Northern Arizona University
College of Education
PO Box 5774
Flagstaff, AZ 86011-5774
(928) 523-2611
College of Education
PO Box 5774
Flagstaff, AZ 86011-5774
(928) 523-2611
Practice Teaching, a testimonial by Rachel Hill
Practice teaching wasn’t difficult for me, it seemed impossible. It took more of my time than all my other subjects combined. It wasn’t that it took so much preparation time as I worried about it so much.
My very first class was teaching the third grade at the training school on the campus. There were fewer than 15 children in the group and many didn’t speak English. The children ranged in age from eight to twelve years old.
For a fledgling teacher, my first experience was frustrating and exasperating. At times, I’d teach a lesson and think the children understood my every word. And then the bubble would burst.
I remember one time when we were having a geography lesson, all the children’s faces were earnestly watching me, and I felt especially good. I knew this time they were really getting it, when a little boy raised his hand. I stopped and said “Yes, José, what is it?” in what I hoped to be my most professional manner. ”Mees Smith, what are those initials on your bracelet,” said José. It was always difficult to regain my momentum after that kind of interruption.At the beginning of the second quarter, I moved up to teach the sixth grade arithmetic class. Arithmetic was always my weakest subject; I pored over the book each night so I’d know what I was talking about the next day. Thus, my junior year in college I finally learned fractions.
The children were curious about the teachers’ personal lives and watched our comings and goings with great interest. My sixth grade class started right after lunch and my boyfriend usually walked over to the school with me on his way back to the library. Each day, there would be three or four students hanging out the upstairs windows and we’d be greeted with a hail of questions. “Mees Smith, is that your boyfriend?” “Mees Smith, tell your boyfriend to look up so we can see him.” “What’s his name?”
It was not uncommon for a student to get so involved as to follow us around campus or to write my boyfriend notes. The same thing occurred with the male student teachers who were beset with questions about their girlfriends. With this kind of interest in their teacher’s personal life, you never knew when one might pop up in an unexpected situation or place, and that is what happened to me one Saturday night.
There were two of us couples at loose ends—no dance, we’d seen the only movie showing, we’d played cards all afternoon and by evening we were restless and bored. Finally, one of the fellows suggested we pay a visit to Pedro’s Palace. The name was a euphemism of the wildest kind. It was actually a lean-to added on to the back of a shack where Pedro sold bootleg beer.
Prohibition had not yet been repealed and Pedro was trying to supplement his meager earnings from the sawmill. The Palace was quite well known to men, but few girls even knew it existed. It was off campus, off limits, and off with your head if the powers that be at the College heard about a visit to Pedro’s. In spite of the dangers and perhaps because of it, we all agreed to go, and we trooped up the hill. Three quick raps, followed by two spaced out knocks was the signal, and Pedro met us at the door.We entered the kitchen, which also doubled as a sitting room from the looks of it. Pedro’s wife nodded and smiled at us as we were led through a dimly lit bedroom. The room seemed to be filled with beds, which in turn were filled with sleeping children. We tiptoed through the narrow space and through another bedroom, also filled with beds and children. Someone bumped the corner of a bed and awakened a little girl. She sat straight up, and said in a loud clear voice, “Hello Mees Smith, are you with your boyfriend?”
By the time we reached the “parlor,” my knees were weak and I was almost sick with fright. What would my parents think if I got kicked out of school? How could I bear the disgrace if that happened?
The parlor had two rickety tables whose paint was all but gone. The chairs creaked as we sat down and I noticed they were also in various stages of paint. Each table had a candle which Pedro hurried to light, however the glow only added to the dreariness of the room.Our fifty-cent pitcher of beer appeared promptly along with an assortment of cups and glasses. We hurriedly downed our drinks and got out of there as quickly as possible. All the fun and adventure had been taken out of the escapade when that little girl recognized me.
Apparently, Pedro realized the seriousness of our situation and had a talk with his daughter, for she never said anything about seeing me. My college career was saved. Needless to say, Pedro’s Palace remained off limits to us from then on.
"When I first came to Flagstaff, my friend told me... You're not in California anymore, you can talk to anyone in Arizona... the first time I did, I thought the ground was going to open up, but everything turned out okay."
Rachel Hill is retired and currently lives in California.
If you know a distinguished alum who would like to share a story about his or her career or experience at Northern Arizona University, please contact Laura Theimer at 928.523.8746 or email Laura.Theimer@nau.edu.
