The Substitute
My First Classroom Assignment as Other
Than a Student
Dick Gueldner
Written December 1999
Russell Aamodt (my chemistry
teacher) was one of my favorite Spring Valley High School teachers. He was a science teacher and science was my thing. In
the services in WWII he had been a weatherman and knew something about scientific instruments. I remember when he showed us
an article from Science News about the newly invented transistor. He said this was BIG! (Not too many years
later his words echoed as applications of the transistor multiplied and multiplied.). And he could be tough (on very rare
occasions). Once when my class had done poorly on an assignment, he chewed us out, enumerating our shortcomings in such devastating
detail that some of the girls began to cry. But when I was a senior he surprised me one day and asked if I would "baby sit"
(my words not his) his sophomore science class. I felt this was an honor but I doubted that I would be able to fill his shoes.
He assured me that a lengthy assignment would keep the kids busy and he would tell the students that I would "rat" on them
if they caused me any trouble. My interpretation was that I could just "hang out" in the classroom and I accepted.
The class started quietly enough.
I handed out the assignments and the class went to work. In a while a problem arose with one girl and the boy behind her.
She claimed that he was bothering her and distracting her from her work. I believed her because he was behind her and he did
not proclaim his innocence. I told him to "knock it off" and hoped that would be the end of it. It wasn't. He was still annoying
her and she had the remedy. "Just let me hit him. Just once." She had brothers at home and she was a big girl and I knew that
her blow would be telling. I was still skeptical that this was a good solution but I thought "what the hey, I don't have anything
better". It worked just fine. She really knew how to deliver a punch--hauled off and hit him right in the shoulder muscle.
He yelped and groaned for a while and then was quiet. He was guilty or he would have complained and I felt that justice had
been done. I contemplated this miraculous result and thought, "maybe I am a good teacher!"
My smugness soon was gone as
another student, David, walked to the front of the room to use the wastebasket. When he dropped his load in the wastebasket
there was a loud CLUNK! and some of his classmates laughed out loud. When he repeated this CLUNK! performance two more times
with a goofy little smile, I was not amused. I decided to stop David's distracting trip up to the front of the room by putting
the wastebasket by his spot at the table. Now, I mused, that should embarrass him enough to stop the CLUNK! But he had a new
strategy. CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! ----. The whole class was getting into this and I saw a complete breakdown of order in the
classroom. This little twerp was getting to me. I was losing control quickly. What to do? Finally it hit me! This guy had
crawled out from under a rock and HE wanted to be noticed! I had been flying high and was on a roll when the earlier
dispute was settled in an unorthodox manner. Now it looked like I was going down in flames! I needed a dramatic solution to
quell David's hunger to play to the crowd. I told him to put his chair on the table and sit in it. It occurred to me that
he might say to me "Are you crazy?" But he did just what I had told him to do. (At the time it did not occur to me that Mr.
Aamodt had probably told them that they had better listen to me.) I hoped that an overdose of exposure would embarrass
the goofball. It worked in an unexpected way. The other students were embarrassed for him and would not look at him. His audience
vanished. I was on a roll once again.
Later, I dutifully reported the events of that afternoon class to Mr. Aamodt.
He never let on if he disapproved of my methods. He never cracked a smile. I never heard anymore about it, but I can't help
wondering if the teachers at SVHS got wind of the incident and were chuckling and maybe wishing that they had a backup like
Mr. Aamodt was for me.
Dick Gueldner
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Unchained Melody
Arnie Harrison was at the wheel
the first time I ever went over 100 miles per hour in an automobile. He had just acquired a DeSoto and was eager to show "what
she could do". The exhilarating ride was an example of Arnie's "take it to the limit" approach to life in his teen years.
Another memorable ride was with
Arnie in a boat on the St. Croix River just below Hudson, Wisconsin. Bob Rutherford and I were the passengers. Arnie was at
the helm. Arnie had a motor to put on the boat that we rented at riverside. Arnie set the motor in place and we started our
cruise on a pleasant, sunny day on the St. Croix. The motor had a loud but not unpleasant steady sound, nRAWRRrrr, nRAWRRrrr,
nRAWRRrrr as we approached the speed limit of the boat. But then Arnie had to see "what she could do" and soon we were on
a white knuckle ride as Arnie quickly turned the boat right and left repeatedly and Bob and I were getting wet as tsunamis
of water splashed over the sides. The motor droned on, nRAWRRrrr, nRAWRRrrr, nRAWRRrrr, with a rhythm coinciding with each
change of direction and each jerky lurch from side to side. I squelched a momentary feeling of getting sick and hung on wondering
just how wet was I going to get. Then the sound of the motor erupted in a much higher pitch as the boat slowed and the drone
of the motor changed to a scream, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR. Bob and I whipped around to look back at Arnie.
Arnie, his eyes nearly popping out of his head, was now holding the motor in his lap. This scene was hilariously funny and
at the same time scary because the motor was still running, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR. Arnie managed
to get the motor shut off without chopping up himself or the boat. Bob and I were in pain from laughing as Arnie sheepishly
explained that he had not tightened the motor down hard enough. Bob asked Arnie where the safety chain was that would keep
the motor tethered to the boat and off the river bottom for just such occasions. "I forgot it ", Arnie said. Bob, speaking
in tones reminiscent of the only moral leader we had to listen to, Rudolf Syverson, said "Der vill be noooo running
of boat motors viddout der safety chain." "But I can tighten the motor down a lot more", Arnie said hopefully but not too
convincingly.
Arnie reattached the engine,
got up some speed, and we again jerked and lurched until the earlier performance was repeated in its entirety , nRAWRRrrr,
nRAWRRrrr, nRAWRRrrr, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR, NRREEEARRR. Arnie, the artist, had accomplished a reprise of his
new work,
September 1999, Dick Gueldner
SVHS REUNION 2003
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