“Mr. Gilbert, I Hardly Knew Ye
!”
Hank Brandli,
Over three hundred and sixty years ago,
I entered
The school program was rigorous, with a study
requisite of approximately three hours per night—a curriculum that included
Latin, French, Greek and German. To this
day, I can close my eyes and see (and smell) my green bookbag that traveled so
many miles with me on the M.T.A. to and from
I can still feel (and hear) the curved cement steps
under my sliding shoes, so worn from the thousands of students who had tread
before me. So often I would arrive at
school even before dawn, so I could get some more study time
.
My story was prompted by a phone call from an old
B.L.S. classmate who recently called me from
I had Mr. Gilbert for one year of math and
homeroom. My friend who had called me
didn’t have any vivid recollection of Mr. Gilbert. However, I remembered him as a wonderful teacher,
totally devoted to his profession. His
exams in algebra and geometry were a real challenge. The first parts were straightforward if you
had done your homework. But, to separate
the men from the boys, or boys from boys, to get the higher distinction marks,
you had to really think on the last parts of the tests. His lessons in the use of algebra with
geometry and in geometry itself helped me greatly at Tufts and M.I.T. My own children benefited from my math
knowledge when they were in college in
Today, I am reminded often of Mr. Gilbert. I remember how he was almost completely
paralyzed on his right side and used a cane to walk. I’m in a wheelchair myself and have been for
thirty years because of multiple sclerosis.
Mr. Gilbert was a frail little man, usually dressed in a rumpled suit,vest, and tie. Some mornings when I’d arrive early at
school, I’d look out the window and see a taxi stopping in front of the
building and I would watch him getting out of the cab. The driver assisted him in his endeavor to
get onto the sidewalk. Mr. Gilbert then, slowly moved up the several steps at the front of the
building leaning on his cane close to the wrought iron railing. Once inside, he would drag himself down the
short corridor leaning on and bumping the wall for balance as he made his way
to his homeroom-Room-102. Often, I’d fear he would fall, but he never did. There are two situations I can easily
envision him in; one, getting out of the cab; and the other, sitting at his
desk. Occasionally, he would go to the
blackboard during class, but with much difficulty.
Of course, all of his daily efforts was long before there existed any real community awareness
of the handicapped. Back then, being a
selfish teenager, I didn’t have much sensitivity of such things either. Now, I wonder a lot about this man and how he
managed to function. How did he do
it? The getting dressed; the shaving;
how did he get to and from the bathroom at school? How does a teacher (or anyone for that
matter) have that much dedication to go through such daily obstacles in order
to practice his or her profession?
Granted, the B.L.S. students (all boys) were a very
disciplined group and extremely conscious of becoming educated. Perhaps this gave him a bit of an edge, as opposed
to teaching in a school with a little rougher group of students to deal
with. Of course all of this is sheer
speculation on my part. This, combined with the insatiable desire to “tell” this
story about this man for others to share.
I’m now sixty five years old (recently had a stroke)
and find myself wondering how long Mr. Gilbert lived and what he died
from. There are so many things I wish I
had known about him. What was the cause
of his paralysis (or stroke)? Did he
have a family? I now personally know
about a lot of problems he must have faced, as my life is a very complicated
process of day-to-day laboring to maintain a balance and to keep going. If I had to go out and teach school everyday,
it would be an unbelievable challenge.
When I think of the devotion and strength this man possessed, it draws
out masses of emotion. He must have been
a saint!
Ten years after I graduated from B.L.S., an officer
in the Air Force and attending M.I.T. graduate school, I revisited B.L.S. and
for some reason was drawn to Mr. Gilbert’s classroom. Ironically, I had MS back then but had not
been diagnosed. There he was, sitting at
his desk, his body sort of listing to his paralyzed side, and he had to
struggle to lift his head up. I
introduced myself and he asked me to write my name on a piece of paper. He then reached down with his trembling left
hand and slowly pulled a book from the lower drawer of his desk. This book contained math scores from the time
I had him as a teacher. He told me I’d
been a good math student. He then asked
what I was doing now. After a brief
explanation of my current activities, I reached out my hand to him. He squeezed it gently. I thanked him for seeing me and left the
room.
I wonder if he had ready access to all his old student’s
math scores. I was truly impressed. His whole being appeared to revolve around
his students and classes. I remember
back when I was playing basketball at B.L.S.—Mr. Gilbert kept a record of the
points I made at each game and wrote them on the blackboard.
Today, I’m so moved by this person who taught me so
much and touched my life. I am very
grateful for having known this man. Mr.
Gilbert, I hardly knew you, but I think about you often. God bless you!
(Ed.
Note—Hank Brandli, BLS ’55, a graduate of Tufts and M.I.T., is a satellite
meteorologist living in
THE END