WAKEFIELD'S All-School REUNION

 

This is the first of two items by Bruce Pikka, Wakefield High School Class of 1967. Bruce recently retired as an instructor with the adult education program here. He and his wife, Nancy, reside in Ironwood.
By BRUCE PIKKA
I always tell people not to get me started with my Marie Tyack stories because I sometimes don't know when to quit talking. She definitely was one of the most unforgettable characters I have had the pleasure of knowing in my nearly 59 years of life.

I have so many stories about her that some have suggested I write a book. Let me share a few of them with you.

First, let me give a brief description of this firebrand of a female, who was certainly ahead of her time, at least locally, on the gender equality issue. She was rather short and stout and in her middle to later years had a slightly forward pitch in her posture. She wore glasses, which she often looked over the top of, and her hair was always in the place she desired it to be. She was loud and direct and had the reputation as the toughest teacher in the Mary McDonald School.

I had her as a fifth grader and entered her class with a certain respect that comes from fear. Her reputation always preceded her! It was a reputation that was well earned.
In today's classroom culture she probably would be sued, suspended or fired for some of the things she did or said. But looking back on it I can only smile at some of her antics and thank her for being a really great teacher. I learned a lot that year.

She always demanded the best work you were capable of doing. When answering a question, you stood up at your desk.

You always "spoke up" so you could be heard. Don't mumble! No shortcuts, no tricks. I tried to fool her once when I didn't know if the possessive apostrophe being used on a word was singular or plural, so I figured if I put it squarely above the "s" she'd assume it was in the correct spot. Wrong! I placed the paper on her desk and crossed my fingers, waiting. I didn't wait long. As she flung the paper to the floor in front of her desk she bellowed, "Bruce, you nincompoop, you don't know where that apostrophe goes. Pick up this paper and figure it out."

Nincompoop, one her favorite words!

It was in the fifth grade that I began wearing glasses. I knew my eyes were bad. I sat in the last seat of the third row and couldn't see the board. I didn't dare ask to move up closer because Mrs. T reserved the front seats for students who didn't do so well academically or were disciplinary problems. I didn't want to be associated with them.

She usually wrote all the assignments on the board so I would raise my hand and ask permission to throw away some paper. She'd usually say OK, so I'd march to the front, quickly read and memorize what was on the board and return to my seat.

This was fine for a long time until we were sent, one by one, into the next room to have our eyes checked. It was then that my secret was out. The examiner sent for Mrs. T and asked her if she knew I couldn't see. "Of course I didn't know!" she bellowed.

The look she gave me almost corrected my vision."You're moving to the front right now," she said as she grabbed me by the right ear and marched me back to the classroom. As we entered the room, she still holding my ear, she announced that anybody else who couldn't see "better speak up right now or else!"

I don't remember anybody saying anything.

Mrs. T was quite an artist in her own right and this led her to stress art in her classroom. I am not, never was and never will be an artist. I had no interest in doing artwork in the fifth grade. My efforts were usually, therefore, marginal at best.

I remember the class was working on room decorations for Christmas. Some were drawing, others cutting and the rest pasting and hanging the creations.

I was a cutter. I approached Mrs. T's desk, looking for some approval for the sleigh or horse I had just cut out. She gave it one look and threw it on the floor, scolding me for cutting like a first grader. I was summarily demoted to pasting.

She didn't pull any punches. That was OK by me. Paste tasted pretty good in those days.
On Friday, April 1, 1960, Al Inkala and I pulled an April Fool's Day joke on Mrs. T. My mom had just given birth to my youngest sibling, Randy, early that morning.

Before school Al and I hatched our plan. He would go in and tell Mrs. T that his mother had given birth that day and that he had a new brother and I would follow later with the same story.
It worked out perfectly. Mrs. T got all excited about Al's "new brother" and actually laughed when he said "April Fool" to her.

Now it was my turn. I came in with equal excitement and told her about my new brother. She scowled and frowned and said I was too late, that that joke had already been used. She told me to go sit down. I tried, in vain, to tell her it was the truth. She wasn't buying it!

Later that day, after learning the truth, she apologized, with a smile, and said it really was a good joke that we had pulled on her.

She was my favorite teacher during my elementary years. Under her tutelage I learned to love history, understand math, dance around the Maypole and enjoy writing.

Remembering Marie Tyack, Part II
This is the second of two items by Bruce Pikka, Wakefield High School Class of 1967. The first recounted his experiences as a fifth grade student of Marie Tyack. Bruce recently retired as an instructor with the adult education program here. He and his wife, Nancy, reside in Ironwood.
By BRUCE PIKKA

Moving on to the sixth grade, I assumed my interaction with Marie Tyack was over. How wrong I was!

