The elusive Mrs. Bokelman

Marie Mitchell

We’ve all had teachers who have influenced our lives. They shaped our impressionable young minds and molded us into who we are today. They were dedicated, determined and diligent — refusing, against all odds, to give up on us.

Then there are teachers we can barely remember — or have chosen to forget. For me it’s Mrs. Bokelman, a sixth-grade teacher at WACO school in Wayland, Iowa. I can visualize her in the hallway, the lunchroom, even on the playground. But, I don’t recall ever being in her classroom. After all, it was a very loooong time ago. It wouldn’t really matter except she started showing up in my life — in eerie ways. First, it was just a picture.

When our parents passed away, my sister, Cindy, inherited the daunting task of sorting through sacks of photographs — mostly undated, and featuring unnamed people. She stumbled upon school pictures from various years and separated them into three piles, depending on whether they were her classmates, mine or our sister Rebecca’s. On a rare sister vacation without husbands or kids, Cindy conducted a picture parade, prompting a trip down memory lane.

Faces I hadn’t seen in forever smiled at me. There was kind-hearted Esther whose hair touched her knees; Miss Priss, Iris, always immaculately dressed; and Elizabeth, the misfit genius. Surprisingly, a few guys mingled with the girls. Like Steve, my seventh grade crush — until I replaced him as first chair trumpet. He didn’t take defeat well and that romance ended on a sour note.

As I dug deeper into my pile, I spotted Mrs. Bokelman. Dark black hair, the color of shoe polish. Heavy black glasses frames perched on a severe-looking face — one that barely cracked a smile. “Wait,” I said. “I never had Mrs. B. as a teacher. She belongs with one of you.” But my sisters insisted she was right where she belonged. And it was two memories against one.

Mrs. B. became an ongoing joke during our vacation. We carried her picture around with us. Talked to her. Ate with her. Sang Karaoke together. She was the life of the party. A lot of laughs. We even had a Mrs. B. look-alike contest.

I regret to say that at the end of our visit I left Mrs. B. behind in the trash can. The party was over. It was fun while it lasted. But it was time to go our separate ways. Besides, she was in good company. I’d also tossed away my own fourth grade picture — the one with the goofy grin and tight curls from a disastrous perm. I walked out. Shut the door. Never looked back.

Yet strangely enough, that wasn’t the end of Mrs. Bokelman. She haunted me for years. My sisters continued to bring her up in conversation, trying to jar loose a classroom memory. I still had no recall at all. Then, totally out of the blue, Mrs. Bokelman appeared. In person.

We were celebrating my birthday, poolside, at a Cincinnati hotel. It was one of those “milestone” birthdays so Cindy flew from Iowa for the festivities. Cindy, who loves party games, hosted her version of the “This Is Your Life” TV show. Family members spoke from a shielded area, recalling an event in our shared past. It was easy to guess the kids who were much younger then. Their slices of life weren’t major trips we took, but simple stuff like building stick houses together, playing hide-and-seek around the house and beating me (often) at Candy Land.

Next came an older woman’s voice. One I couldn’t identify. She reminisced about school days at WACO, dropped names of my friends, discussed sports I attempted to play, dredged up the Cs I got on my report card for “conduct.” I was puzzled and perplexed. Completely clueless. Who was this person? Then visions of Mrs. B. started dancing in my head. But how? How did she know it was my birthday? And even more baffling, why? Why would she pop up at the party?

Turns out Mrs. B. was a fake. A stranger Cindy met in the lobby and talked into portraying the elusive teacher. The woman was very convincing — and an awfully good sport.

I’ve never returned to WACO for a reunion or stayed in touch with my classmates. I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Bokelman. I’m sure she influenced a lot of students in positive ways. But, I’m still not convinced I was one of them.

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