Some educators’ influence transcends the classroom. Within this cache of letters, our readers reveal the fondest memories of mentors who, through grace and steadfast care, left an indelible mark on the hearts of their students.
Our town’s seventh-grade science teacher was my hero—a dedicated ornithologist who chased ambitious dreams. One that he had realized was organizing a trip once a year for certain eighth-graders to see the Ecuadorian Amazon rainforest with him, studying migratory warblers. The requirements were simply good grades and a mere three-thousand-dollar price tag. As a child who grew up loving the woods, the tropical jungle would have been seventh heaven, but my parents scraped by on a blue-collar single income; sparing that much money was a pipe dream. Despite that, during the 1996–97 school year, I threw myself into seventh grade science with the tortured passion of a loyal exile, knowing that although I sought to please my hero, nothing could be done to secure that good fortune. My eighth-grade year came and went while I watched my luckier classmates board the bus to the airport and return. I heard their stories and shrugged, accepting my lot. What else could I do? Then, in the fall of my ninth-grade year, this teacher revealed that he just couldn’t forget about me. He had gone around to local businesses, canvassing the funds to cover my trip expenses! I did indeed get to go, saw the beauty, forded the rivers, met the people, ate the food—just a year later than usual. No teacher could compare. Interestingly enough, this experience also bonded me with my future husband, who had emigrated from Ecuador at five years old. My teacher’s kind efforts have directed the course of my entire life.
ALLERLEI BENAVIDES
Worcester, Massachusetts
My first role model—after my kind and lovely mother, of course—was my grades four through six teacher, Mrs. Marentette. She was very ladylike, and I thought her the epitome of charm and graciousness. She seemed old to us, as she had graying hair, but she was, in truth, just barely thirty—always elegantly dressed in matching skirt-and-sweater sets with pearls or, in the warmer months, crisp cotton dresses. At age eleven, I started to match my knee socks to the color of my top, and believe I owe my sense of fashion today to her classic style.
Mrs. Marentette came to us halfway through grade four, liked us, and stayed on through grades five and six. She was nice, endlessly patient, and an excellent teacher. I don’t recall her ever losing her cool, and, in return, the class was always well-behaved.
She drilled us in grammar and spelling. Plus, she was the first person who encouraged my writing. At age nine, I turned in a five-page story about a haunted house, while most of my classmates only wrote one page. I still remember her praising my writing to my parents on parent-teacher night—as a middle child of a large family in the sixties, praise was not the common occurrence it is now. Although I eventually pursued a career in the health sciences, I thank my teacher for giving me a solid grounding in all things literary. I think of her often, especially as I embark on the next chapter of my life. Newly retired, I hope to pick up my pen again and see where my story goes.
JOAN MCLAUGHLIN
Sarnia, Ontario, Canada
Sister Esther was my favorite teacher at Villa Victoria Academy in West Trenton, New Jersey. She taught fifth-grade art, and her class was my favorite. Every week she alternated between fine art (drawing and painting) and crafting (turning ordinary objects into beautiful things). I still have some of the projects I completed from her class: an acrylic painting of a bouquet of wildflowers, a watercolor of my friends in Halloween costumes, snowflakes cut from newspapers and painted white and covered with glitter, modeling clay turtles, papier-mâché jewelry boxes. I didn’t know it at the time, but Sister Esther studied at Columbia University and frequented the Museum Mile of Manhattan in her youth. She recognized and encouraged my love of art. As a ten-year-old, I had no idea that thirty years later I would become an oil painter and sell my work, but while I was in her class I was mesmerized by creativity and amazed I could earn high marks for being artistic. Her class was my favorite hour of the day and served as my North Star for my vocations. When I graduated from eighth grade, Sister Esther congratulated me and asked, “Are you still drawing and painting and making things?” I nodded enthusiastically, and she hugged me and said, “Rita, you’re an artist, God gave you these gifts; never stop creating.” Thank you, Sister Esther, for teaching me that art is a spiritual calling, and that my talent for capturing the beauty of the world is indeed a real and important job.
LEONORA RITA OBED
West Trenton, New Jersey
My favorite teacher was Mabel Davis. She did not teach me in the classroom but in everyday life. My mother helped her to publish a book on local history. Mabel dictated and my mother furiously typed while I listened. Mabel was a teacher, but she had actually been my grandmother’s teacher—still substitute teaching well into her eighties, when my husband was in school. Mabel was unlike any other teacher I knew. She mowed her own grass, drove herself to the Pittsburgh airport to get on a flight to join college friends in Machu Picchu or Moscow, and lectured at the local garden club on Ohio’s wildflowers. She took my cousins and me on a hike to see the “Indian” tree in the woods behind her house and provided us with a seminar on trail markers and Native American life in the Ohio Territory. She passed away at the age of 97 while writing her second book. Her last gift to me was a collegiate dictionary that I still use today. I thank her for her influence, which led me to pursue my own career as a college professor. I did not major in history, but my youngest daughter did, and I like to think that Mabel’s influence is living on through her. Thank you, Mabel. You changed my life.