My college summers were spent toiling for Connor Forest Industries, which helped pay for tuition and books, etc. During the school year something less laborious was needed to keep me in entertainment money.

During my first two years of college, enrolled locally at GCC, I worked for Marie Tyack. It was 1967 and her chauffeur, Roy Williams, was moving on to a four-year college and there was an opening to be her driver.

My dad had done some handyman work for her and suggested me for the job. Roy gave me a good recommendation and I jumped at the chance.

One of the first things I found out was that we shared the same birthdate, May 4. I think she was more tickled about that at the time than I was. What a coincidence!

I also found out that there was no set pay rate for the job. Mrs. T paid me what she thought was fair on that given day. To her credit, she was usually more than generous and I never thought I was getting shortchanged.

Most of our drives were to run errands, shop or go visiting. We often took her very dear friend Vera Novak (Novak's Clothing Store) along with us.

Mrs. T owned a 1963 four-door, black Dodge Dart with a push button transmission and she would usually ride in the back seat, talking my ear off.

I learned that my fearsome fifth grade teacher had a wonderful sense of humor, a warm and caring heart and a tongue that could cuss like a sailor. More than once I caught a glimpse of Vera in the rearview mirror rolling her eyes and blushing like a rose as Mrs. T regaled us with stories in a most descriptive prose.

Her favorite subject was her late husband, Stanley, the former chief of police in Wakefield. In her eyes, Stanley could do no wrong.

She loved to tell the tale of how he stopped a "run" on the local bank during the Great Depression. As she told it, he saw a long line forming outside the bank before the opening hour. He inquired as to their business and was told they were taking their money out before the bank went broke.

Stanley left the growing line only to reappear later as the bank was opening its doors, carrying a suitcase. Pulling rank as police chief, he cut to the head of the line.

People wanted to know what his business was, especially with the suitcase. According to Mrs. T, he then opened the case, showing the crowd the large amount of money it contained. She quoted him as saying, "I'm depositing this money. This bank is good enough for me."

Mrs. T said the crowd then dispersed saying that "if it's good enough for Stanley Tyack, it's good enough for us."

True, partly true or not true, I don't know. I did ask her where Stanley got the money from and she told me it was none of my business!

I asked Mrs. T why she didn't drive. She told another Stanley story about him trying to teach her.
She said backing out of their long driveway was easy but as soon as they got on the road with oncoming traffic she would let go of the wheel and cover her eyes. After two or three eye covering episodes, Stanley decided enough was enough. His life was more important than teaching her to drive.

The shopping stories I have concerning Mrs. T are endless. There was the time when I was parked in front of Eva Wurl's in downtown Ironwood. She was shopping inside and I was waiting in the car, as usual.

When she came out of the store, she saw the black car that was parked behind me and thought it was hers. After all, it was black, had four doors and there was a guy behind the wheel. I watched the whole thing play out as she opened the rear door, threw her packages in the back seat and climbed in, closing the door. The expression on the driver's face cannot be described as he watched this elderly lady plop down in his car.

As I watched, they looked at each other, exchanged a few words and broke into laughter. I decided to help the driver out and went to fetch my boss. She knew I had watched the whole thing play out and she called me some very unrepeatable names through the laughter that was coming from her belly.

In another episode, we were shopping in the old Red Owl store, where Family Dollar is now located. She liked to push the grocery cart and I usually trailed behind. As she rounded a corner to enter another aisle, she rammed squarely into a display of canned vegetables that had been neatly stacked at the end of the aisle. Cans went flying all over the floor. Mrs. T didn't bat an eye. She rammed her cart through the debris, kicking at any offending cans that might get in her way, cussing (and I mean cussing) loudly about how the store was being run.

It was not uncommon for Mrs. T to get a little leg weary while grocery shopping. At those times, she would give me her list and tell me to finish her shopping while she waited in the car.
This presented two challenges for me. The first was the list. Her handwriting would make a doctor's prescription look like a work of art. It could be almost illegible to an unpracticed eye. I bought her several items she didn't want and left off others that she needed simply because I couldn't read the list.

Bringing the list to her in the car was not much help because she often couldn't read her handwriting, either!Finishing her shopping wasn't really so bad, except for the fact I was a 19-year-old guy pushing a grocery cart around a busy store with a large, black purse sitting prominently on top. At the checkout counter I just "knew" people were giving me strange looks as I opened "my" purse to pay for the items.

Mrs. T had plenty of money and knew the power of paying cash. I remember the time she purchased a new refrigerator from Johnson Music Store in Ironwood. We spent a long, long time looking at every make and model on display. When she finally decided on "the one," she paid cash and told the store to deliver it that day. Nobody argued with Marie Tyack. They delivered it immediately.

