I am a product of Newton County public schools, from K-12. I can remember the names of ALL of my teachers, but just not necessarily WHAT they taught me, but I DO know that I received a solid education, “the 3 Rs,” readin’, writin’, and ‘rithmatic.  

Reading, writing, arithmetic were the basics in ‘those days,’ starting 70 years ago (still cannot believe that!).  There were moments of clarity all along the way, and some moments of my less than perfect behavior, aha…. I DO remember THOSE moments, but somehow, I graduated from high school, and then went on to college.

Teaching is a noble profession, and IMHO, EVERY teacher deserves to be “Teacher of the Year.”  Their salary needs to be commiserate with their dedication, time, effort, education, but unfortunately, I don’t think that is the case. “Teaching isn’t just a profession- it’s the art of lighting a path where others can learn to walk on their own” -Aera Blancia Bongato.

One particular teacher stands out in my memory, my senior year of high school, and one particular day.  He was unusual to say the least, starting with his name, Blackshear Thornton Hartley, Jr., known as B.T. Hartley (I suppose he was named for his father?).  I had never in my life heard of such an unusual name. It certainly did not sound as though he came “from these parts.” Did his parents like Thornton Wilder?  Did they shear sheep? I knew nothing about his family; however, I knew ALL about the families of my other teachers. B.T. was single, and to me, he just walked straight out of a book, from another country.

He was tall and very thin, almost gaunt; his manner of speaking did not sound southern to me, but almost a had English accent? He wore tweed 3-piece suits, with a bow tie every day, very formal, compared to other teachers. His manner and his attire were SO different, I visualized him living in a stately English home, very refined, cultured, lord of the manor…“Nigel, bring in the tea and crumpets, NOW, thank you.”  His classroom was on the senior wing, facing Newton drive, a bank of windows did let in lots of sunlight. But other than that fact, there were no posters, maps, pictures or anything on the walls, other than the ubiquitous blackboard. I do think we had real blackboards, made of slate, before green boards came around.  His very spartan wooden desk was front and center, and his aura produced all the energy in that classroom. His class was literature, and it was not easy. He introduced us to great works, and tried to instill a love of literature and language in us. He referred to us formally, as “Miss and Mister,” never by our first names.  My entire senior year was with him, but I only remember one incident on one particular day, and this is it.

He allowed us to do oral book reports, which I liked because I could not type. I read Gustave Flaubert’s “Madame Bovary,” a tragic story of adultery set in 1856, considered his masterpiece. I think it might have been a little risqué for the times?  I did read the entire 384- 400-page book, very long for a highschooler to tolerate. On a balmy spring day in 1965, Mr. Hartley called on me to stand in front of the class, and give my report. I stood up and started talking about the book, trying to summarize it for the class, to make it interesting.  We were allowed to state whether we actually liked the book or not. I might have been digressing, mumbling, looking out the window, lost my train of thought?  When all of a sudden, a student jumped up, yelling, flailing his arms around, using curse words (HORRORS… in those days, unheard of!).  I probably stood there with my mouth open, and I think the whole class held their breath expecting to hear Mr. Hartley yell at him to exit the classroom and report directly to the principal’s office.  During the two full minutes of this unprovoked meltdown, Mr. Hartley remained calm, watching.  Maybe Carl did not like oral books reports, maybe he had enough of my mumbling.  Finally, Carl, exhausted, sat down.  The entire class was expecting a punishment.  We all looked at Mr. Hartley...? He sat at his desk, armed folded and said “Well,… Mr. Roberts … are you QUITE finished?” I think Carl mumbled, “Yessir.”  Then Mr. Hartley calmly addressed us, “Class, that was known as a CATHARSIS; it’s an ancient Greek word meaning a cleansing or releasing of emotions, and it was first used by Aristotle in 330 B.C.” I was so impressed by that explanation; I have remembered it my whole life.  I think that Mr. Hartley was “saving face” for his upset student. That was an example of his masterful teaching, and then he exhaled “Who is next to report?”… class reverted back to normal, and resumed. Little did I know then, that 10 years later, I would be living in ‘Ancient Greece’, speaking it perfectly, with the word “catharsis “being the first word in my new vocabulary!

Carol Veliotis is a local columnist for The Covington News. She can be reached at carol.veliotis@gmail.com.