JEANINE MINCHER
New Middletown, Ohio
He was my high school math teacher, and we lovingly called him “The Wedge,” a nickname the mischief-loving boys in my school coined for him because of the crewcut he always wore. We all looked up to him, not only because he was patient and kind but also extremely intelligent (he carried a slide rule in his pocket at all times). He was always someone you could turn to if you were having trouble, and he spent hours after school helping us construct a spaceship for our “Dark Side of the Moon”–themed prom. I can still remember him there, studying the design of the wood-and-cardboard structure, looking at his ruler and giving lots of great advice. It actually turned out to be pretty impressive despite the humble materials from which it was constructed.
But the biggest reason he made such an impression on me is that when I was struggling to get a better grade in trigonometry, he spent hours with me after school, patiently guiding and explaining until one day it just all clicked in my mind. For some reason, geometry had made sense to me quickly, but trig was so much more complicated.
So, with much love and respect, I would like to honor Mr. Larry Wilson of Elberton, Georgia, as the teacher of a lifetime. I will never forget him. My biggest regret is that I didn’t pursue calculus like he asked me to. I think I might have made a great engineer, and looking back now, I suspect he saw potential in me that others missed. And that means the world to me.
YAVONNE RODRIGUEZ
Marietta, Georgia
My first introduction to altruism and goodwill came as I walked on antiquated wooden floors into my third-grade classroom in 1962. Mrs. Thelma Sorrell, our captivating teacher, would read a chapter each day of Charlotte’s Web. We all sat mesmerized in anticipation of each word coming from her ruby-red lips, which matched her red fingernail polish. You see, Mrs. Sorrell did not just read the enraptured story; she captivated us as she projected her voice to emphasize each beloved character, while we clung to every anticipated word.
When we stepped into this magical world each day, any feelings of emptiness or worries that may have entered our little minds disappeared. Somehow, we never quite felt like we were at school—it was as if we were in another time and place where we could feel the love flowing from our teacher’s heart as she bent over to whisper in our ears words of encouragement or let us know we were special with a hug. We knew she loved coming to school each day because she always had a beautiful gleaming smile on her face and a little twinkle in her eye. Her enthusiasm for education flowed into us and made us want to work hard to try and please her. Mrs. Sorrell made coming to school special and for this, she is still loved and remembered within our hearts.
Her devotion and eagerness radiated for me so much that I wanted to become a teacher just like her. Not once did I even consider how much money I would make in the profession. All I knew was that I wanted to be like my idol and take my students to a land of wonderment, as my teacher had done for me. To my good fortune, I taught third grade for thirteen of my forty years as an educator. My role model to this very day is still my enchanting teacher of long ago. My only wish is that I could tell her how she touched my heart and soul.
MYRA JANE SLOAN
Lebanon, Tennessee
My two older sisters and I were all avid readers. We loved going to the quaint little library in a nearby hillside town. Our mom would take us about once a month, and we were each allowed to check out twelve books. It was always so much fun. Even when I couldn’t read quite yet, I’d check out colorful, fun picture books. By the time I was ten or so, I was thoroughly enjoying books like Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys.
But when I was in high school, my sophomore English teacher, Miss Ybarra, showed me a whole new world of books as well as a whole new way to be a student. The first thing she had our class do was rearrange all the desks into a semicircle facing her desk. She said it was so we could have real conversations about what we were reading. She’d often sit on the side of the desk listening to us and sharing her knowledge. In the 1960s, that was nearly revolutionary. To me it was fantastic. The first book we read was The Scarlet Letter. It’s possible with any other teacher, I would not have enjoyed it. But with Miss Ybarra, it was an adventure. I will always be grateful to her for my fun sophomore English course and for introducing me to how learning and teaching could be a very positive experience.
NANCI BREWER
Santa Rosa, California
To read more letters from our readers about beloved educators, see “Cherished Teachers” in the September/October 2025 issue, available on newsstands and at victoriamag.com. Plus, submit your thoughts for our current Reader-to-Reader prompt for a chance to have your letter printed in an upcoming issue of Victoria!
