OF GREAT TEACHERS, MENTORS AND PLAIN GOOD PEOPLE

By Juan Montoya

A few of us were reminiscing about our past lives as college students at Texas Southmost College and recalled some of our former teachers.

Some of them came to mind because they taught Journalism, British Lit, or U.S. History.

One of those that came to mind was none other than John Garrison McAllister, Another was O..Henry Sears, Norm Binder, Jim Sullivan, Gonzalo Gonzalez, Robert Rossman, Ruby Wooldrige among others.

I recalled how McAllister helped his students get their first newspaper gigs at the Brownsville Herald or helped them to enroll in other colleges through the use of his office phone so they wouldn't have to spend money on long distance calls. In those days one could walk right into the office of TSC president Arnlufo "Nuco" Oliveira and later, Albert Besteiro.

Those were more laid back days, of course.

When I transferred to another school from TSC, I had taken two British Lit courses with Sears. He was one of those teachers who came in with his Norton's British Literature book and a few notes.  I can almost remember him walking through the hallways of the old Tandy building with his book tucked under one arm. As the class progressed, he would leave the notes aside and begin speaking from memory. It was mesmerizing to hear him go from "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats, "Turning and turning in the widening gyre. The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,.." and then switch in  mid verse to something by Samuel Taylor Colerige like "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree:Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

There was no denying the man knew his stuff. Later, at a Midwest college, I would remember fragments of his poems and recited bits of them. Only when I got surprised looks from Literature majors did I realize that Sears had a heavy influence in my love for the written word. In fact, he was kind enough to read and critique the first short story I ever wrote.

Likewise, Norm Binder would love to throw out some ideas in his Latin American courses just o generate debate and discussion in his classes. When someone asked him whether the paternalistic nature of U.S. governments toward Latin America meant that we still had the "White Man's Burden" outlook on foreign policy, Binder asked whether it was the responsibility of this country to spread their viewpoints on their neighbors.

Jim Sullivan was another good teacher who brought a wealth of insight, often from arcane documents other instructors didn't find. He once read us a letter from a slave living in Texas in the early 1800s whose owner was married to a Mexican woman (or Mexican-American). In it, the slave spoke with affection for the woman who he said protected them from the slave owner.

And Gonzalo Gonzalez would stop his biology classes sometimes to tell us about the home remedies from people along the border. He said his mother still lived in her ranch along the river and never left it, even though her sons and daughters took her to California and New York on trips. One of his favorite stories was about the use of crushed egg shells mixed with milk that was used by pregnant ranch women as calcium pills are today.

"And can you guess what the calcium pills are made of?" he asked. "Would you believe crushed eggs shells?"

A newspaper friend sent me an obituary notice of John McAallister the other day. Apparently he died last April and is no longer with us. He was a reporter with the Brownsville Herald and went on to get his Master's Degree of Arts and began to teach English at Southmost College and Pan American University. Later on he taught at Rivera High School until he retired.  O. Henry Sears also died as did Norm Binder. I don't know about Mr. Sullivan, but I hope he is till with us. I think I heard that Gonzalo died, as well. 

Remembering the days at TSC got me thinking of some of those teachers and instructors who are still around from those days. Thar reminded me of "The Hill," part of Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River Anthology where he talks about Fiddler Jones.

"Where is Old Fiddler Jones 

Who played with life all his ninety years, 

Braving the sleet with bared breast, 

Drinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin, 

Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven? 

Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago, 

Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary’s Grove, 

Of what Abe Lincoln said 

One time at Springfield."

A belated thank you to all of you.