In two of the three photos I am next to Kathleen Wilcox, who emailed the pictures to me. The Moline High class of 66 is not well represented on Facebook, but that may change slowly.
All my teachers in the Moline system were excellent, devoted to their vocations and their students. Moline was rather small, with a population of 40,000, so people knew each other's families. The teachers were close-knit, so they all knew me. Spy cameras are pretty crude compared to a flock of watchful teachers all over town.
We enjoyed the perks of a private school without the cost. Discipline was swift and sure, so it was seldom needed. Here is one case.
A boy spit at another boy. My mother (his teacher) said, "Spit on my hand, Bob." He said, "Why?" She said, "Never mind. Spit on my hand." He spit. "Spit more." He did as he was told. "Spit more." He did, knowing something was up. She then smeared it all over his face. As my friend told me the story, he added, "Bob never spit again."
At our 40th reunion, the spitter, now a lawyer in a big city, said, "Greg. You should write a book about your mother. She was a remarkable teacher."
