Thoughts on my favorite HS English teacher
I've been thinking about Staples High School legend Karl Decker so much since I read the news last night that he passed away. I wanted to share one of my memories:
In 1981-82, I had Mr. Decker for English 10A. Early in the first quarter, September still, we were given an assignment. I don't remember what book it was about, or what we were tasked to write. Just as the temperatures were starting to fall, my father felt unwell after an evening tennis game at Longshore, and was diagnosed with a severe arterial blockage. He urgently needed surgery. At that time, only a few hospitals in the country were performing multiple bypass, so my parents flew off to Milwaukee.
I was "home alone" for the first time in my life. Both of my older brothers were in college, one a senior and the other a freshman. I was supposed to be staying at a friend's house but of course we convinced her mother that I really needed to be in my own house with our dogs. Or so I recall. Yes, I had a party. Risky Business-type activity ensued (no call girls, though). Back to that writing assignment. The next week, Mr. Decker handed back our homework and there it was, a C. I had never received a C on anything. I was one of the over-achievers. I was devastated. I went to his office to plead my case.
He patiently but firmly explained to me where and how my work had fallen short, and I burst into tears. All of the emotion I had been holding in - fear and confusion about my father's condition, but also embarrassment and shame about the grade - came spewing out of me. I was blinded by tears and unconsolable. He told me it was just one assignment; there would be other opportunities and plenty of room for growth. I asked if I could have a do-over. Of course, he said no. I told him about my father's surgery and how scared, upset and distracted I was. Once he heard what I was struggling to process, his tone and posture softened. He told me he was sorry about my father. But he didn't change the grade, and I got a C for the first quarter.
Over the rest of the school year, I worked to improve my writing and comprehension. In our final assignment in June, we were instructed to submit our papers anonymously, with some kind of code, so that he could grade us without any preconceived biases. When he was handing back the papers, I was quite nervous. My code name had not yet been uncovered. He then introduced a particular submission that he deemed exceptional. Only a few of us were still waiting for our grades. One of those was the boy I was dating, a gifted writer, and straight-A student in everything. Mr. Decker strolled around the room, and stopped in front of my boyfriend David. "Is this you?" and handed the paper over to him. I had used as my code word some combination of David's birthday or street address. He looked up at Mr. Decker and said no, not his, and quizzically looked in my direction.
And so Mr. Decker turned to me. "Heller, is this yours?" And there it was, the "A" I had long hoped for. Earning his praise meant so much to me and I'll never forget the lessons he taught me about grammar, punctuation and the enlightening and universal power of great literature. It's been almost 40 years, and I'm happy to share that my father survived bypass surgery and my parents still live in Westport.
