It seems to be an occupational hazard of teaching maths that you become slightly potty. Who could teach trig without being eccentric, or logs without the occasional twitch, or ruffle. Few remember John Napier, but everybody is grateful for the Texas Instruments programmable calculator (cooler than the Hewlett-Packard, which indicated your dad was probably an accountant), with the vinyl case you could loop through your belt and look like a NASA engineer.
But the maths teacher I'm thinking of could give any quirky person a run for his money. Henry Wise Wood\s Mr. Turley was obvious as an odd duck.
It was 1977, and Mr Turley wore a full length fur to class. His wife, he told us, was a real estate agent, and, in Calgary in a boom time, realtors made good money. But his wardrobe was not limited to opulence. He wore a different three piece suit every day--the colours were always pastel--and the fabrics were more than likely fake. He drove a Caddy, and, with his flamboyant dress, Mr. Turley in some way invited the suggestion that he might be a pimp. Of course we knew he wasn't. What we weren't prepared for were his unusual teaching methods and strange comparisons. Nothing could have equipped us for these.
His Caddy was pink, and those of us who were wise to Avon and other ways for women to get ahead for themselves speculated his wife might be an all star producer for Mary Kay.
But she wasn't--she was definitely a real estate agent, although we never met her until we finished Math 30 and 31 and passed the province wide departmental exam. The requirements for senior matric and university entrance were stringent and strictly enforced. And when we met her she was disturbed we had been offered scotch and were allowed to thumb through the Playboy magazines in the rack in the Turleys' rumpus room. But that was hardly scandalous.
What was slightly risque were Mr. Turley's remarks about a pretty little thing who sat near the window. Carol, Carol Meek was her name. Meek and Mild is what I called her. She only talked to me when she wanted my notes, and on those occasions she would seek me out at my standup hallway locker. In those days it was possible to sit in one's locker. Mr Turley said Carol (actually he used her full name, but who's counting) "knows all, sees all, but doesn't do all". A few people even knew what he was getting at. Others, like me, assumed he was criticizing her for being a slacker. Nevertheless, what he said went along nicely with the Hawaiian coconut monkey art that adorned his desk--see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
Fittingly enough Mr Turley's nickname for me was K-squared. A friend of mine who actually smoked Gitanes was called Chewing Gum because his name was Reid Gomme. Carol really liked smoking her Gitanes. Meek and Mild, right? Everybody had a nickname, and when we couldn't understand a proof, he called us all Kids. Proofs were the great equalizer, and we all knew he was done at the blackboard when he wrote QED and turned to us and cheekily declared quod erat demonstrandum. Tthat which was to be shown has now been demonstrated. An auspicious pronouncement for such an obvious tautology.
But there was much more to learn from Mr Turley, even if people thought he was a pimp.
To be continued
It was 1977, and Mr Turley wore a full length fur to class. His wife, he told us, was a real estate agent, and, in Calgary in a boom time, realtors made good money. But his wardrobe was not limited to opulence. He wore a different three piece suit every day--the colours were always pastel--and the fabrics were more than likely fake. He drove a Caddy, and, with his flamboyant dress, Mr. Turley in some way invited the suggestion that he might be a pimp. Of course we knew he wasn't. What we weren't prepared for were his unusual teaching methods and strange comparisons. Nothing could have equipped us for these.
His Caddy was pink, and those of us who were wise to Avon and other ways for women to get ahead for themselves speculated his wife might be an all star producer for Mary Kay.
What was slightly risque were Mr. Turley's remarks about a pretty little thing who sat near the window. Carol, Carol Meek was her name. Meek and Mild is what I called her. She only talked to me when she wanted my notes, and on those occasions she would seek me out at my standup hallway locker. In those days it was possible to sit in one's locker. Mr Turley said Carol (actually he used her full name, but who's counting) "knows all, sees all, but doesn't do all". A few people even knew what he was getting at. Others, like me, assumed he was criticizing her for being a slacker. Nevertheless, what he said went along nicely with the Hawaiian coconut monkey art that adorned his desk--see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
To be continued
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