Mrs. T called me to come over to look at the new appliance and give her my opinion about it. She didn't think it "fit in" very well in her kitchen. I tried my best to tell her it was fine, but, as usual, Marie thought better. We returned to the store where she picked out another model and told them to deliver it right away and get that other "monstrosity" out of her kitchen. They did.

That evening, she called me again saying she needed to go back to Johnson's in the morning to pick out another refrigerator! She didn't like her second choice either. So we went through the same scenario one more time.

The third choice was the charm. They again delivered immediately and Marie was finally happy.

One more story. Besides driving Mrs. T, I also did many odd jobs and chores for her. I mowed the lawn, hung laundry, washed windows, cleaned the car, shoveled snow, etc.

When her lawn mower was finally on its last legs we went to buy another one. She didn't shop around for it, she insisted on doing business with Clayton Randall at the Green Thumb Greenhouse on Lake Street in Ironwood. Clayton was her "flower and shrubbery" guy and she really liked him and, I knew, he liked her.

Marie insisted on trying out the mower herself because, she said, she might have to use it once in a while if nobody was around to mow. Well, Clayton showed her how to start the mower up and she succeeded in getting it running. I really can't describe what happened next. Clayton told her to grab the handle and hold onto it and the engaging bar attached to it. She did. The mower took off with Mrs. T hanging on for dear life. Her coat was flying and the purse on her arm was swinging like a pendulum.

The mower was, by all accounts, faster than she was. She panicked! All she needed to do was let go of the handle, but she didn't. Across Clayton's yard they went, Marie calling Clayton every name you shouldn't be called. She was drowning out the din of the mower while Clayton and I were in stitches. Finally Clayton swept to her rescue, shutting down the mower.

A little disheveled in appearance and muttering what a so-and-so Clayton was, she paid for the mower and told him to deliver it immediately. He did.

We laughed about that incident many times on our drives together.

After two years of working for her, I had to give it up and move on to Marquette and NMU. I visited with Mrs. T often. We always exchanged birthday cards and her card to me always contained a generous gift.

We genuinely liked each other a lot. Her health finally deteriorated and she moved to the Minneapolis area to be near her children. When she died, the family had a quick and private ceremony. I wish I could have attended.

Every Memorial Day I make it a point to stop by Marie Tyack's grave in the Wakefield cemetery and reminisce a little bit with her. "How ya doin' today, Mrs. T?"

Editor’s (Andy’s) note: We have invited individuals to share their schooldays memories with other WNBPA readers. This is a different take on a teacher profiled in earlier editions by Bruce Pikka, now of Ironwood.
Enjoy.
   Mrs. Marie Tyack was one of the most influential people in my early life. She was able to draw out my creativity and open my mind to new ideas.
   She had majored in art and was always full of ideas for those of us in her class who finished their work early. Her classroom storage closet was complete with art and craft supplies. I remember shelves full of paints, colored paper, chalk, ribbons, lace, etc.
   We painted pictures of pulp mills, sea life paintings we dipped in an ink wash, painted designs on round wooden cutouts for our mothers for Mother’s Day, murals, and collages.
   She encouraged us to keep our artwork in a portfolio.  Imagine that, fifth graders with an art portfolio!
   Just before Easter she would pull out the paper plates, ribbons, laces and flowers to decorate Easter hats. They turned out to be very beautiful, and we would do an Easter parade for the entire school.
   A few of my friends (Phyllis Smith, Margo Krznarich and Susan Korpi) and I loved to make up skits, and Mrs. Tyack would take us to her house to rummage through old clothes in her attic. She was a tiny lady, and the clothes would fit us perfectly.
   She encouraged us to put on our little skits for the class during our music lesson. What fun!
Elvis Presley was on the Ed Sullivan show for the first time that year. I remember the very next morning she asked me if I had seen the show. Of course I had!
   She asked what I had thought about him, so I told her I thought he was “sexy.” She gasped, and asked if I knew what that meant. I said no.
   “Why did you say it then?” she said.
   I told her the kids on the bus said it, so I just repeated what I had heard. A sigh of relief came from her!
   She was a strict teacher, and she didn’t put up with any foolishness.
   Her favorite saying was, “What ails you?” She said that to me once, and believe me, that was enough to remember never to have her say that to me again!
   We heard it a lot that year. Later in life my kids heard it a lot, too.
   Mrs. Tyack was my favorite teacher in grade school. I still think about her and how much I love her for sharing her talents with us.
   She worked us hard, but then we got to play hard. too — lessons I still live my life by.
If she could see me now!
———
The author, the former Karen Willing, grew up in Wakefield and resides in Alaska, where she owns an art studio. Check out her website: karenmattson.com.

Phyllis Smith and Karen Willing