How I came to Hancock, a district I had never heard of, is a curious story.
As noted elsewhere, I was, at best, a mediocre college student. My paper
(transcript) was not pretty and I was not a particularly attractive candidate
for a teaching position. In fact, my GPA wouldn’t qualify, under today’s standards,
for admission to a school of education in Missouri.
However, one advantage of changing majors as often as I did was that I had,
or was close to, numerous certifications. I received a call from Hancock about
an opening for a combo English-French position. Did I have, or could I
complete, those certifications? (My BA was in history.) Hmmm, maybe I couldn’t
have been admitted to UMSL’s school of education even then. Not why I took the
path to the profession I did, however (certification, not a BS-Ed). It had been only about 3-4 semesters
In any case, “Yes,” I said, I could gain those certifications, even if I
didn’t have them quite yet. Fortunately, Washington University had double
summer sessions, allowing me to earn the 12 credit hours I still needed. I had
used up UMSL’s French department (no courses left), so Wash U. was the only
option. I took a couple lower level grammar courses to get my 30 hours.
I also took English classes from two memorable teachers: a drama class from
Herb Metz, who did theater reviews for one of the local TV stations, and an
independent study composition course from Benetta Jackson, the head of their
English department and author of a composition textbook. In our first meeting,
she had me write an essay, then said, “Okay, you can write, you don’t need a
composition class,” (except for certification), tossed her plans, and we
started talking each week about teaching English to high school students. Years
later, I used her book as my guide when I began the college composition class
in the mid-80s (originally through MO-Bap). I am forever in her debt.
As it turned out, unknown to me, I had a Hancock connection. My father, who grew up on Idaho Ave. in the Carondolet neighborhood before I-55 took the house, had a best friend named Francis Bentrup, a (former) Hancock school board member. When my dad learned I had a scheduled interview at Hancock, he asked me if I wanted him to call his friend, and I reluctantly agreed that it couldn’t hurt. I certainly had no other prospects. Mr. Bentrup, in turn, called his good friend, board member Earl Muelfarth. Yes, that was his real name and the irony of his lobbying for me will manifest itself in a future chapter.
Even so, the route to the job began inauspiciously. First, I got lost on the way to
the interview. (No Google maps or Siri – who knew that Ripa had more
non-connecting segments than a geometry problem?) When, in a panic, I called the late
Bernice Warren from a pay phone, she laughed understandingly (“Happens all the time.”) and directed me to the
Conn-cottage we later referred to as the Little House on the Prairie, where I briefly, very briefly, met Superintendent Veryl B. Young.
Despite my best efforts to ask questions and prolong the interview, I was
shown the door in about 5 minutes (The three women hired that year for English positions had much longer, more probative meetings on, uh, wide-ranging topics, sexual harassment not having been invented yet.) and sent on my way to Rich Eichhorst at the
high school. My interview at the high school was more productive,
even if my memory says we spent more time comparing notes on being married to
nurses than anything else. Not the last time being married to Carolyn benefitted me.
Maybe that dual certification was rare enough that there weren’t any better
candidates, but the more likely explanation: Who you know, who you know, who you
know. Still, I like to think it all worked out.
Setting the stage with some background. What we English teacher types call "Exposition."
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