Alumni Connection April 2024

Editorial

Mabel Bennett Teacher - CCHS

by Rod Brown

The scene – 4 old guys, balding (moving daily toward ‘bald’), paunchy and, more often than not, grumpy. Oh, we love our grandchildren, Clint Eastwood and the NHL when it was only 6 teams. Don Cherry makes sense if only he wouldn’t dress like a clown and all politicians are self serving. Yep, we’re a fine bunch sitting in MacDonald’s for the 4th time this week.

Those kids over there are probably wondering how any of us have lived so long and, more importantly,why. Their eyes say, “We’ll have to work forever to support those seniors when they’re in assisted living. Bummer!” Our eyes say, “Yeah!”

Once that silent confrontation is over and we’ve confirmed that no one has a new ailment since yesterday, the question of the day is put on the table. Who was the best teacher you ever had? And before you think the obvious, I’ll admit that we do spend a lot of time looking backward rather than imagining a new, brighter future. So, to the question. Who comes to mind?

When it was my turn, I tried to be spontaneous ... there were so many at CCHS. Miss Montgomery who disliked me from day one or Mrs. Home and her love of books or Mr. Weeks whose pearls of scientific wisdom were wasted. I could go for the easy laugh - Mr. Jones, the gym teacher who wanted everyone to climb ropes. I couldn’t lift my own weight and he wanted me to monkey up a piece of twine. Or Mr. Smith or Mr. Kennedy, both of whom scared me for different reasons. But, without thinking too deeply, I said, “Mabel Bennett.”

First I must explain that I didn’t know her first name until about 1995 ... she was, and always will be Mrs. Bennett who, I think, taught math and, for the purposes of this story, half time guidance. I can’t imagine how serious a problem one would have to have to make one go to see her. But my encounter with her begins in my 2nd of 2 final years. It was time for IQ testing and, although I suspect there was more sophisticated label, IQ it was and no one was exempt. One day she marched into our class and told us, “This is serious.” She came down the aisle to my desk, looked me in the eye and growled, “And you, Mr. Brown, will do your best, There’s no credit for finishing quickly.” Even as I read these words, the tone is missing. There was death in those words and being ‘finished’ assumed new and unpleasant connotations.

It’s time for an interjection – I loved to read. I couldn’t add or turn on a Bunsen burner or dissect a frog but reading was fun and although my spoken vocabulary was inclined to be 4 letters, one syllable and often bracketed with “Yeah” and You know,” my word recognition skills were quite good. Given that most IQ tests are vocabulary based, I found such tests relatively easy (compared to math & science) and everyone knew that when in doubt, bubble in the B circle.

Unfortunately, I committed a critical error that Jim Charlton or Duart Edgar would never have made. When finished I closed the booklet, put down my pencil and leaned back. Down the aisle came Mrs. Bennett with all sails unfurled, cannons primed and I knew in an instant that a broadside was coming. “I told you, did I not, to try your best. I told you, did I not, that this was serious.”

“Yes, and I did try,” I stammered. ‘No Mr.. Brown, you did not!” And with a glance skyward, she made that ‘I’ve done my best’ face, retreated to the front and I ceased to exist.

Six weeks later, the PA snarled, “Mr. Brown. Please report to Mrs. Bennett in the Guidance Office immediately.” My classmates snickered and quietly speculated what terrible crime I had committed. Nothing good, we all knew, ever came from such a summons.

So, down I went going over every possible infraction I might have committed and planning my excuse should another suspension be threatened. Had I used ‘the dog ate my homework’ rational already – we didn’t have a dog so perhaps I should think of another more reasonable excuse.

I knocked on the Guidance door. “Come in.” So I did. “Sit down.” So I did. So far nothing but the tone was flat and somewhat akin to, “Do you any last words?” “Thank you.” Shut up Brown. Don’t be flippant. The repentant look is all that’s required.

At this point Mrs. Bennett got out of her chair, picked up a single sheet of paper, held it before me and asked, slowly making a sound much like a fuse burning, “Explain this.” I panicked. “I don’t know what it is.” “This is the result of your IQ test. The one you finished early. Do you remember?” “Yes, but I did try. I did treat it seriously.” “Rod, you scored very well. In fact, you scored so well that I fail to understand why you’re doing so poorly in your classes. You have some ability according to this test and, from my point of view, you’re wasting it.”

