A Eulogy for Ada Bertrand: Big Books, Silly Scribbles and Penguins

Big Books, Silly Scribbles and Penguins: A Memorial for Ada Bertrand

December 23, 2010 The first time I met Ada Bertrand was sometime in the Fall of 1989 when I arrived at Mooers Elementary School as the new librarian. I’d spent the previous eighteen years as a middle school and high school English teacher.

I had a piece of paper that said I was certified by the State of New York to work any school library between Kindergarten and 12th grade, but that didn’t mean I had the expertise to work the full range. I had prepared myself for this job by taking the right courses, and by doing a K-5 internship, but it was still overwhelming at the beginning. There was a lot to learn.

By 1989 I was already a veteran teacher, and I knew what I had to do to be successful. It didn’t take long to seek out mentors at each grade level. I couldn’t understand why a lesson I’d planned hard for would fail dismally. I was OK at the Intermediate level, but there were still volumes I needed to learn with the primary grades.

Ada Bertrand became my first grade mentor. A lesson would fail, and later that day I’d make my way down to the primary wing. “You can’t do this lesson now Dan. It’s only November. You have to wait until March.”

“March?” I’d say. “Why?”

“They’re not cognitively ready for this. In order for them to understand this, you have to do these five things beforehand.”

“But, Ada,” I’d retort, “They just have to alphabetize these three letter combinations.”

“C’mon, Dan…they can’t even put the alphabet in order, let alone alphabetize by two letters. And you’re asking them to do three?”

So I’d go back to the drawing board, rewrite the lesson, and present it back to her the next day.

“Good job,” she’d say with a smile. “I’ll let you know when you can do the rest.” I may have had the piece of paper that said I was certified to be at this level, but I certainly needed a lot more guidance. And it was teachers like Ada who offered that--not only teaching first graders, but first year, and second, third and fourth year librarians, as well. THAT is the mark of a master teacher.

Ada was ahead of her time in the classroom. Learning Centers are rather standard today, as is Guided Reading, but Ada was one of the first to introduce and integrate these techniques into her classroom.

All of us loved spending time in her room. There was always a smile. She was perennially calm, always cheerful and patient, even when she wasn’t feeling well. She encouraged and nurtured her students, and showed them a lot of love. She was a woman full of wisdom—not a word I use lightly. She was a wonderful friend and wonderful mentor. She knew what was right for her students and she made sure they got it.

Someone described her as a calm mother dog with her puppies, or a mother hen loving her chicks. I can see that image of her. Year after year, her students were broods of happy, contented children.

There are images and impressions all of us who worked with Ada have of her. She was famous for wearing hats and was never afraid to dress up. At times, she had a band she’d wear around her head. If she read a story about dogs that day, there’d be dog ears in it. She’d put a button dot of construction paper on her nose and draw herself a set of whiskers. And she didn’t necessarily stay in her classroom in that facial costume. I’d see her walking the halls at the end of the day in this disguise, or she’d meet me at the front door of the library in a Santa hat or some other great get up. I just loved her quiet, colorful enthusiasm.

At times, her antics got strange looks from fellow teachers, but she didn’t care. None of the kids, though, would give her strange looks. “Oh, it must be the letter “D” day, they’d say. Mrs. Bertrand’s wearing dog ears.

Ada was different; she was unique. Her teaching was out of the box and that’s the way she wanted it. She was very comfortable being outside the box.

For me, one of the absolute magic points of first grade was when kids could read a story on their own. Sometime after Christmas, prompted by the work Ada and other first grade teachers did, these little ones could collectively read a Big Book. This of course, didn’t happen overnight. Kindergarten and first grade teachers had been working their magic for almost 60 weeks. She was famous for her “Silly Scribbles.” She’d make a funny picture out of letters and then have the students write stories about the picture.

Here is the letter P. This is a pig. The pig is purple. He has polka-dots. He is fat.

Not only did her students become readers, but authors as well.

Silly Scribbles was so successful that even now, almost ten years after she left teaching, it’s still being used in Mooers as a way to reinforce letters and their sounds.

When a youngster reached a certain level of reading proficiency, he or she was sent to the office to read to the principal. Only then did they move onto another proficiency level.

Not every student sent to the principal did something bad.

