By Randy Haglund
Sometimes you just snap.
That’s what happened to me in the spring of my sixth grade year at Westview Elementary. It was my best year of school, but it was my worst day.
Before the school year started, I awaited to find out who my new sixth grade teacher would be. I hoped and prayed it would by Mr. Thomas. Everyone, including my older brother, told me he was the best. Indeed, his popularity was legendary.
Since there were about ninety students moving up from fifth, not everyone could get Thomas, I knew. Even with my poor math skills, I calculated that I had about a one-in-three chance. But I got disappointing news just weeks before the school year began. My parents received a letter informing them I would report to Mr. Lange’s class.
Mr. Lange? Who’s that?
I asked everyone I knew. Nobody had heard of him. The other sixth grade teachers had been Mr. Bovee and Mrs. Combat. That wasn’t her real name, but close enough. Nobody wished for the purgatory of a whole year in her classroom.
So the news wasn’t all bad. But still, a new guy. My year was about to begin with a mystery.
As things turned out, I couldn’t have had a better teacher. I know Thomas was good, but Mr. Lange made school bearable for a kid who thought school was a conspiracy parents and government officials concocted to make American youth compliant.
I actually learned some things that year. I can’t remember what, but I know I learned some stuff. Plus he read stories to us sometimes, and even let us watch the World Series between the Cardinals and the Red Sox.
Day time baseball! Those were the days.
He also got me out of square dancing. I know it’s hard to believe, but square dancing was a required sixth grade class. Every Friday, instead of P.E., we had to take turns dancing with actual girls. Since there were more boys than girls, there were times when a few boys could sit aside for a song or two, then we had to tap in again and do-si-do with the opposite sex.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like girls, it’s just that dancing of any kind is an endeavor I despise to this very day. All I have ever accomplished by dancing is to embarrass myself. The best possible scenario was to find a way to get out of the class. But how?
One day, I brought Mr. Lange some maps I had drawn. I labeled them “Rand McHaglund Maps,” and displayed them with pride to my teacher. Impressed with my skills, he encouraged me to continue in the endeavor, which I was happy to do. I asked him if he thought it might be okay for me to draw maps every Friday instead of going to dance class. To my surprise, he thought it was an excellent idea.
Bingo!
So for a few weeks I got to allemande left out of the gym and into the classroom. Mr. Lange graded papers while I happily I made detailed maps of Washington State, and then the entire U.S.A. In retrospect, I realize he probably had enjoyed having a break from his students, but he must have thought my geography skills were more important to hone than the art of promenading.
A view I shared.
A couple weeks later my friend, Brad, asked me how I had managed to get out of square dancing. When I told him about the arrangements I had made, he wanted in on the action. When he asked Mr. Lange if he could do the same thing, it was the end of a good thing. The teacher explained he had made an exception for me, but if every boy that wanted out of square dancing asked for a special pass, he would be in trouble with the principal. The next week I was back on the dance floor.
But I still managed to find trouble with the principal.
Recess was my favorite period. When the weather cooperated, my friends and I would play soccer. I did okay at other sports, but for Brad and me, soccer was our game. One day a new kid asked if he could play. He was in Mrs. Combat’s classroom, so we let him be on the other team.
He wasn’t very good. When I dribbled past him, he didn’t come close to stealing the ball. Before long, he wasn’t even trying. Instead of going for the ball, he would simply kick me in the shins. I warned him to knock it off, or I would tell the principal. Mr. Ewy (pronounced A-Vee) watched over the playground during noon recess.
My warning didn’t do the trick. The kid continued to kick me and Brad in the shins. I looked toward the Principal, who seemed to be paying more attention to the kickball game going on. I ran over to him to enlighten him as to what was going on.
“Keep an eye on the tall, skinny kid. He keeps kicking us.”
Mr. Ewy glared at me. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
His response irritated me more than anything the new kid did. With my blood at a boil, I ran harder and passed quicker than ever. But my mind was on something else. It was one thing for a criminal to be amongst us, but for his crimes to go unpunished? Unthinkable!
Brad passed me the ball and I drove for another score. Nothing stood between me and the goalkeeper except the new kid. But at that moment one thing inspired me even more than running up the score.
I kicked as hard as I could. But I “missed” the ball. My foot came squarely into contact with a very sensitive anatomical location on the male human body.
As he crumpled to the ground, I pumped a fist. “Score!”
My elation was short-lived. Apparently Mr. Ewy had chosen that very moment to dutifully referee our game. He grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to his office.
Not the least bit remorseful, I felt entitled to compensate for my bloody shins. My only regret was that I had called the principal’s attention to our game.
Sitting in his office for what seemed to me to be a long time, he lectured me, grilled me, and tried to intimidate me, but I remained unmoved. I sat in the chair with my arms crossed tightly across my chest, a deep frown engraving my face.
Finally, he told me to follow him. He took me to my classroom, opened the door and asked Mr. Lange to step into the hall. The principal told me to tell my teacher what I had done.
I refused.
So he told Mr. Lange his version of the story. Then my teacher turned to me.
“Randy! I’m ashamed of you.”
That did it. I burst into tears. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint Mr. Lange.
Then I realized the deep respect I had for the man.
Mr. Lange taught at Westview Elementary for just one year. I never saw him after the last day. I wish I could’ve told him he was the best teacher I ever had. Someone told me he became a principal somewhere else. If true, I know he made a great school administrator.
If anyone out there knows about him, I would love to hear.
***
Did you ever just snap? Tell us your story.