Hang on. I’m in trouble because I didn’t do poorly. Now that was an entirely new sensation. Nobody had ever suggested that I had potential, in sports maybe, but in school! And then, Mrs. Bennett started to tell me about university options. I didn’t go to university after CCHS. I worked for 3 years before deciding to give it a try and when I did, Mrs. Bennett’s words echoed in my head.

Decades later I wrote to Mable Bennett to thank her ... she never replied so I’m unsure she received my letter or even remembered one student among the 1000s she counseled. I do know that she changed the course of life, perhaps for the better, and for that I will be forever grateful.
Anyone want another Mac coffee?

Rod Brown

Teacher Peter Burpee Remembers CCHS

by Peter Burpee

My years at CCHS were happy, creative and productive. The St. Lambert community, being predominantly middle class, knew and appreciated the value of education. Most of our pupils were on an academic path leading to further studies in university. At the end of the second year at the school, the Principal, Earle Templeton retired and was succeeded by Ted Gould, an excellent administrator whom I much liked and admired, a quiet reflective man. . He later married a popular colleague, Carolyn Hindess, who taught mathematics at the school.

I initially taught Physics and General Science, and later added Advanced Physics. School physics is essentially mathematical in nature, applied to the physical world. In the advanced class, I began the year by telling the girls they would find Physics difficult in the first month, but after that they would do better than the boys, and so they did. My colleague and mentor was Bill Weeks, a somewhat gruff senior teacher and former pilot in the RCAF.

After a few years, I found a niche teaching earth science (physical geography, climate and meteorology) and Canadian regional geography, subjects that I rapidly came to value and enjoy. Geography at that time had a reputation for uninteresting and being poorly taught. That presented opportunities for a young keen teacher! Anything I did in the classroom I did in the class room to bring the subject to life clearly had to be an improvement.

During my studies at McGill, I had taken courses in Geology, Climate, Meteorology, Air Photography and he Geography of Cities that were to stand me in good stead. Some of that enthusiasm also stemmed from what I learned from the McGill Geography Summer School in Stanstead, taking occasional evening courses and field trips offered by the geography department at Concordia University.

One of these was a trip in 1967 to Syracuse through the Adirondack Mountains, with stops at a rural museum, at rock faces for the local geology, and the state capital where we stayed at a hotel that had clearly seen its ‘hay day’ in the 1930’s. On arrival, the receptionist stared at our large group as though he hadn’t seen so many in decades; after seeing their room, two of our party marched out and took the return bus to Montreal.

The trip had been organised by Dr. Bogden Zaborski, a Polish geographer who had led a difficult life. When the Russians invaded Poland near the end of World War II, they sent him to Siberia where, as he related, a sergeant had gone down the line asking the men’s former occupations. “I am a geographer”, he stated. “What’s that”, the guard demanded. “Geographers study the earth”, he replied. “Ah, that I understand”, the guard replied, “Here’s a shovel, you dig!”. Many months later, after intervention when the allies became partners with the USSR in fighting Germany, the guards opened the gates and ordered the men out. They were left to fend for themselves and make their way back across Siberia to Europe, and from England, he eventually reached Canada. He was much respected by the department and generously helped by his Concordia colleagues in every way possible.

Like any teacher, I spent my evenings preparing lesson plans, typing practical exercises and notes on stencils, and designing tests. That gave me a chance to be creative, and to relate content to pupils’ holidays and my own travels.

I contributed articles to Geoscope, the journal of the Provincial Association of Geography Teachers (PAGT), and wrote a thematic school geography book, Making Aluminum in the Saguenay Valley, published by Ginn in 1969. That little publication was to provide welcome royalties that paid for several trips over the next decade.

During this time, I experimented with a “resource-based, discovery approach” in school geography books based on textbooks written by RC Honeybone in the UK. The approach sought to develop an understanding of geographical concepts through an integrated study of photographs, literary excerpts, practical exercises, statistics and of course, maps and diagrams. Over time I built up a fine collection of colour slides and filmstrips. All these comprised an integral part of R.C. Honeybone’s own schoolbooks and the approach taken Neville Scarfe (and Theo Hills) in their Regional Geography of Canada. Scarfe once famously said: “Geography should be a light in the mind, not a load on the memory”. It was a quote I long remembered and tried to live by.

