Mr. Baily and Gratitude

Edited for content on February 18th, 2018. I wanted to highlight Mr Bailey, and remove any teacher names from the post. Here's hoping the focus of the story remains. 


OK. Time for some gratitude!

There was an interesting dynamic to my first week in high school.

My brothers were six and seven years older than I. They had gone through the high school I attended, and attached some (what seemed) rather legendary behavior to the family name. I'm not sure what class this happened in, but I remember the teacher taking attendance the first day of my freshman year. The conversation resembled something like this:

Blanchard?
Yes sir.
Are you Ron and Phil's little brother?
Yes.
Well . . . YOU BETTER NOT BEHAVE LIKE THEM! I'M NOT GONNA' PUT UP WITH ANY GRIEF! YOU UNDERSTAND BLANCHARD?

I was mortified.

After that class though, I remember my classmates expressing an interest in all that was related to the Blanchard name. The decades since have removed the memory of the teacher, and the faces of most of the students that approached me, but I remember the feeling and kudos from my peers. Suddenly, I felt like I was popular.

I decided that this "reputation" could be put to good use. If folks thought I was crazy like my brothers, then nobody would mess with me. I was in swimming and band, and knowing upper class-men seemed to help my cause of stripping away the layers of bullying I had put up with through elementary and part of junior high school. I figured I could play this bad boy image just enough to gain respect, if only I wasn't caught misbehaving by my parents!

Ahh! Troubled youth feigning a bad-assed reputation based on the family name. That's a model for success.

I met my school guidance counselor during the first few weeks of my freshman year. He was a high school coach in a big sport. I told him I wanted to take college-prep classes, instead of the general course of study I was enrolled in. Coach never got my name right. He would ask me if I was another student.

No. I said.
Do you play football? 
No.
Oh . . . I can't help you. 

We had basically the same conversation numerous times over the first two years of high school. Each time, he misnamed me. And each time, after finding out I don't play football, he would smile and tell me he couldn't help me. I hated that smile.

At the end of my sophomore year,  I went to see Mr. Bailey.

Everyone called him "Bongo" Bailey, and I piled on right along with my friends. We made fun of his voice, and his long pauses between words as he spoke. Those pauses where always sustained with an "Ahhhhhhh." If he addressed any portion of the student body, we would all start saying "Ahhhhhhh." as he went to the front of the class, or the podium.

But I saw that Mr Bailey was different than other guidance counselors. I watched as he took the time to work with folks, and decided he was the person that would help me. I went to him with my story about Coach's lack of help because I didn't play football. At least, that's what it sounded like to me.

Mr. Bailey (I stopped calling him Bongo that very day), never responded to my impressions of Coach. Instead, he simply offered to add me to his case-load, and help me with college prep courses.

In retrospect, I must have taken quite a bit of work by Mr. Bailey to accomplish this. During my junior year, I enrolled in sophomore college prep classes. And during my senior year, I signed up for junior college prep classes, and still met my requirements (Thanks to Mr Bailey's help) to graduate with my senior class.

When I look back at the hoops Mr. Bailey must have had to jump through to make this all work for me, I am in awe of his efforts.

Despite my commitment to swimming and band, I struggled as a student, and found numerous ways to get into trouble, both with academics and deportment. Smelling trouble, I'd slink into Mr. Bailey's office. He would take off his glasses and rub his whole face. This was something he did when he was flustered, and my behavior flustered Mr Bailey . . . a lot.

The conversations usually began like this:

Michael. We have an issue. You're not doing your assignments for class. If you don't complete your work, you won't graduate. How can I help you? 

Or . . .

Michael, you can't behave like (Insert bad behavior here) in (Insert teacher's name here) class. You realize you need this class to graduate. Don't you? 

I don't remember exactly how the conversations went, but the above quotes are an attempt at the gist of his words to me; as I remember them.

What I haven't told you yet is that Mr. Bailey had experience with my older brothers in school. Like me, they were troubled young men at the time they went to high school. And they both had their share of blow-ups with Mr Bailey. Years later, both my brothers told me of their regret over the way they treated him.

But unlike other teachers of that time, Mr Bailey never mentioned anything bad about them. He simply listened to what I was trying (however haltingly) to do. He went above and beyond to help me. He set boundaries on what my behavior expectations were (Over and over!), and worked with me on better solutions that would lead to a successful graduation. Never once! Did he compare me to other family members, though he sure had good reason to.

I hadn't thought about Mr Bailey in a while. But a dear friend from high school and I were talking on a lovely July day at Willard Beach. She mentioned some of the teachers we had, and the gifts they bestowed upon us. My thoughts turned to Mr. Bailey and his wonderful advocacy.

I did not attend college after high school. In today's world, I'm sure someone's statistical look at return on investment would negate the efforts put in by Mr. Bailey. He has long since passed away, and I'm sure there's no remaining record of his association with me.

But I'm an avid reader, have pretty good writing and communication skills, and have done several jobs over the years that are usually reserved for college educated individuals.

All because Mr. Bailey cared.

M :-)