More than just a math teacher.

March 14, 1995


The electronic buzzer sets of its doomsday ring at 8:45 AM, and that means another elementary school day is upon us. The doors open, and I walk through the doors along with 80 other students from grades 5 and 6 at Charles Wright Elementary School.

Well, most of us. Steve Haefs wants to get as many practice football throws in as possible. As we file in, he keep throwing the ball in hopes that someone will catch it. Once we get inside our classroom,  he throws again. This time, nobody catches it.

This bunker is actually an elementary school. We sure didn't win any architecture awards!

Our teacher, Mrs. Heffernan picks the ball up from the floor. Steve extends his right arm, expecting her to hand the ball back to him. Instead, Mrs. Heff frowns slightly. With a drop of the elbow and a snap of the wrist, she throws a perfect spiral into Steve's free hand.

Our jaws drop. We didn't expect to see that coming!

"Mrs. Heff, that was pretty good," says a surprised Steve.

She shrugs. "I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys."

We settle into our desks, and Mrs. Heffernon starts the math lesson of the day.

"In 1994," she says, "there were 112 reports of people bitten by rats in New York City.

We laugh.

"Also in 1994, there were 44 reports of people bitten by people in New York City."

We laugh again.

"On the day that you go to New York City--a city of 8 million people--what is the probability that you probability that you will bitten?"

She walks us through the steps: 156 bites. 365 days a year. That's 0.43 bites per day, 0.000000059 bites per person on a given day. Now for the final question: Explain that in scientific notation.

"5.9 x 10^-8!" Shouts a jubilant Anthony Sousa. He's right, as always. Anthony Sousa isn't just the fasted person to play touch football at Charles Wright--he's got a quick mind, too. Once again, he is first to the punch.

Mrs. Heffernon then poses a question to the entire class: Do we have anything to worry about?

Gotta love math with Mrs. Heffernan! Every 6th grader at Charles Wright Elementary School has been looking forward to the New York City trip with eager anticipation. With few exceptions, we have been awaiting this trip since 1st Grade. It is a rite of passage at this school.

Not everybody is happy, though. Urban legends have taken their toll on wary parents, a toll that passes its fee onto impressionable young minds. I remember very well when one of my older sister's friends expressed her fear of traveling to New York City.

"There's a place called Harlem," says the wary friend. "If you just look at somebody, you got shot."

You're on a bus," says my sister. "You only ride through the city on the bus. Then you go straight to the museum."

That was in first grade. I didn't have any fear then. Why would I? New York is where I went to visit Momma Nonna, my great grandmother. She was the sweetest person in the world to me.

Not exactly a bedroom community!

Ah, but New York City is 150 miles away from little Wethersfield, Connecticut. This isn't Fairfield County, Connecticut's little panhandle of bedroom communities for wealthy city commuters. Wethersfield is a first ring suburb of Hartford, which, ironically, has a much higher crime rate than New York City. In perhaps further irony, Anthony Sousa, grew up in Hartford's North End, a neighborhood so veritably unsafe that it makes parts of Harlem look like Paris.

But I digress.

Something happens in the afternoon. My memory is hazy as to what started it, but I must have erupted like a firecracker on the Fourth of July, because the next thing I knew, Mrs. Heffernan just stopped the lesson, right in front of 20 other students.

"Okay, Kevin," she says. "Out."

I stand up. I know I've done something wrong, and scared senseless as what will happen next. Mrs. Heff escorts me right out of the classroom, and instructs another teacher to keep on eye on things while we are out. We walk right past the principals office, right past the foyer, and right out of the school building itself and into the courtyard.

We stop. I fully expect Mrs. Heffernan to start yelling and screaming. She says nothing. I am speechless.

"You know, Kevin, even though I know that somewhere a factory is putting chemicals into this air, as soon as I walk outside these doors and take just a few breaths, I feel better."

She turns towards me.

"Wouldn't you agree?" She asks.

I nod.

"Are you ready to go back now?"

I nod again.

"Good," she says. And with that, my only major disciplinary infraction for the entire schoolyear is over. We go back to class. 20 students resume learning, and at 3 pm, the final doomsday buzzer crackles over the intercom, sending everyone home for the day.

I've certainly been blessed to have so many great and wonderful teachers in my life. Mrs. Heffernan is surely one of them.