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Miss Handley by Sheilia Behler March 28, 2007 On an early spring day in 1968, two politically active classmates challenged our high school's dress code in court and won. Rules were thrown out, and the silver-haired head of our English Department threw out her lesson plan, as well. On any other afternoon, Miss Handley would have taught our World Lit class why David was the folk hero of the Old Testament, or she would have darted theatrically from one side of her desk to the other, hands cupped at her mouth,cooing, "Pyramis!" "Thisbe!" "Pyramis!" But she was overcome, she told us, by the folly -- the tragedy really -- of seventeen-year-old girls wearing gardening clothes to school. She meant jeans, of course, but we didn't laugh. The times that were a-changing were taking a toll on some of our finest teachers, and this one deserved to be heard. We closed our books, met her serious blue eyes, and listened as she reminisced. Swishy-skirted, pastel, pretty, cotton dresses. That's what girls in teachers college wore when Miss Handley was seventeen. Every two weeks, they were sent home to be laundered and pressed. Her mother would fold the crisp, clean clothes into cartons, which would be promptly delivered right back to her door. She knew that inside the boxes, she'd find homemade cookies or candy, wrapped tightly, tucked in between the pleats of the skirts. She was silent for a time, and so were we. The coda caught us by surprise. She'd been hurrying across campus and stumbled, twisted her ankle and fell. A certain professor, walking close by, ran straight to her rescue and swept her up in his arms. And wasn't it lovely, how her swishy-skirted, freshly laundered, yellow dress draped down, floated down, over the sleeve of his jacket as he carried her away? It had been over forty years, but on that early spring day in 1968, she could still see that dress. It was blowing in the wind. Seventeen-year-old girls have tender hearts. We were sorry that Miss Handley didn't like our clothes. We were sorry that she was sad for us, and we were sad for her a little, too. But the air had cleared. The professor and the yellow dress had put the twinkle back in those serious blue eyes. We felt our spirits lift. We wore jeans to school the very next day. The moral of the story? Everyone has a story. But as a rule, you need to have been the girl swishing the skirt of a freshly laundered, pretty yellow dress, to really get it. About the author: Nearly forty years later, it's fun to pass Miss Handley's story forward. Thank you for the forum. | | | |
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