Mrs. Psycho Loses Her Place in English Class
1972, Western Massachusetts
By Beverly Carol Lucey
When I got my first teaching job, I was assigned to a team for 11th grade English. We would be three women. We would, in 10-week cycles, teach all the juniors. Mrs. B was a very dignified, middle-aged woman who had gone to Radcliff, married well, lived well, taught well, and tried very hard to maintain standards. I was the radical who was going to try everything I could to make high school better than it was for me.
The third member of our team was Betty, with a Polish last name that sounded enough like Syko-something that students called her Mrs. Psycho. When she wasn’t around. She looked to be of that ambiguous age that a new teacher would call old.
In reality, she was just menopausal, that vague area of murky new emotional territory that can turn a teacher weird, if she weren’t a bit of a character already. Betty was a squat fireplug of a woman. A smoker, a drinker, a serious card player who lived in a room in town during the week - away from her no-good gambling husband the next state over. Pretty interesting stuff, from my point of view. She was also a very smart and very sensitive poet.
Mrs. B. and Betty were supposed to be my mentors. They made up the schedules, divvied up the work, and made encouraging noises. I was replacing a male English teacher who had run away with one of the 11th grade girls. The school had not renewed his contract.
Mrs. B helped me find books, get settled, fill out forms, and provided emergency cookies.
Betty’s advice was succinct. In her gruff whiskey voice she said: “Listen honey. Don’t ever teach the verbs to lay/to lie. And don’t teach the poem, There is no frigate like a book. Anything they can turn into something dirty they will. Watch out or you’ll step in it. That’s all you have to know and you’ll do fine.”
School began. It was exciting, exhausting, scary. But I had my mentors and things were going fine. Then, Mrs. Psycho started having hot flashes. By our very cold November, Betty insisted that all the windows be open. Any student who complained was sent to the office for insubordination. She gave assignments and forgot what they were. She brooked no argument in her classes. Betty wanted students to shut up and not cross her. If they didn’t follow the rules, she’d flunk them. No one wanted to get in Betty’s way.
She was all glower and “I mean business” from day one. At four-foot-seven, she could make a linebacker whimper, just with a look from her baleful eye. Mrs. Psycho was a rock. If she heard the slightest cuss word, the offender would be banished. A hint of an obscene gesture would get her temper up. “An outrage, these students. No respect. Didn’t care what they said in class. Foul creatures. Driving me to drink.”
She was organized in a military way. Everyone had a job in her class and they hopped to it. Mrs. Psycho seemed to be getting worse. “Ken! Sit up straight. Angela! Does your mother know what you are wearing? Jonathan? Did I just hear you say something rancid? I know the priest at your church, you know. Do not get on my last nerve, Raymond. Do you hear me? I said, Do. You. Hear. Me. This is my classroom, and in my classroom we behave like ladies and gentleman. Pretend if you have to, but that’s the way it is. You will learn a civilized tongue. And let me tell you, you are very lucky that we cannot hit students anymore in this state. Hah.”
I could hear her in the room next door, when my students were doing their journals or free writing.
But one lovely spring day Mrs. Psycho was feeling especially frazzled. The class periods were shortened due to an upcoming assembly, she was feeling on guard - as though the students were somehow out to get her - when she’d been getting them for months. She was being very strict about every random stretch or ambient sound.
“Mark! Jeremy! Collect the books. We’re done with Ethan Frome. Sit back down, I haven’t marked down the numbers yet. No. Stand up. Collect them and let Melinda cross off the numbers. Now! Take them into the English closet and bring back the set of books I left on the counter there. What are you waiting for?”
The students were up and down and crashing into each other, Melinda followed the boys out the door with the book numbering sheet and got yelled at. It was chaos and students started to make those dangerous noises. A rebellion had begun.
Mrs. Psycho was ready. She glared them into submission, she told them how important English was, how language mattered and they would learn to appreciate the power of words. She ranted about their future and bemoaned their never reading anything decent on their own. She told them they’d never get into college if they didn’t start taking more care with their work. They needed to sit up straight and speak carefully. They needed to say what they meant. And think before they spoke. More and more and more juicy words assembled in her mouth until she was spitting on those in the front row.
When she paused and made a sweeping glance around the room, daring anyone to defy her, some peacemaker raised his hand and pretended enthusiasm. “Mrs. S? What do we get to read next?”
Ah. A good question. Showed enthusiasm. Mrs. S was pleased. She took a deep breath for suspense and said, “Class, we will now begin one of the greatest books in American Literature. One I know you will love for the classic that it is. Class? I know you will be challenged by this great book from the American canon.”
Long pause. Dramatic pause. Another grand sweep of the room. And then, and then, Mrs. Psycho, who never let a mistake go unnoticed, uttered the name of this wonderful book:
“Fuckleberry Hinn.”
Beverly Carol Lucey has had numerous stories and articles published in newspapers, magazines, online, and in anthologies, including Are We Teaching Yet? and A Cup of Comfort for Teachers. The author now lives in Maumelle, Arkansas. She teaches writing and communication at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway.