Because my classroom was solely used as a homeroom and for geography, it was possible to place sets of atlases, rulers and coloured pencils in the desks. Individually numbered, I could quickly track down anything missing. Under the blackboard, I kept coloured chalk, a straightedge ruler and reference books such as dictionaries and books about geography. When pupils asked questions, they were sent to the front to research information for themselves. How different that would be in the internet age when research could be carried out with a smart phone or tablet. I went further, for the secondary one and two years, I told my students to take their geography textbooks home and keep them there: they would never actually be used in class, only for homework and study. Class time was for practical work on which to focus.

The “discovery approach” was made possible by practical exercises that encouraged thinking and provided experience in observing, analysing, explaining and recording, and sometimes sketching from slides. (The rationale for the latter was that no one person really observes all the detail in a photograph. Sketching provided time and an incentive to focus on detail). They learned about perspective in drawing landscapes. It was here that lessons learned from my mother’s interest in sketching and painting came into play. To this extent, I encouraged my pupils to take their own learning in hand, and to expand their skills. That’s what they remember most.

I suppose the greatest compliment came from a pupil who told me one time that “while she enjoyed the subject, she could never love geography the way I did”. But it was really the enjoyment that came from connecting with my young students. I learned that no one approach ever communicated to everyone an understanding of concepts and skills in geography. There was a case to be made for varied approaches and practical exercises. As another respected mentor, Dr. Jefferis who taught me at Bishop’s University, once remarked, “If the student hasn’t learned, the teacher hasn’t taught.” That was a demanding ideal and not always feasible. I was never satisfied with my ability to challenge our really gifted students. Nor did I find a way to help someone like Fred H, bright and verbally articulate, yet with an unusual learning disability that prevented him from demonstrating his obvious understanding and knowledge of geography in written tests and examinations. He would visit me in April 2017, a world traveller and professional photographer who had made seven trips to Antarctica.

One boy, Don Erskine, hurt himself badly by climbing a hydroelectric pylon in the spring and electrocuting himself before falling to the ground. Seriously burned and in hospital, he suffered painfully through numerous skin grafts. When Heather Pond’s father died, she found herself with home responsibilities supporting her mother and siblings, a maturing experience.

Another pupil, Peter Parry, sometimes deliberately challenged me with his behaviour until, beginning a second year with him, I called him out to the corridor and after an agreeable and sensible chat not to bug one another, we continued amiably for the rest of the year. With these, and many others, I tried to spend time in their company over the years, listening to their lives and sometimes quietly supporting and helping. One lad lamented, for example, that he returned daily to an empty house because his parents worked shifts and neither were home after school. A girl brought a marijuana joint she wanted to dispose of, and oddly asked me to take care of that task for her.

I became a member of the UK Geographical Association (GA) which led one summer to join fellow members for an organised field trip to Puerto Rico. I was later invited to become a Provincial Examiner in geography, working under Dr. Peter Clibbon (Université de Laval), the Chairman for the Geography Examination Committee of the Quebec Department of Education. In those days the English-speaking community in Quebec functioned under a separate Department of Education. Related to this appointment was a responsibility for setting the provincial geography examination for “general students”, i.e., students with weaker academic ability.

We worked as a committee, designing questions for review and selection by the group. One of our initiatives was to include topographic maps and aerial photographs in the examinations to encourage their use in the classroom. I learned that no matter how much thought and care went into framing the wording of examination questions, others were bound to interpret them differently. Similarly, the writing of multiple-choice questions was far more complex than met the eye. In later years, these lessons served me well when writing papers. One learned to accept that changes recommended by a competent and experienced editor were nearly always for the better.

On one occasion, Peter Clibbon selected an aerial photograph of a landscape in the Gaspé for which the source light came from the lower right. For most viewers, in this case our geography examination students across the province, valleys were seen as ridges, and ridges as valleys. His mind had adjusted to the photograph, but for most other viewers, that was not the case, the topography visually appeared to depict physical features in reverse.

