In an earlier article I mentioned that my grandmother, Marion Hartley, taught for almost 50 years in Rochester and surrounding towns. When she started teaching, Rochester had many one room schoolhouses and at one time she taught grades 1-8 at a school in North Rochester (I think the Stuart School). Some of the other schools that she taught at were the Pierceville School, upstairs in the Academy, the Waterman School (she’s here in the picture with her class at the Waterman School in 1944), and at Rochester Memorial.
Grandma also worked as a music teacher and did a stint as principal of the Long Plain School (now a museum) in Acushnet. She always said that she liked teaching first grade best because she got the children before they had a chance to develop too many dislikes of school. I always thought that at 4 ft. 11 in., she knew that with first graders she would be the tallest person in the room.
Grandma did a lot of substitute teaching in later years and almost any classroom in Rochester contained one child or more to whom she was related. When she was a substitute teacher, the first thing she would do on entering the classroom was to write her name on the blackboard. However, in one instance, she was called in late, arrived with the children and didn’t have a chance to put her name on the board.
In the class, there were quite a few nieces and nephews, and the day went smoothly as most of her teaching days did. A mother of one of the students told her that her son (not a Hartley relative) came home from school and said that “school had been wonderful”. When she asked why, he said, “because Aunt Marion was our teacher”.
When I first joined the Historical Society and Betty Beaulieu would introduce me to people, she would always say that I was Mrs. Hartley’s granddaughter. In just about every instance the response would be, “Oh, she was my favorite teacher”.
One day a woman stopped me at Plumb Corner. She said that she had to tell me a story. As a first grader she found her teacher pretty terrifying and mean and she dreaded school. Partway through the year, the teacher left, and my grandmother came in to teach the class for the rest of the year. She went on to say that Mrs. Hartley was like an angel from heaven and saved her life.
I felt lucky to hear her story and impressed at how strongly she felt so many years later. Toward the end of my teaching career there was an ongoing debate as to whether teaching was an art or a science. There was a move to develop teachers based on scientific principes. I’ve always believed that good teaching is an art, and I think my grandmother proved my point.
By Connie Eshbach
