Little Schools in the Parkland

by Washburn LairdIncidents In My Teaching Career“The Tin Can”

It seemed that most of my follies occurred the first year of my teaching in the old Wainwright High School, situated where Denwood School now is. At the north end of what is now 9th and 19th Avenues was the old High School, with the Elementary school upstairs – not a great system at all. The buzzers were never synchronized, and the elementary school bell went off at a different time from the High School bell, and this just added to the confusion.

I don’t know why it was – I guess because I couldn’t say “No,” but I was called into the principal’s office one Monday morning. I thought to myself: “What have I done now? My room is clean. I haven’t been late, and my lesson plans are up to date. I wonder what it could be?”

With a touch of fear and trembling I entered the office. The principal had his back to me when I came in. He turned and I saw on his face, a large grin from ear to ear.

He looked me straight in the eye. “Mr. Laird,” he said. “How much do you know about Math?”

I wished he had not asked me that, for “me and Math” were foreigners. But I thought I had better lie gracefully. Better a white lie than a black mark from the superior officer in the institution.

“Yes,” I said hesitantly – “I have taken a little Math.” (I really meant high school math).

“Very good, my boy,” he replied, “because the Grade 8 Math teacher is sick, and there are no substitutes.” (In those days there were considerably fewer substitutes than there are today). “I want you to go across to the Junior High school, and take this teacher’s Grade 8 class for a half day.”

It was just my luck. I had most of my SPARES (or PREP. Period as they are now called) on this particular day and bless me, I was going to miss them all. Fate certainly was not too kind to me.

But duty called. So, swallowing my pride, and muttering some unkind euphemisms under my breath, I packed my briefcase, and walked the two to three hundred steps south to the Junior High school, which was separated from the Elementary-High School by a vacant lot. It was an overcast day, but not quite as downcast as I was when I entered the Junior High building and reported to the principal. The principal was very glad to see me, and remarked on how this was a good sign of the Junior High and High School co-operation.

“You will find the room down at the end of the corridor, Mr. Laird,” he said with apparent glee. “I will take you down there myself, and introduce you to your little charges.”

“Thank you,” I replied without too much enthusiasm.

There were 35 of the little people, in all shapes and sizes. They grinned at me, and I grinned back at them. “Mr. Laird is your teacher for the afternoon,” the principal said. There were three basic subjects: Social Studies, Language Arts and Mathematics.

I worked my way painfully through the Social Studies, which I knew well enough to keep them interested. Language Arts was a little tougher to maintain interest. However, a quick assignment, and a rest period for me allowed me time to set out the Mathematics.

They were in the fourth chapter of the Mathematics book, and this dealt with Areas of Various Objects. No problem, I thought. After all area is simply length times width. This will be a piece of cake! No problem. That’s what I thought. I didn’t reckon with the chubby little fellow who sat right up in the front row.

With all the gusto I could muster I placed the all important Math question on the blackboard. FIND THE SURFACE AREA OF A TIN CAN WHICH HAS A DIAMETER OF FOUR INCHES AND A HEIGHT OF 12 INCHES. I chuckled to myself. “That will keep the youngsters busy for most of the period,” I thought. “It’s easy to find volume, but the entire area of the tin can’s surface, is tougher to do.” I had no sooner got the words out of my mouth when the chubby little character in the front row, waved his hand vigorously in the air. “What do you want, young man?” I asked. “Mr. Laird, sir,” came the timorous reply, “I have the surface area of the ordinary tin, but it isn’t right!”

“What do you mean – not right?” I asked with a degree of authority.

“Well,” came the reply, “you really have not got the whole surface area of the tin can, unless you allow extra for the lip on the top and the bottom! That is surface of the can too, you know!”

What could I say? I was caught in my own trap. As gracefully as possible I coughed and said that it really didn’t matter, because it was only a theoretical question anyhow. My face was beet red, and I stuttered and stammered a bit, particularly when he insisted on giving me the revised answer complete with the lips on both ends of the tin can. I thanked him for pointing it out.

Just at that moment I was saved by the final bell. Here was one teacher that packed his briefcase in a hurry and took off. I even forgot to give the Grade 8 class its daily work assignment for homework.

When I told my story to the High School Principal he just roared. “You know,” he said, “that son of mine is getting smarter every day!” I retreated without saying another word, but even today, every time I see a tin can, I think of the mess I made of the Grade 8 Math lesson, so many years ago.

The Tin Can
By Washburn Laird

152-155