Great story. I remember soccer and going to the ER when some tall skinny kicked the ball with my hands wrapped around it (I was the goalie!) A story: The summer before 6th grade there were several houses being built across Francis St. Having exhausted most of our play options during the long summer vacation, Mike and I explored the frames and foundations of these embryonic homes. Although inspection by pre-teens wasn’t required by their building permits, I’m sure the final product was improved. Mike and I were particularly impressed with and old truck featuring a spare tire mounted on top of the cab. We took turns sitting “Indian-style” in the tire and shooting the imaginary machine gun. At least until a police car with lights blazing came down the dirt road to the construction site. We abandoned our burning tank and ran for home. I ran like the wind or greased lightning, while Mike limped along like Marshal Dillion’s sidekick Chester. Mike had recently demonstrated his technique of closing a folding pocket against the back of his thigh. Although his speed was good, the angle was off resulting a nasty wound and trip to the ER. (ER trips were an occasional part of our process.) The police captured Mike, collected me and my best innocent face from our front porch, and drove us back to the scene of the crime. While sitting in the back of the police car, I noticed a tall blond man and his wife looking at us with great curiosity from their back yard. Satisfied that we hadn’t done any damage or stolen from the construction site, the police delivered us to our homes with a stern warning. I almost asked for protective custody when I saw the look on my dad’s face! The following week, we began school and I was shocked and horrified to find I recognized my home room teacher, Mr. Lange, as the curious witness to my recent humiliation. Mr. Lange turned out to be a great teacher (one of my favorites) and never mentioned the “incident”. In addition to school principal, I remember him advancing to the school district offices, possibly as superintendent.
George, thanks for the great story. I like the detail, but who is Mike? Do I know him? Do you remember any other stories of Mr. Lange or Mr. Ewy? I remember the name of the tall skinny kid, but I don’t want to put it on the website. I’ll message you.
Mike Carroll was Bill’s younger brother. Mike passed away years ago and way too young.
Wasn’t Mr. Ewy the one that drove the DeSoto? That gray car looked like it had three snouts. I remember seeing Rick D. nearly strangle Mr. Ewy with his own neck tie in the Westview cafeteria! Rick disappeared until highschool, where he was a very good football player. In typical fashion, Spokane troubled youth were sent to Morning Star where they learned boxing. I heard Rick was a Golden Glove champ at one point.
I don’t remember Mike or Bill. I do remember the necktie incident vividly. But you have one Rick D. mixed up with another. I don’t remember what Mr. Ewy drove, but that is sounding vaguely familiar.
Great story Randy. I do remember square dancing, some sweaty palms, and wishing I could do anything else! I am standing next to you, top row 3rd from left. I had only just moved to Westview for grade 6, so I was a new girl in class, didn’t know anyone, except Karen Sanders ( Weakly), who is still a dear friend of mine. She is in the front row far left. I don’t remember doing much work, as I didn’t really settle. But Mr. Lange was a good teacher and he did keep good control over our class. I later got a degree in Secondary Education and did my student teaching at Rogers high school in the fall of 1978. It was a tough environment as most kids were not that interested. I now live in London ( I work for British Airways as cabin crew), and return home to Spokane several times a year to see my family. I was pleased to see Spokane schools being rebuilt all across the city, and the emphasis on getting kids to stay in until they graduate. They have made some great improvements and I totally believe that a great teacher can change a student’s life! Keep in touch, I try to meet up with the lunch bunch when I come to town!
Thanks for sharing, Paula! I love to hear other people’s stories as much as I like to tell them. I have never met up with the lunch bunch, but I will certainly try sometime. Mr. Lange was great for my self-esteem, which was lacking at the time. I didn’t realize until I was older why I respected him so much. I certainly remember you and Karen. When I first saw this class picture a few years ago, I was surprised how I could remember the names of almost every person in the photo. My memory for things long ago is much better than my memory of things that happened last week. Go figure. I can even remember the names of every one of my teachers at Westview grades 1-6.
I find it interesting that you taught at Rogers. I have strong ties there. My mother and aunts and uncles went there. My wife went there, and so did all four of my kids. While I went to Shadle, many of my best friends were at Rogers.
Let me know next time you are in town, I hope we can meet up, maybe with the lunch bunch. And be sure to read my other stories. You’ll like them.
Randy
I was searching the Internet for my 6th Grade Teacher at Westview, Mr. Bovee. And low and behold, your Westview memory popped up. Funny thing, I went to school with your older brother Rick. The last time I ran into your brother was at the Sears Auto Repair at North town, probably 40 years ago. Small World. #FondWestviewMemories
tom.gocubs@gmail.com
Small World. OK, so that was the Mr. Thomas Connection. Yes, I have a younger Sister Bev. And I remember well Sam, Larry and Marc. I think we were all in Boy Scout Troop 218. I also met Sam at Northtown right after he got out of The Coast Guard. I remember Larry was the only one in class who had “Perfect Teeth” and I used to call Marc, “Mac MarCintosh”. #FondMemories
Bev was in some of my classes at Westview. Say hi to her for me if she remembers me.
Randy
Hey Jim Lundeen! You won’t remember me but I definitely remember you. I was in Troop 218 and Bev was a classmate (I always had a crush on her so I definitely remember her) . I remember so clearly your Eagle Scout evening. I must’ve been 10 and in 5th grade maybe? I remember how our adult leaders (I remember one was a Sargeant in the Marine Corps and was sent to Vietnam) would lift you up as a role model for the rest of us. As a pastor years later I was asked several times to say a prayer at Eagle ceremonies for kids in the congregation and would always remember yours and what an impact it made on me.