comes:  Be sure to marry your best friend.’”

I told her how much those words meant to me.  How I had judged all of my relationships by that measure.  How looking for my best friend had led me on a circuitous but definitive path to Dave.

“Funny,” she said.  “I don’t remember saying that, but I certainly agree with the sentiment.”

We lingered over tea until it was time for both of us to continue on with the tasks of the day.  Getting up to leave, she reached out her arms and thanked me for coming.


Right after I wrote this, Dave send me this article from the New York Times about people finding their teachers years later through FaceBook.   I highly recommend trying it yourself.  And if your teacher hasn’t joined the FB revolution, going the extra distance to find him/her might yield benefits to you both!

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

6 responses to “On Finding My Favorite High School Teacher”

  1. Debra Baida says:

    I think you are inspiring me to take the plunge and do the same thing. Over the years, I have considered contacting the one teacher – the most challenging teacher of all – that had the most profound impact on me. I’ve wanted to tell her, but haven’t…yet. I’ve searched her name online over the years, and then dropped the idea of contacting her. Before typing this comment, I searched again, and think I know how/where to reach her. Still in NYC, so perhaps in advance of my next trip there, I make a point of getting in touch, and who knows…maybe meeting for tea.

  2. Barbara says:

    Do it! I may know just the former typing teacher who will be able to track them down!

  3. M says:

    Hello fellow traveler! This is a great idea. There is one teacher I can think of. Maybe I will have to visit. Going back to high school sounds like an adventure in itself, and kind of scary actually. Just the thing for my last year to live! Thank you for this lovely story.

  4. Barbara says:

    Misty, Give it a try! It’s truly one of those great opportunities where everyone wins. I teach part-time these days and know that I’d also love to hear from my students as the years go by. Hope you report back if you try it!

  5. May says:

    hi, i just came across your blog because i was looking for dr montella as well! i graduated ’98 from ramapo and she stood out as one of the best teachers i had in my public k-12 experience. i’m very glad she’s doing well. she always came across as very serene and put together. my best wishes to her and to you as well. =)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *