At a Distance

By Robert Lee Kelly

At a Distance is a gathering of stories and student profiles from over half a century. The memoir tells the tale of teacher and writer Robert Lee Kelly. Tales of life and death, success and failure, the ordinary and not so ordinary. Numerous black and white photos portray the many crisscrossing lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.L. Kelly
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781088016978

Book preview

Copyright ©2021 Robert Lee Kelly

ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-0880-1127-0

ISBN (e-book): 978-1-0880-1697-8

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No portions of this book may be republished without permission of the copyright holder, except in usage for public reviews and advertising.

Editorial support: Greg Slyford and Editorial Partners llc

All images ©2021 respective profile subjects except for the following:

• Cover photo taken by Joseph McKenzie, Tayport, Scotland, c. 1966

• Inside cover author portrait ©2020 John Gevers Photography

Poetry snippets and other quotations used under fair use guidelines:

Episode four: from Mending Wall Robert Frost, 1914

Episode twenty: from A Tree, A Rock, A Cloud from The Ballad of the Sad Café, Carson McCullers, 1942

Episode twenty-one: from The Naming of Cats from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, T. S. Eliot, 1939

Episode thirty-two: from The Secret Sits Robert Frost, 1942

Episode thirty-two: from On a Tree Fallen across the Road, Robert Frost, 1923

Episode thirty-four: from Voice of the Crane, Emperor Hirohito, 1945 Potsdam declaration

Episode forty-four: from in-Just-E. E. Cummings, 1923

Episode forty-four: from Fog from Chicago Poems, Carl Sandburg, 1916

Episode forty-four: from Musée des Beaux Arts W. H. Auden, 1940

Episode forty-four: from Tell all the truth but tell it slant, Emily Dickinson, 1890

Episode forty-four: from Sonnet 29: When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes William Shakespeare, 1609

Episode forty-four: from The Truly Great, Stephen Spender, 1928

Episode forty-four: from What lips I have kissed, and where, and why, Emily St. Vincent Millay, 1920

Episode forty-four: from Elegy IX: The Autumnal, John Donne, 1633

Episode forty-four: from Twas the night before Christmas, Clement Clarke Moore, 1823

Episode forty-four: from Poety Marianne Moore, 1935

Episode forty-four: from Oddments, Inklings, Omens, Moments, Alastair Reid, 1957

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all

students, accomplished or

otherwise. Students at their

desks seeking a revelation

while seated, a possibility but

not a given. What is given

depends on many variables

including a helping hand,

among other disguises.

Contents

Dedication

Beginning

Thank You

The echoing etcetera of a teacher’s life

Barbara Ott, Tax Consultant

Great ones hold teaching as a sacred trust

Jesse Martin, Parent

Going home again can be a pleasant outing

Kirby Volz, Teacher of Show Business

Even random photographs tell amazing stories

Jayne Alatza, Photographer

The way we remember loved ones is spooky

Laurie Markey, Journalist

What’s wrong with another pair of socks?

Bob Voght, Oil Rig Worker

Life is mysterious, or maybe not

Melissa Snyder, Mistress of Cats and Dogs

There’s grace to be found in being peculiar

Rob Rogers, CEO

Attention, shoppers: There’s a bully in Produce

Christy Miller, Dog Whisperer

Budd is telling jokes, eating fish in heaven

Sheila Brewer, Humorist

Service sector should take lessons from Judy

Andrew Alatza, Troubadour

After a tea party, Katie rewards forbearance with sweet gratitude

Karla Koomler, Faithful

So many small encounters combine to shape each of us

John Gevers, Photographer

A freewheeling paperboy rides into customers’ shops and lives

Lynn Wehrenberg, Speech Pathologist & Soldier

The promise of a sky filled with kites

Kathy Imler, Singer & Artist & Writer

Dolph embodies the spirit of Christmas

Mikel Alatza, Artist

A gentle comeuppance perseveres for decades

Ann Hoard, Audiologist & Pioneer

Invite Christmas ghosts to haunt you

Scott Miller, Ophthalmologist

Another decade, another car, another color

Nancy Ormsby, Travel Companion

The one place where you can be yourself

Sue Klaehn, School Counselor

Mother Earth: Viola Belle

Todd Kabish, Captain Firefighter

Our old Nancy endured through mother and son

Gallery

Keith Miller, Physician

My sisters, studies in the persistence of character

Patty Wallace, Picture Perfect

Find your Christmas, if only in a lone moment

Bonita Johnson, Lady Fair

Wobegone’s dates were easy to remember

John K. Williams, Professor of Mathematics

A wedding shared with Miss Van Gorder

Rhonda Gerson, Crusader

Joy of reading started amid plaster casts

Leah Hackleman, Editor & Gymnast

Who will get that special card this Christmas?

Brian Bolton, Leading Light

We should all know more about teachers

Heather Hayes, Hospital Administrator

Christmas triggers many favorite recollections of bygone holidays

Elaine Williams, Acting Coach

Life slows down, but does it really change?

