Mrs. Karen Milholen
Stay with me on this one if you can. So, last week I received a call that I was expecting but never the less, I didn’t want. You see, one of my favorite teachers of all time passed away. For many years now, she has been battling Alzheimer’s, and it finally got the best of her.
I won’t go into the deep hatred I have for this awful disease. A disease that robbed her of her memory at a time when she should have been enjoying holidays with her family, and watching her grandkids accomplish so many amazing things. I will leave that commentary for another day.
In a former life, when I was asked to speak on the subject of leadership in front of HR professionals, future leaders, trainee’s, managers or even civic organizations, I could quickly and with little time to prepare, speak to some of the traits that I believe make a good leader. I could do this based off a well memorized outline, that was always titled, “Everything I needed to know about leadership, I learned from my sixth-grade teacher”, Mrs. Karen Milholen.
I have to admit that in the 5th grade, I was terrified of Mrs. Milholen. When the activity bell would ring for lunch, recess or any event that required the teachers to dump all their students into the chaotic narrow hallways at once, you always knew where Mrs. Milholen and her students were located.
She had a booming voice, one that elevated above all others, a voice that could easily strike fear in the most hardened students or faculty for that matter. When all the students in the other classes poured out into the hallways in what could only be described as semi-controlled chaos where students in a search for food or the play ground… her students were arrow straight, single file and marching in lockstep towards their destination.
When the rest of the student body at Westside elementary, were loudly pushing, shoving, and jockeying for the best lunch line position, her students were quiet and controlled. Being the keen observer that I was back in the 5th grade, I assessed with absolute confidence that Mrs. Milholen obviously beat her students into submission. I felt very sorry for them in 5th grade, as they would never enjoy the chaos the rest of us enjoyed while making our way to some hardy and semi edible cafeteria food.
I surmised that; she must (under the cover of her closed and locked classroom doors), force her students to practice a series of military style close order drills that would make any hardened Marine drill sergeant gush with envy. Yes, at the wise age of 11, I was fairly certain that Mrs. Milholen was General George S. Patton and Joan Crawford all rolled into one. Watch the academy award winning movies, Mommy Dearest and Patton on the same night and you’ll understand. I think you get the point though.
As the summer between 5th and 6th grade came to a close, my days were filled with fishing, playing ball and riding my bicycle. I would fearlessly, without a helmet mind you, jump over a line of cinder blocks or garbage cans just like Evel Knievel. I have the scars to prove my skills at imitating the famous daredevil. Every day, I would stay out in the hot sun as long as I could. If I needed a drink a water, I got it from the garden hose. I knew if I went inside, my mother might make me do some kind of “inside” work. It was during those hot, yet blissful childhood days, that thoughts of Mrs. Milholen and her terrifyingly loud voice, began to percolate in my head.
Back then, there was one designated day in August that you had to go to the school and find your name on the student roster attached to the door of the classroom you were assigned. At Westside elementary, there were only three 6th grade teachers so it was a quick trip. Like some horror movie that had been forever etched in my mind, I knew EXACTLY which door belonged to Mrs. Milholen. I avoided it, after all, I had been a good kid all summer, I had asked God to protect me and keep me out of harm’s way, which really meant, keep me out of Mrs. Milholens class room.
After checking the other two classroom doors for my name and not finding it there, I began to feel a sense of doom, a feeling that life was over, this was it. I had had a good run, but now it would all end. I would never make the terrifying leap over that third trash can on my cool bike with the elevated banana seat and wicked handle bars. I somberly began to compile a list of my closest friends that I could pass on my entire set of the 72 dolphins football cards, my fishing pole and tackle box, and of course my cool bike. For in my mind, life as I knew it was over. Obviously, I could not have been more wrong.
After I overcame the initial shock of being sentenced to Mrs. Milholen’s class in 6th grade and completely worked my way through the 6 stages of grief, I set off to become one of her students. I saw myself in prison stripes tramping through the halls, single file with my eyes glazed over but pointed in the direction that she directed. I figured, if worse came to worst, I could walk a straight line with the best of them.
The first day of class, she completely threw me off guard by smiling, and she had the audacity to make it a beautiful smile, one I still see today. I was immediately knocked off my game, for I had never seen her smile in the hallways! Perhaps I had never seen her smile was because I always avoided direct eye contact with her. At the time, in fifth grade, I was certain that the electromagnetic current coursing through her veins would surely elicit lightning bolts from the inner most depths of her pupils to strike me down dead as a door nail. I envisioned the other children stepping over my charred remains, each mumbling, “shouldn’t have made eye contact with her Randy”.
Instead, she stood in front of the class, flashed her smile, and began to talk to us like adults. There was no soft-spoken fake teacher tone, she didn’t have a yard stick that she wielded like a Samurai warrior. She simply interlaced her fingers in front of her and smiled as she talked. She outlined what she expected from all of us, and even though I am slow learner, her points have stuck with me for a lifetime. I’ll share them with you now;
Rule #1- Be on time. She explained that making someone wait to begin their day because of your personal inefficiency was very rude and disrespectful. To her, if you weren’t in your seat when the bell rang to signify class was in session, you were late. Since my father operated under the same principle his entire life, I had no problem conforming with this one.
