Live and Learn

In high school, in the 11th grade, I think, I had a math or algebra class taught by an nervous high strung lady, Mrs. Vickery. Somehow, at that period of my life, I was good with numbers. I figured out my own secret formular to quickly come to the answer of a multi number math problems. It was all based on the multiplication table and the difference between the certain given number and 100, or a thousand. I slipped, I forgot. But then I was good at it and it certainly impressed Mrs. Vickery. One time she had me stand up and she quickly fed me arithmetic problems verbally and I quickly spat out the answer. She was proud of me. During this period, at times, we had one on one conversations. She told me some secrets or personal things about herself when growing up. One of the things she secretly told me that her first name is Nell and her maiden name is Hall. She said in high school, I think in the north Georgia Mountains, all the boys tormented and made fun of her and said, “Nell Hall! Nell Hall!! She said it is wonder it did not drive her crazy. I showed my concern. Then I shared confidentially to a friend. I told him not to tell anybody. A day or two later in her glass we were doing whatever is done in classes and from the bushes on a hill outside her windows the words “NELL HALL!” was hollered out. We were on the 2nd level of the Winn Street Building , west side. There was a steep bank, with bushes and trees on top, about even with our class windows. NELL HALL was shouted over and over. The only thing she could do was look at me with hatred and tremble and shake. I had betrayed her confidential information. I realized I made a terrible mistake that I couldn’t backtrack myself out of. Some things you just have to live with. I don’t remember how I got out of that class alive. I am currently reading the book KURT VONNEGUT PITY THE POOR READER by Susanne McConnell. Ms McConnell was Vonnegut’s assistant for many years and seems to know him inside and out. One of the things she said that Vonnegut was very disappointed when his mentor teacher, who he got a lot inspiration from, did not remember him. Sometime in th 1990s I think we went to pay our respects to the family of a relative who had died. While there I saw Mrs. Vickery. It was well over 30 years since she was my teacher. She had not changed hardly at all. She was there to pay her respects to another family. When I got closer I saw she was catching up with another ex-student of hers. She was all smiles and gushing sweet. I waited my turn, and when she focused on me I started off by saying, “Mrs. Vickery, you probably don’t remem….” She interrupted my sentence with a scowl on her face saying, “I know exactly who you are!” and turned around to talk to someone else. She died about a year or two after the funeral home encounter. Live and learn.