Julie, the Diamond of Teachers

A week ago, I was reading the Times when I happened upon this letter to the editor, written by Julie Diamond, the woman I worked with while doing my student teaching in NYC more than two decades ago.

I'd tried tracking Julie down years before now, but wasn't able to do so. It was lovely knowing she's still around, still thinking deeply about how young children learn, and letting her voice be heard about an issue of intense interest to me, not least because it's what we explore in my class at MSU.  

But seeing her name that day brought back memories, and reminded me of how my earliest ideals about teaching were formed.  

Julie taught kindergarten at P.S. 166 on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.   The children in her class came from every conceivable kind of family and household--except, of course, extreme wealth.  There were many children of middle class (mostly white) artists and professionals, and an equal number of kids from working class and poor (mostly Hispanic) families.  

Julie was amazing.  She was one of the warmest people I ever met, without being Pollyanna-ish or gushy.  She brought rigor to her teaching, seeming to look hard at herself as she interacted with her students, always questioning her effectiveness and never resting on her laurels.  

Julie approached every single child in that classroom as an individual.  She had high expectations, but not absurd ones.  A child who came to school in a thin blouse on a snowy day in February needed a coat, and Julie would find her one, because a kid who was sick just didn't learn all that well. 

She viewed parents as helpmeets and resources, no matter what they had to offer.  And she would make it her business to find what they could offer.

After my stint with Julie,  I was assigned to student teach at Trinity School, just across the street from P.S. 166. 

I remember seeing about half of the children in that fifth grade class cheat during a history exam.  I remember hearing kids taunt each other over clothing labels and cry during recess because they were afraid their fathers would be mad with a less-than-perfect grade.  More importantly, I had an awful cooperating teacher.  She screamed at the kids and commented sarcastically about their wealth, privilege, and weaknesses behind their backs (but often within their hearing).   She didn't seem sure of what to do with me, and I wasn't sure, either.  

Needless to say, I missed Julie's class every day, and thought how, given the choice, I'd choose her school over Trinity any day.  I still would.