After Grade 12, I needed improved math marks to successfully matriculate. Unfortunately for me, this meant summer school. I decided to "re-take" trigonometry because of all the math courses I'd taken, trig offered the best chance of progress.
Unavoidably, I missed the first 3 classes and once I showed up, I was miles behind. I wasn’t familiar with the instructor, but I recognized him from school. He was an ancient, dapper gnome of a man (literally, he was 4 feet tall), impeccably dressed, with a mischievous eye and a silver brush-cut. I was about to find out he was also one hell of a teacher.
I noted an unusually casual temperament to this class; so much so that the students often referred to Mr. Birdsell by his given name, Ivan.
Thinking this was acceptable, the first time I answered a question I too called him Ivan. Big mistake. He turned on me like a rabid terrier and snarled, "You’ll address me as MISTER BIRDSELL, AND NOTHING ELSE!"
No-one smiled and neither did I. He was tiny but he scared the spit out of me. As time went by and my progress was not as rapid as I’d liked, Mr. Birdsell began spending more time with me. He'd stay late or have me come early, whatever he felt was needed to get me through. He was all business though; the man was not looking for a friend.
On the last day of class, he dragged his apple box up to the board, stood on it and scribbled down the most complex problem I’d ever seen. Despite my fervent prayers for the converse, he called on me to answer the question. I walked up in a daze and began to work.
10 minutes later I was done but frankly, I had no idea if my answer was correct. After another eternity, Mr. Birdsell turned to me, let his glasses slide to the end of his nose and said, "Mr. Hamilton, call me Ivan." It was one of the proudest moments of my life. The next occurred later that summer when I passed my Trig30 departmental exam and finally received my diploma
We saw each other now and again for a few years but time, jobs and geography got in the way and I lost track of him...until last Friday. I saw his obituary in the paper and was delighted to find he'd lived 97 years! His memorial service was held in the Alberta College gymnasium. At least two hundred people my age, older and younger, were there to celebrate a wonderful teacher and, from what I learned later, a great humanitarian and a fine athlete. Despite his stature, he was a terrific hockey and soccer goalie as a youngster. He was also a lifetime golfer who maintained the ability to shoot his age through his seventies AND eighties!
As for me, I'll never forget his life altering words. "Call me Ivan."
Unavoidably, I missed the first 3 classes and once I showed up, I was miles behind. I wasn’t familiar with the instructor, but I recognized him from school. He was an ancient, dapper gnome of a man (literally, he was 4 feet tall), impeccably dressed, with a mischievous eye and a silver brush-cut. I was about to find out he was also one hell of a teacher.
I noted an unusually casual temperament to this class; so much so that the students often referred to Mr. Birdsell by his given name, Ivan.
Thinking this was acceptable, the first time I answered a question I too called him Ivan. Big mistake. He turned on me like a rabid terrier and snarled, "You’ll address me as MISTER BIRDSELL, AND NOTHING ELSE!"
No-one smiled and neither did I. He was tiny but he scared the spit out of me. As time went by and my progress was not as rapid as I’d liked, Mr. Birdsell began spending more time with me. He'd stay late or have me come early, whatever he felt was needed to get me through. He was all business though; the man was not looking for a friend.
On the last day of class, he dragged his apple box up to the board, stood on it and scribbled down the most complex problem I’d ever seen. Despite my fervent prayers for the converse, he called on me to answer the question. I walked up in a daze and began to work.
10 minutes later I was done but frankly, I had no idea if my answer was correct. After another eternity, Mr. Birdsell turned to me, let his glasses slide to the end of his nose and said, "Mr. Hamilton, call me Ivan." It was one of the proudest moments of my life. The next occurred later that summer when I passed my Trig30 departmental exam and finally received my diploma
We saw each other now and again for a few years but time, jobs and geography got in the way and I lost track of him...until last Friday. I saw his obituary in the paper and was delighted to find he'd lived 97 years! His memorial service was held in the Alberta College gymnasium. At least two hundred people my age, older and younger, were there to celebrate a wonderful teacher and, from what I learned later, a great humanitarian and a fine athlete. Despite his stature, he was a terrific hockey and soccer goalie as a youngster. He was also a lifetime golfer who maintained the ability to shoot his age through his seventies AND eighties!
As for me, I'll never forget his life altering words. "Call me Ivan."
