Every so often, Mom will send me a newspaper clipping she thinks I’ll find interesting. Once was when my friend Brian was interviewed when he first made his mark on the Pittsburgh radio market. Another time it was when a girl I graduated with (Donna Rorabaugh) was named as a finalist in a gingerbread house competition. Most recently, Mom sent me an article about Mr. Maljan, my social studies teacher from my senior year of High School.
It’s been 22 years since I graduated from High School and I don’t remember much about any of my teachers. There’s a few I definitely didn’t like, such as the sixth grade English teacher who made fun of my last name, in class. Or the eighth grade algebra teacher who wouldn’t answer questions during class and then got mad at me because I didn’t want to stay after class to ask my questions and miss the bus.
On the other hand, there were also a few teachers who I liked and still remember warmly. Such as Mr. Fresch, my tenth grade biology teacher who confided to us on the first day of class that some people occasionally referred to "BSCS Biology" as "Bull Sucking Cow Something." Or my sixth grade math teacher who I first knew as "Mr. DeVincentes" and who five years later became "Nick" when I was an ambulance attendant and he was a Paramedic. (I have no idea how Nick felt about the transition from a student/teacher relationship to friends/colleagues, but years later I still think that was one of the most interesting things that ever happened to me.)
Mr. Maljan was definitely in the latter category. Sad to say, I don’t remember much about the class itself, but I do remember him being friendly toward his students. He teased me occasionally because when I needed to remember a name, I’d look up toward the ceiling, as if expecting to find it written there. He was never mean about it, just making a friendly joke. (Bill Cosby used to have a routine about how you have to look up to remember names and down to remember numbers, because that’s where the names and numbers are stored. Perhaps Mr. Maljan knew he was right about that.)
The article Mom sent me had a couple surprises. One was that Mister Maljan is only 15 years older than I am. (Of course, that’s an eternity from the perspective of a High School student.) The greater shock though was that Mr. Maljan had been arrested for burglarizing the school’s athletic director’s office.
He’s reportedly admitted to not only that burglary, but also to another one a week earlier. The fact that he’s admitted to it is encouraging; perhaps there’s hope for him.
But I much prefer my original memory.