Binky Beaudway, Teacher & Truth-Teller

Christmas spirit shows itself if you watch for it

Denise Bratton, Performer

Time can’t dim the legacy of South Side’s Weicker

Tricia Clark, Physician

Things learned while digging in the dirt

Andy Hufford, Sportsman

Radio pervades life, from 1940s to today

Susan Felger, Lawyer & Mother

If you can jump in a pond, August is great

Kate Black, Actress

All-American City quest was worth the effort

Martha Lampe, Equestrian

A new foundling unsettles animal kingdom

LaQuan Norman, Lady Peaceful

No need for pretense in this easy hospitality

Amy Stone, Well-Spoken

Everyone’s friendly in a great neighborhood

Brian Teixeira, Teacher & Writer

Memories of especially admirable friends

Kurt Ehrman, Administrative Law Judge

A day of inspiration with young scholars

Nancy Howard, Lawyer & Authentic

Christmas brings its own special memories

Christopher Murray, Lawyer & Intellectual

Poetry aficionado reflects on past works that marked him

Mary McKee, Observer & Stand-Up

Remembrance

A star is born

Queen Bee

Catch, the sometimes sad but mostly wonderful true story of a cat

Ending

Beginning

Seeing life and living at a distance sometimes offers a clarity not obvious at first exposure. Looking back at a time and place now gone, but not forgotten, it is possible to recollect, to see and hear, what passed unnoticed in the corners, not necessarily revelatory, more likely ordinary, but nonetheless worthy of attention. An imprint revisited.

Thank You

Many thanks to each of you and others for the significant contribution toward the educating of Mr. Robert Kelly.

Episode one

The echoing etcetera of a teacher’s life

I never intended to be a teacher, not really. I had other things in mind. Big business to be exact. In time, an automobile manufacturing corporation beckoned, and soon I was in a world of Brooks Brothers suits, countless identical desk cubicles, and a never-ending paper chase.

One winter afternoon, crowded into the 5:12 elevator, I realized with liberating clarity that the world of the auto industry was not my destiny. Riding the crosstown bus with thoughts of my destiny resolutely tucked away for the moment, I concluded that I needed something else, something more. Through a series of incidental circumstances and some additional college courses, teaching presented itself as an opportunity.

I thought that September morning as I unlocked my first classroom door, I’ll try it for a year. That September morning took place decades ago. Between that day and now I must have unlocked my classroom door over 4,000 times and flipped on the lights, ready and willing as I could be for the job ahead—and, sans Brooks Brothers suit, I have not once in all that time thought about big business. I’ve had other things on my mind.

Those first teaching years were full to overflowing, but I wasn’t sure that I was, first and last, a teacher. About that time, I had a student by the name of Barbara, a winsome girl with a careful manner, a scholarly bent, and a steady gaze. Experiencing some difficulty with the subject, she sought some extra help. With a few suggestions from me and some encouragement, I soon noticed a new glint in that steady gaze, and by the end of the school year she was in her customary spot at the top of the class.

At the end of that year, I found in my school mailbox 100 pieces of Double-Bubble gum, each individually wrapped and each tied with a perfect Barbara bow. I had been persuaded. I thought, I’ll stay another year. It wasn’t the Double-Bubble gum. It was the glint. There was something about it, something more than I had known. It was somehow important.

Sure enough, the next year, there in the third row, second seat from the window, there was another steady gaze, although this time it belonged to David. The next year there was anther one, and then another and still another, and I have long since lost count, for there have been many—but not too many to remember.

The names have changed but not the glint. There was/is Thomas, Ellen, Sue, Barbie, RaBinka, Noreen, Melissa, Rob, Laurie, Kate, Chris, Mikel, Jayne, Brian, Lynn, Martha, Heather, Concetta, Donette, Andy, Denise, Kathy, Mary, Scott, Rebecca, Mark, Jesse. And, never to be forgotten, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

This past June I unlocked my classroom door for the very last time, flipped on the lights once more and found to my great relief that I was still ready and willing for the job ahead. Bolstered by that continuing revelation, I wanted to remember every detail of my last teaching day. It was, by every measure, an ordinary day. I know now that it was memorable for being what it was—an ordinary day.

Later, alone, dismantling my room after years of relentless residency, I viewed the rag-tag fringe documentation of a teaching life. As the pile of thumbtacks and paper clips mounted, so did the student photographs, the earlier ones in shaded tones of black and white, then in sepia, the later ones in life-like color. Likewise, the stack of notes, letters, greeting cards, and post cards, many in fading ink, from around the globe. The plaques and trophies were to stay, but not the news clippings and stories that chronicled the rise of various fine speech teams I had coached; teams of which I am justifiably proud.

My swivel desk chair, rescued from the trash, tilted precariously as it had for years; behind it, a deflated birthday balloon taped to the wall; next to it, a long student-composed narrative poem on a giant poster board, detailing the foibles of a now erstwhile class, with the last line, a zinger, reserved for the teacher.

My eyes fell on Tubby, a brightly painted bathtub on wheels rolled through the halls one morning by the enterprising and nonconforming Mikel, much to the chagrin of some and the amusement of others. Tubby, during its tenure, served as a haven for winter boots, brown-bag lunches, discarded sweaters and sweatpants, textbooks and, once, without my knowledge, for the birth of a single kitten. The stray mother cat, placed there by a compassionate student, did not make it out of Tubby, but her off spring did, and today Paddington proudly commands the window sills of my home, not in the least aware of his humble and inauspicious start.

My start, too, was inauspicious, but somehow the past years have been good ones—not easy ones, not one of them. Success,