Rule #2- Be Prepared. To illustrate this rule, she held up two number 2 pencils, sharpened to dagger efficiency. She explained that if you break your lead, or allow it to become so dull it no longer served its purpose was inexcusable. To her, asking to sharpen your pencil while other students were learning was disrespectful. In fact, if you ever had the misfortune of needing to sharpen your pencil, she would require everyone in the class stop what they were doing, put their pencils down and watch the offending student slowly walk to the sharpener at the back of the class. All the kids would sit intently watching and listening to the poor unprepared soul loudly grind away at not only their pencil, but their embarrassment. The final insult for the student, was being watched by all the others as they meekly returned to their seat. To this day, at the spry age of 60, the sound of a manual or automatic pencil sharpener makes me weak in the knees. Just so you know, I only had to be the subject of the pencil sharpening death march just once.
Rule #3- Be respectful. Bullies weren’t tolerated, know it all’s always quickly found out that they didn’t know it all, and wall flowers were slowly forced into the lime light. This may sound harsh for some, but if you really know me, and know my real personality, I was destined to be a wall flower. I am convinced that; if it had not been for her forcing the shyness out of me, I would never write this blog or write novels. I would never have been able to stand in front of strangers and deliver the “everything I needed to know about leadership I learned from my 6th grade teacher” speech. This is a good place to mention that; every time I gave that speech, several people from the audience would inevitably come up to me and gleefully tell me about a teacher they remembered in their life. A teacher that they remembered having a positive impact on them. My response would always be in the form of a question; “Do they know?”
Rule #4- Give your absolute best. I think this was her favorite rule. She would explain this rule with such passion to the new troops; “Not everyone will get an A in math. Not everyone will get an A in English. Some of you can run faster than the others, some of you can remember things better than the others, but what I need out of every single one of you this year is…your very best work”. She would look around the room and seemingly make eye contact with each kid, and to my amazement, when she made eye contact with me, besides the fact that I didn’t turn into a smoldering pile of ashes, I knew she meant it. Here is where I tell you about the best grade I ever earned in my life. I hate math, she knew I hated math and she worked hard at pacing me so I wouldn’t feel dumber than the other kids. Even though I thought I was putting in the work, (I wasn’t) she called me to her desk after class. She showed me the report card that had a D in math. She handed it to me and said, “you aren’t giving me your absolute best”. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, I could feel that electromagnetic current arching from her to me. In that moment, I had been busted, I knew it, and she knew it. I promised myself that she would never look at me that way again. When the next report cards came out, she once again called me to her desk. As I stood there, trembling in fear for what she was about to say, she pulled the report card out of her drawer, opened it and pointed at the math section. I could see that it was a C, I looked up at her expecting to see more disappointment in her eyes but once again, she threw me off, she flashed her smile, then reached over and pulled me close to her in one of the most memorable hugs I have ever received and said, “thank you for giving me your best”. Although i am not a complete dunce, I have had some very good grades during my school years, but that C in math she gave me is the best grade that I ever remember. I learned from her that day that; not everyone can be an A student, but a good teacher/leader knows how to push you to perform at levels you didn’t know you could. In other words, she got the best out of me.
Rule #5-Walk with a purpose. Learning this from her explained a great deal of what I saw in the hallways of Westside Elementary. She didn’t like seeing kids walk with their head down. She believed strongly that you were to keep your chin parallel to the ground and you moved swiftly in the direction you wanted to go. “Get your head up Mr. Green” she would say, “look where you are going!” I may not have fully figured out what I wanted to do in life at that time or where I was going in life, but through her teaching, I learned how to “look like” I knew where I was going. Remember those single file lines of students? When I became one of the kids in that line, I quickly realized that her class got where they were going much faster than all the other kids, because when all of us had our heads up and marched in unison, the sea of children screaming in the hallways would part like Moses opening up the red sea. Mrs. Karen Milholen’s class sliced their way through the chaos.
Rule #6- Apathy is intolerable. If you got into any trouble, she would make you write out the definition of Apathy on the chalk board behind her as she conducted class. It didn’t happen very often to any of us, but I can give you the definition as I remember it;
absence of interest in or enthusiasm for things generally considered interesting or moving · absence of emotion.
To her, apathy was an infiltrating demon of life, that once it took root in its host, could easily destroy the occupant, and most certainly had to exorcised as quickly as it raised its hideous head. It was a big word for me back then but over time, I have come to understand it much better. I understand that a life without enthusiasm or passion is a life wasted. She wanted her students to be passionate about being curious and then using that curiosity to enhance their minds. I truly believe that the fuel that drove her to perform at the levels of excellence that she achieved every day was seeing her kids light up with curiosity and then turn that curiosity into knowledge.
The world was a better place with Mrs. Milholen in it, and she will be deeply missed. She will be missed by her wonderful family and so many students like me that owe her a debt of gratitude. Before Alzheimer’s robbed her of her memory, I was fortunate enough to let her know the impact she had on me, and I was able to say thank you. For that, I am eternally grateful.
If you made it all the way through this tribute to a wonderful teacher, wife, mother, grandmother and friend, I sincerely thank you. I hope that I spurred a memory of a teacher that made a difference in your life and more importantly, I hope that it spurred a desire in you to let them know. Life is short, say thank you as much as you can. Thank you, Mrs. Milholen, RIP.