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15 Responses to “Mrs. Psycho Loses Her Place in English Class”
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November 17th, 2006 at 11:25 am
Oh, what a belly laugh. I loved this story, read it twice. I think I’ll be back to give it a third go …
November 17th, 2006 at 12:15 pm
I have read other things by Ms. Lucey. She never lets me down and always makes me think, chuckle, laugh aloud, or walk around saying, “I wish I had written that.” This is essay is no exception.
November 17th, 2006 at 8:45 pm
When I read this story I laughed out loud so hard that my husband yelled from the next room, “What’s so funny?”‘ I can just picture Mrs. Psycho. Great story!
November 18th, 2006 at 10:02 am
i did not enjoy it at all
November 19th, 2006 at 7:53 am
I enjoyed reading this story, it was interesting and kept me engaged…
November 19th, 2006 at 7:57 pm
This certainly has its moments, and I think the best parts come straight from Betty’s mouth. Nice descriptors too. And of course those of us who know menopausal know exactly what she is talking about!
November 20th, 2006 at 8:33 am
Good Story! Reminds me of my English Class my Freshman year!
November 22nd, 2006 at 3:49 am
What a hoot! A charming and delightful piece with such rich detail and droll language that it takes you right into the writer’s memory. I loved it.
November 23rd, 2006 at 11:25 am
Wow! That profile just blew me away. I haven’t been back to school since I graduated years ago, but I feel that I know these lady teachers. That Betty one is the best. She reminds me of two old biddies I used to know at my school, both short and definitely in charge. One was actually called Betty, and she was really pretty nice, but the other one was called Olive, and she could be mean. I wish we had learned more about the narrator who sounded kind of like a very cool teacher I had once - always had us write in journals and loved acting. Maybe Ms. Lucey will write about her more next time - I hope.
November 28th, 2006 at 6:30 am
Hilarious and well written. Ms. Lucey is a treasure! More, more!!
December 3rd, 2006 at 11:39 pm
Classic punchline! I am, however, not looking forward to menopause after reading this!
December 5th, 2006 at 1:15 pm
Incredibly funny. And not just because I have taught high school English and I have been menopausal.
I’d love to read more by this writer. In the meantime, here’s a little “gift” for her:
I was a student in high school biology class. We were having a short quiz and I guess the teacher hadn’t gotten to the Xerox machine, so she was reading the ten questions aloud and we were to put our answers on our papers.
The teacher was a sweetheart, young, red-haired, nice. She gave us the impression that she liked teaching. I think we appreciated it but some things are too good to pass up.
“Question 10: What are the advantages of internal fertilization over external fertilazation?”
To which, one bright young fella in the back quipped loudly: “It’s more fun!”
It brought down the house. End of test.
December 11th, 2006 at 4:58 pm
Lee,
Thank you for adding to the true lore of teaching. Whoah to the teacher who can’t laugh at the absurdity of some moments, so often self created. (I meant ‘whoah’ not ‘woe’, as in ’stop in the name of love’) Although talking and writing on the board at the same time can have peculiar results, as well.
December 28th, 2006 at 10:25 am
It happened too many years ago now to be polite to mention the date, but my husband still relishes telling this tale of similar circumstances. Seems he was in study hall, a period devoted. long ago when attention spans weren\’t corrupted by 30 seconds sound bites, to providing students an opportunity to get work done during school hours. Absolute silence was the norm, and it was rigorously enforced by an elderly (at least according to a 16 year old) woman, lean and wrinkled as a desicated vanilla bean. The proverbial cokebottom glasses grimly perched upon the end of her nose with the earpiece chains swaying to and fro as she thumped her way up and down the long aisles of wooden floors. When all were settled, she\’d take her perch at the head of the room the size of a large gymnasium and maintain her vigilant watch for a slacker or a straying whisperer. Quiet prevailed one afternoon until someone rolled some ball bearings down one of the aisles. Rrrr-rrrr-rrrr–rrrr. They rolled just long enough to startle Miss Rabbit Ears out of her reading obsorbtion, but not long enough to place where they had come from….indeed a daunting task with over a hundred students\’ heads now lowered even more diligently over their tasks. A suppressed titter swept the room, but was quickly hushed. A few moments of silence ensued, and then again it came. Rrrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrr; this time with a transver pattern through the saddle shoes and penny loafers, unhampered by the modern, affluent litter of food-wrappers, backpacks and designer water-bottles, The eyes behind the coke-bottle glasses snapped fiercely from one side of the room to the other as she sprang to her feet. Determination to end the disruption tensed every muscle. Rrrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrrr. Rrrrrr-rrrrr-rrrrrrr. The bearings were now being rolled with impunity, with the teacher\’s tiny-patterned frock and loose skin flagged out behind her as she tried to locate the annoying sound and pounce on the perpetrator. Finally, the culprits grew too bold, and the offending articles were snatched off the floor as they intersected her headlong trajectory through the sea of silent, shaking shoulders. Triumphantly, she raised the silver spheres high over her head and yelled, \”WHOSE STEEL BALLS ARE THESE!?!\” and the instant reply was hooted back, \”SUPERMAN\’S\”!\” Amidst whooping shouts of laughter the entire room stood and made a hasty exit. Study hall ended early that day.
January 5th, 2007 at 10:01 pm
Perfect. There’s no end to the number of events that can happen when balls are involved.
And what a great line: lean and wrinkled as a dessicated vanilla bean.
Thanks.