Later, when the Ministry of Education dissolved the English section In Québec, the examinations for our schools became translated versions of the French-language examinations. This sometimes led to odd situations when, for example, “temperature range” was translated as a confusing and unfamiliar phrase, “thermal amplitude”. Correct perhaps for science, but not geography. Gradually however, essay questions were phased out and replaced by multiple-choice questions, though they were decidedly more complex to design effectively than most teachers appreciated.

During the latter years, Ted Gould gave me responsibility for the film, slide and overhead projectors as “audio-visual coordinator”. The overhead projectors were then a novelty in schools. True, CCHS staff were quite suspicious about new gadgets and most teachers initially spurned overhead projectors when they were introduced. I seized the opportunity to experiment with one for teaching geography. Other staff members later followed. Even our means for making copies were primitive. We used a flimsy light-sensitive paper (that faded after a while), though fortunately the same machine also produced stencils for the ubiquitous alcohol spirit-copier.

Teachers sometimes had other responsibilities such as monitoring school dances. It was on one such dance when a girl arrived quite tipsy, apparently nervous about her part in a fashion show at a dance. I took the step of barring her from the dance and telephoned her father. Interestingly, her father became quite defensive about his daughter’s semi-drunken behaviour and we had quite a discussion about the matter! Perhaps he had had a drink or two as well?

In 1969, teachers were in dispute with the government. They had shifted from local professional associations that included administrators to unions with teachers only. Unions brought change; members followed a rulebook and where once the leadership came from our best teachers and administrators, now the focus was on member protection. At our CCHS staff meetings, no longer did our best teachers advocate for best practice, but rather the union representatives pushed back against extra-curriculum activities. Paul Philip Heron Jones, otherwise known as PPH, was the union leader and who vigorously promoted an attitude of “us against them” mentality. I had known him when studying at Bishop’s University.

When contract negotiations broke down, the unions called for strike action and closed the schools. CCHS staff picketed the school and the two nearby elementary schools. Like others, I marched in the picket line, and took part in a protest outside the National Assembly building in Quebec City. My wife also came along and marched beside me. I don’t remember much of that event except for someone (an Anglophone) stamping on a spring tulip bed –as though the tulips had anything to do with the government’s actions – and the mirth of some francophone teachers hearing my awful accent when we chanted together with them in French. And I got into trouble when one of my students asked me to explain the reasoning behind the strike. As he was the son of a senior school board administrator, I responded with what I considered to be a description but that of course got home, and a note came down not to discuss union matters on school property. Fair enough.

A day came when teaching a class that somehow I was watching myself, remotely from a small distance away, and like R.F. Delderfield’s, “The Spring Madness of Mr. Sermon”, it seemed time to leave. I made enquiries in southern Ontario and even New Zealand. But then an invitation came to join the Faculty of Education at McGill University. It was there that I would teach, and continue to innovate with new programmes, for the next 30 years.

Steam Whistle Calling

Hi Harvey,

Janet and I enjoy reading the newsletter but I got a particular kick out of the memory section of the March newsletter about model trains. When I was very young, I lived at 65 Hickson, just a few doors down from Mr. Leggett. I remember vividly listening on Saturday mornings for the steam whistle to blow which meant the local kids could go his house and get a ride on the train. The two flat cars could take two kids each. Great fun! 

Cheers, 
Bill Duke

For the Birds

Hello Harvey.

Jane and I are having fun watching the various birds which come to our bird feeder filled with both wild bird seed and oat flakes saturated with fat from our frying pan.

We set up a pan on the corner of our deck and I secured it with a giant zip tie. The magpies prefer the oat flakes soaked in fat and this guy who I have named "Woody" is, I believe, a Northern Flicker who prefers the wild bird seed. He spent a very long time today at the feeder having lots to eat. He wasn't bothered by the Magpies who flew over but didn't try to scare him away.

Last week a Bluejay came by and then flew off, returning shortly after with its mate and they both perched and ate together. I thought this quite extraordinary as normally I witness a "pecking order" with one bird at a time which may be scared off by another one higher in the order.

Even More about Netherwood!

There are even more connections to Netherwood. 


I attended CCHS for grades 8 and 9, and then went to Netherwood for grades 10 and 11 (Forms III and IV, as they were called.)  I graduated in 1970, before the two private schools in Rothesay amalgamated, and way before Jim Irving bought the old Netherwood property. 