You couldn’t help but love it!

Ada never said no to anyone. No matter how mundane the problem, Ada would be there to assist. Kris Changelo and Lori Harrigan, who taught Kindergarten in the primary wing with Ada, told me that she had a sixth sense when it came to recognizing that a teacher needed a few minutes of down time. She’d show up at a teacher’s door, mid-morning when Kris, or Lori, or others in the primary wing, needed a break, and tell them…”Coffee’s ready. I’ll watch your kids.” “It was always at the right time,” Kris told me. Her selfless willingness to help out a fellow teacher has not gone unforgotten. Both Kris and Lori remember it as such a nice touch to a morning.

When the need arose for a primary chorus, Ada stepped in. For years, she directed the students and played piano for a chorus of first, second and third graders. And each morning she’d be in the cafetorioum playing piano for that morning’s assembly.

In those days, kids sang the Mooers School song. 400 little voices rose in crescendo each morning at 8:15. No matter where I was in the building, I’d stop and listen to this special start to the day.

Found within the northern tier

Is a school we hold so dear

On our country’s borderline

Mooers Elementary School so fine

Every time our hearts will sing

When we hear the school bell ring

We will praise each grade school year

Mooers’ Elementary school so dear

During the 1998-1999 school year, I took a leave of absence and spent the year travelling. I offered to maintain contact with any class who wished to do so. Ada was one of the teachers who grabbed at the opportunity. I’d send bi-weekly emails from Eastern Europe, Asia and the South Pacific, letting the kids know where I was and what I was seeing. Ada would build that email into a reading or geography lesson. I’d ask questions of the kids and they would ask questions back to me.

When I returned in the fall of 1999, I only stayed on the job for two more months before moving back to high school. I’d really only known these first graders as Kindergarten students and for two months as second graders.

By 2003, these little ones had now entered 6th grade, and more than once, for the next few years, a light bulb would go off in the heads of one of these students. They’d look at me and say, “I know you. You used to be the librarian in Mooers. You’re the guy who rode the camel in the desert.” Or, “You’re the teacher who travelled. Mrs. Bertrand used to read us your letters.” Her lessons years earlier sparked something is these students that stayed with them into Middle School and, I imagine, well into high school and beyond. Life-long learning should always be the goal, and she knew how to do that, even at this tender age.

Sadly, Ada had to leave teaching early and this was very hard on her. She loved the classroom, and her students loved her. For years, she’d tell me, she was haunted by dreams of walking into her classroom to find someone else at her desk. I don’t think she ever really left teaching behind. Shortly before I left Mooers, around Halloween of 1999, Ada handed me a pair of construction paper penguins. I never separated those penguins, which stayed in my office at the high school, until she retired in the early 2000’s. At her retirement party, I gave one of them back to her, as a reminder of her great contribution, not only to the students of Northeastern Clinton Central, but to my education as well. My lone penguin was a reminder that our relationship, which had turned to trusting friendship, would not go away.

About once a month I’d call Ada from the high school. “Care for some company for lunch today,” I’d ask her. I’d grab a pile of new books I knew she’d like, as well as my lunch, and drive out to Rod and Ada’s home. It was a short visit, but it was a wonderful way to reconnect. We always talked about education. But as time went on, after both of had left the field, her conversations revolved mostly around the four things she loved most in the world.

You, Rod…

And you, Brian…

And you, Donna…

And you, Kelly.

Ada was big on kids writing their own books, or collectively writing a book. She’d then have the kids illustrate it. It would then be a Big Book which the kids would then read back to her. Ada, dear…I still have the book your kids wrote about me.

Now it’s my turn to write a book about you.

ADA

This is Ada.

Ada was a wife and mother.

Ada was a grandmother and friend.

She was a teacher and a mentor.

A good one.

Everyone loved her.

She taught kids to read.

And she used “Silly Scribbles” to do it.

She played the piano.

At the end of the week, Ada was tired.

This is Ada on a Friday.

All the teachers are tired.

They can’t wait to leave.

Here is Ada! She’d always say, “Let’s make like geese...

“…and get the ‘flock’ out of here.”

Goodbye Ada.

We love you.

You will remain in our hearts forever.

Dan Ladue

Turnpike Weslyean Church

December 23, 2010