Annual Visit to the 60s

Since this is near the end of the school year, the US History classes have finally gotten around to studying the '60s. In what has become a rite of spring, they are assigned to find a relic from the 60s and interview them. Today was my day. I had a young man interview me in 0 period and I have another coming in at lunch. They usually ask such penetrating questions as "What was it like in the sixties?", but today's contained a couple I hadn't heard before.

When we get started I usually pull out my memorabilia that I keep on hand for such occasions. I have two magazines with Kareem on the cover when he was still known as Lew Alcindor. I have my 1968 Rose Bowl program with OJ on the cover--don't show that one as often as I used to. And my favorite, the original program from the Monterey Pop Festival, in June of 1967. This was the precursor to Woodstock, a 3-day music festival containing many of my favorite groups. You may have heard of some of the groups we listened to that weekend: The Animals, The Association, Simon and Garfunkel, Janis Joplin, The Beach Boys, The Byrds, Moby Grape (my favorite group name of all time), Otis Redding, Buffalo Springfield, Mamas and Papas (my favorite 60s group), Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendris and The Who.

Anyway, a couple of questions that caused me to stop and think:

"What was your favorite year in the 60s?" I originally chose 1963, because that was the year the Dodgers swept the Yankees in the World Series, and at that time my life revolved around baseball even more than it does now. Then I realized Nov 22, 1963 was the day John Kennedy was shot, which disqualifies 1963 from consideration as a good year. As I scrolled through the other years, the same things happened--highs and lows. Here's a saying that you may want to put on your refrigerator: "Every year has its good and bad points." Brilliant. I finally settled on 1969. When he asked why, I said, "that's when I met my wife."

"Who is the person you remember most from growing up." I figured he probably didn't want to hear about Sandy, the girl who broke my heart many times, and would have continued to do so if my prayers hadn't gone unanswered ("Sometimes I thank God...." thank you, Garth). So I talked about my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Goehring. When he asked why Mr. Goehring, my response was, "because he cared more about me than what I learned in his class--which was plenty." If you ask the thousands of kids he taught, they would answer the question the same way. I told him, when you see me teach, you see Mr. Goehring. Two things that have really become a part of my daily routine. When he would make a mistake on the chalkboard (ask your grandparents if you don't know what a chalkboard is), and we pointed it out, his response was always, "Just seeing if you were paying attention." And, if a concept was something we just had to learn and not necessarily understand why it worked, he would say, "You understand this is over my head at this point." I've always been honest with my kids when teaching what I call "math magic" a concept that I know works, but haven't the foggiest notion why. I got that from him, and I think kids appreciate the honesty. He made chemistry fun, and I have tried to make math fun. (One reason I'm in math is that for twelve years I tried to make English fun, and did, and my "elders" were convinced English wasn't supposed to be fun).

For years, when I would go home to a basketball or football game, he would be taking tickets, and when he saw me, for those few minutes I was the only person in his life. So, my former students, when you wax nostalgic about the enjoyment you had in my classes, breathe a prayer of thanks for Mr. Goehring.

Gotta go. First bloodwork for my physical on Monday, then thinking up creative responses to "What was it like in the 60s?" from my noon interviewer.

PS. This just in: Make that my 10 o'clock interviewer and my noon interviewer.