Most of our teachers in grammar school had given up by May 15. Spring fever was a powerful affliction that was difficult to treat. It was only a few days until summer break and testing was over so most educators spent the latter part of May trying to keep the roof on the classroom. We spent a lot of time outside.

My fourth grade teacher was Harley Hocutt. I think he was about three-quarters Native American with thick black hair, a strong nose and piercing eyes that were as black as anthracite. He was big and loud and he happened to be the first male teacher any of us had ever had. He scared the crap out of us on day #1, so we all got in line and stayed there all year. He had an Attitude Adjuster that looked as if he had carved it out of a boat paddle with a Bowie knife, but I don't recall him ever striking a child.

He was as animated as an old time country preacher, and he had a love for American History as well as health, and geography. We did projects, took field trips and studied maps for hours. He's probably the reason I love maps today. For years, I've had a framed map of the world on my wall and every so often, my eyes will drift to the map. I find myself daydreaming about the places I've been and the places to which I'd love to travel.

Mr. Hocutt also loved basketball and by year's end, he had all the boys and girls dribbling, shooting and passing like the globetrotters. "You don't have to be the fastest or the most talented," he coached "just learn the fundamentals, learn to focus, and have fun."

One morning a few days before summer break, he decided to have a softball day so the class went out, divided up sides, and played softball for most of the day. Mr. Hocutt was the umpire behind the plate. Danny was the batter and he foul-tipped a softball that screamed past the catcher, who was wearing a mask, to Mr. Hocutt who was not. The ball hit him squarely on the nose and an instant later blood was everywhere. Danny was horrified that he'd hurt Mr. Hocutt. It was not because he was afraid of retribution, but because we had all grown to love our teacher.

Mr. Hocutt reached up and held his nose to stop the bleeding. Danny ran back to Mr. Hocutt to see if he could help and to apologize, but he simply patted Danny on the back and said "I'm OK, son let's PLAY BALL."

We were all relieved that he was not hurt badly.

He passed away a few years ago and I learned about it too late to attend his funeral. I really wish I had taken the time to look him up before he died and tell him how much he meant to all the kids at Dora Elementary.

I drove by the old school grounds on Saturday and this story came to mind. I wanted to go out and shoot a few hoops but arsons burned the old school down many years ago and the playground is overgrown with blackberry bushes, honeysuckle vines and a stand of pines that are about ready to harvest.

I thought I'd close with a little advice for my fellow students of life - If you had a favorite teacher who went above and beyond (as so many of them did), make it point to let them know how much they meant to you.