I do not remember her first name, if I ever knew it, that is. Back then, for us youngsters, it was strictly “Mr.” and “Mrs.” and “Miss”.

But I do remember her.

She was from New Mexico. And boy did she resent Florida’s having “stolen” their state motto, “The Sunshine State”, from New Mexico! She said she could prove the theft too! Although I never asked her for evidence.

Once, after I handed in a picture project on hygiene, she called me to her desk and, remaining seated, gently began explaining why she thought I had missed the point. I had drawn a picture of a refrigerator. Through the open door, one could see the shelves labeled with the names of the items that belonged on each: eggs, milk, soft drinks, butter, and so forth. 

“The fact that some of these items may be misplaced, does not affect cleanliness,” she said.

“Oh, I know. What I was showing was that if you leave the refrigerator door open, food can spoil,” I replied, silently wondering what items I had drawn so poorly that she thought they were misplaced!

She looked up at me as I stood with a genuine look of surprise that she would not have understood the intention of having drawn an open refrigerator door. Then she leaned back on her chair and laughed.

“Ah! I see. OK. Yours is a valid observation. Leaving the refrigerator door open is not good. You can go back to your desk.”

That same year, we took a field trip to the Orinoco to explore the Bethlehem Steel port facilities. That was one of my most memorable school trips, though, if you ask me why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if my life depended on it. I remember boarding the van, riding there, searching around the port, and riding back. Maybe I so enjoyed the camaraderie with my fellow classmates that the trip just floods my memory banks with good thoughts.

And then there was that night that some hooligans (my friends) did some mischief at the club. I don’t recall the mischief, but boy do I recall the tongue-lashing Mrs. Miller gave the class the following morning! I recall that because I had no idea what she was talking about.

It must have shown on my face because she snapped at me, “Ricky, don’t act like you don’t know! You were part of the gang!”

I was crestfallen. One of my friends noticed it and demurely raised her hand to say, “Mrs. Miller, it is true that Ricky was not a part of the ruckus. He was there at the beginning but left soon after the trouble started.”

My dejection was replaced by white hot anger! My “friend” was lying, and she knew it. I was not there at all. But she obviously was! She even smirked at me — when Mrs. Miller wasn’t looking, that is.

I am chuckling and laughing as I write this. What was so important to me at the moment, is now a childish memory. Actually, it became a good memory, for which I thank both Mrs. Miller and my friend.

A year later, I myself became a hooligan one afternoon when several of us, hunting for bats, managed to fall through the club ceiling causing quite a mess on the tables, chairs, and floor below. I’d never before (or since) seen so much guano rain down. And the company executives who just happened to be inspecting the premises that very day were also impressed with the bat droppings and the shocked kids hanging from or watching down from the now very visible attic. Our daze in trying to figure out how to clean up the mess was extremely short-lived, as we were peremptorily instructed to go. Immediately! We quickly obeyed.

So, Mrs. Miller’s rebuke was well deserved, even if it was a year too early! As the film noir puts it: “The postman always rings twice”.

My work took me to New Mexico often in recent years. It is one of those places that pull at you, like Venezuela. The West does that to many of us. I thought of her often during those trips.

I think Mrs. Miller was in El Pao only one school year. At least that’s what I remember.

But for some reason I do remember her. And I appreciate her.