While I had taken my freshman classes and received high school credit for ninth grade work at Samuel Morse Junior High School the atmosphere at John Marshall was radically different, even though one wing of the school contained its own junior high.
One factor contributing to this environmental change was the numerous extracurricular activities from future business leaders to future teachers, from knitters to philatelists, and from foreign language clubs to the “M” club, an exclusive group of athletes whose achievements in their respective sports earned them the prestigious letter they proudly wore on specially designed white cardigan sweaters. If these individuals were fortunate enough to repeat their performance in succeeding years they received chevrons to wear on the sleeves of their sweaters.
A second factor was the vast array of classes available to students ranging from biology labs to auto shop, from classical Latin to modern driver education, and from traditional composition in English to multiple copies on NCR forms typed on a Smith-Corona in business education.
However, the most significant factor was ultimately the teachers many of whom had built reputations dating back to the days our parents had them at North Division High School. Although I never had the pleasure of having Mr. Newman, Mr. Spicuzza or Mr. Kampine, who my parents made into walking legends and Peggy may have had, I was fortunate to have a teacher whose reputation was known not only at Marshall High, but at several other high schools, including Washington High where her twin sister taught.
Miss Steiger made sure we were able to translate stories about ancient Rome from Latin to English and back again, in addition to properly conjugating verbs, but her role as teacher did not stop with her assigned subject. Somehow she was always able to find a reference in these primitive tales to relate to the current fight for civil rights being waged on the streets of Selma or Birmingham.
Similarly, she was able to relate battles fought by Caesar and his soldiers to the battles being fought by Westmoreland in what she considered a no less despicable and equally imperialistic war. Despite her clear admiration for President Johnson’s ability to guide groundbreaking legislation into civil rights law she was extremely critical of his handling of the Vietnam War.
At the same time she made it clear it was important when disagreeing with wartime policies to remain patriotic and not to denigrate the honorable role of the soldier. She was the only teacher I recall inviting her former students to come to her classes in their uniforms and talk about their experiences.
Although she was swelling with pride to see them she never touched any of them, or us for that matter. Her fear of the spread of germs meant a student who sneezed may miss portions of the former student’s story or a Latin translation, because Miss Steiger always said, “God bless you, and go wash your hands.” One of the students, the only Henrietta I have ever known, sneezed with such force it would reverberate around the room in true stereophonic sound. Needless to say, she was in the bathroom several times while I was busy translating.
Hygiene was stressed even at the Roman Banquet held near the end of the year at the exquisite Boulevard Inn. Whether a novice plebe or a veteran patrician every member of the Latin club knew to bleach their sheet until it was glistening white in order to wear a clean toga to the table.
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