After coming back home that summer, I started dating Bruce Hubbard (CCHS class of ‘70).  We eventually got married, and we will be celebrating our 52nd anniversary this August.
Coincidentally, Murray Bourne (CCHS class of ‘70) was a teacher at Netherwood.  We bumped into each other when I had gone back for my 20 year reunion in 1990. 

And Debbie Edwards, another fellow St. Lambertite and CCHS attendee, also graduated from Netherwood, class of ‘68.

It’s a small world indeed.

Robin Bruce Nelson
Class of 1984

Robin (Rob) Bruce Nelson passed away peacefully on May 31st, 2019. He was born in Montreal and moved to the United States over 15 years ago. Rob had a BA in Philosophy and had studied for his Master's; he worked as a computer software administrator. Rob's passions included playing hockey, history, and animals, especially his dogs. Through hockey he had many friends in Florida. He had lifelong friends from growing up in Canada, and those in the United States with whom he shared his adult life.


A gentle, kind man, Rob loved children and was part of the big brothers organization.
He is predeceased by his father, Randolph Earl Nelson. Survivors include his mother, Naida; brothers, Jamie (Jill), Tony ; sister, Frances (Peter), 3 nieces and 1 nephew.
If you wish to remember Rob in a tangible way, the family would appreciate donations in his name to your local Big Brothers Big Sisters or an animal rescue organization.

Doug Flewwelling
1923 -2018
Former Teacher and Vice Principal

The Swimming Pool

Hello?”

“Hi honey this is Daddy. Is Mommy near the phone?”

“No Daddy. She’s upstairs in the bedroom with Uncle Paul.”

After a brief pause, Daddy says, “But honey, you haven’t got an Uncle Paul.”

“Oh yes I do, and he’s upstairs in the room with Mommy, right now.”

Brief Pause.

“Uh, okay then, this is what I want you to do. Put the phone down on the table, run upstairs and knock on the bedroom door and shout to Mommy that Daddy’s car just pulled into the driveway.”

“Okay Daddy, just a minute.”

A few minutes later the little girl comes back to the phone. “I did it Daddy.”

“And what happened honey?” he asked.

“Well, Mommy got all scared, jumped out of bed with no clothes on and ran around screaming. Then she tripped over the rug, hit her head on the dresser and now she isn’t moving at all!”

“Oh my God!!! What about your Uncle Paul?”

“He jumped out of the bed with no clothes on, too. He was all scared and he jumped out of the back window and into the swimming pool. But I guess he didn’t know that you took out the water last week to clean it. He hit the bottom of the pool and I he isn’t moving either.”

Long Pause, Longer Pause, Even Longer Pause

Then Daddy says, “Swimming pool? Is this 486-5731?”

Irish Confession

I went into the confessional box after many years of being away from the Catholic Church. 
 


Inside I found a fully equipped bar with Guinness on tap.  On one wall, there was a row of decanters with fine Irish whiskey and Waterford crystal glasses. 

On the other wall was a dazzling array of the finest cigars and chocolates. 


When the priest came in, I said to him, "Father, forgive me, for it's been a very long time since I've been to confession, but I must first admit that the confessional box is much more inviting than it used to be." 

He replied, "Patrick, you moron, you're on my side."

What Confucius DID NOT say......

Lady who goes camping must beware of evil intent.



Squirrel who runs up woman's leg will not find nuts.



Man who leaps off cliff jumps to conclusion.

Obviously she wasn’t listening

For the Road – A few Rodney Dangerfield Classics

I was so poor growing up ... if I wasn't a boy ... I'd have had nothing to play with.



A girl phoned me the other day and said, "Come on over; nobody's home. "I went over. Nobody was home.



During sex, my girlfriend always wants to talk to me. Just the other night she called me from a hotel.



I could tell my parents hated me. My bath toys were a toaster and radio.



When I was born, the doctor came into the waiting room and said to my father, "I'm sorry. We did everything we could, but he pulled through.”



I'm so ugly...My mother had morning sickness...AFTER I was born.


Once when I was lost, I saw a policeman, and asked him to help me find my parents. I said to him, "Do you think we'll ever find them?”
He said, ”I don't know kid. There's so many places they can hide.”