{Lent 2024…and my Lenten discipline is to write each day (which, I hasten to add, I don’t usually do; who has time?). I chose the theme of “room.” And on we go…}

Writing of “room” or its plural, it seems natural that a classroom would pop up in the mix. But which one? I could count dozens from kindergarten through seminary, and beyond into my teaching years. But no classroom had a teacher with a more colorful name than the one where Mrs. Sagendorf held forth.

It was fifth grade. And a new school for me in a new neighborhood. I had spent my first school years in a nearby village, but with the move across the Susquehanna to Endicott, I walked three blocks to the George Washington School. When it had been called the Loder Avenue School, my mother had gone there. And her mother had taught first (or second?) grade there. But for me, it was all new. Maybe you’ve experienced that feeling too. A strange (to you) building, full of kids you’d never seen before, and teachers whose reputations you had no way of knowing.

Mrs. Sagendorf must have seemed 80 years old to this 11 year-old kid. I recall her as fairly short, with gray frizzy hair out of control. In fact, her complexion may have been a bit gray too. A stern, sharp-featured face that was nonetheless capable of a gentle smile. And it turns out, a compassionate soul.

First day. You know, some memories remain fresh even 68 years later! Oddly, I recall my very first day in Mrs. Sagendorf’s class. We played a game where a few students stood in front of the class and we had to make a guess that asked, “Was it you, [name]?” The detail of the actual game is cloudy, but this is firm in my memory banks: I asked, “Was it you, Cyril?” And some students chuckled.

“I’m not Cyril; I’m Don,” the boy replied, smiling. Oh oh. My face was red. My first public 5th grade goof. Mrs. Sagendorf was so kind to quickly move from my momentary embarrassment a good-natured reminder that being the new boy in class it would take some time to learn all those new names. Now, that wasn’t a traumatic episode in my fifth grade life. It was just a plain old episode. But that I recall it so clearly…well, it must have meant something to be so firmly imprinted as a permanent memory. Don would become one of my best friends in that school. And two students who were very understanding that day remain in my circle of friends even now! Jill Clark and Jackie Greene.

(Jackie just told me that Mrs. Sagendorf’s students bought her a small bird from a local pet store for her birthday. A lot of affection there.)

Mrs. Sagendorf was quite a comfort the day I bit through my lower lip doing somersaults in gym class. Never anything close to an athlete, I was awkward even doing the most basic sporty stuff like tumbling. In the gym, Coach Conwicke had us fifth graders somersaulting on thick rubber mats, and as I landed, my teeth intercepted my lips. I bled. And I hurt. And the coach sent me back to our empty classroom for some first aid. I was trying so hard to not cry. Mrs. Sagendorf showed such concern, offered comfort, and assured me it was OK to shed some tears before the other kids came back to the room. She delivered me to the infirmary.

Many of my classmates stayed together through ninth grade, and merged with students from the other junior high school in the village as we entered tenth grade and high school. Lots of classrooms in between and after, but Mrs. Sagendorf’s room was one best remembered. I regret that it never occurred to me to thank her for her kindness. You know, one school year leads to another, one class yields to the next, and teachers are sometimes just taken for granted. We move on leaving them behind. Maybe this remembrance will atone. Anyone you need to thank– while you can?

Oh, and with gratitude to Mrs. Sagendorf, it was under her tutelage that I was first published. See the clipping from the Lode Star yearbook. I wrote that with many prompts from my teacher. But look! I’m still reading and writing real good, smiling as I type.