…well the first one that I remember with any clarity. I remember her tininess, her bright hair, her slightly husky voice.
I was definately the Teacher's Pet. I was allowed to stay after class and clean the erasers – a very great honor.
I remember her as my first teacher, my kind teacher, a beloved teacher.
Everyone else remembers her as The Nurse:
The Edith Shain embraced in an exuberant, naval elbow-hold became Miss Shain, my kindergarten teacher at Hancock Park, the school that considered discarded truck tires as suitable playthings for its students.
I don't recall the classes. I don't recall the room. I don't recall our voices loitering in the hallways.
But I do recall my happiness. And I do recall Miss Shain.
She passed away today, at the good, old age of 91. I wish her a safe journey, and if he has gone before her, I hope that sailor – her own for a second, for the flash of a camera – will be waiting for her.
Good bye, Miss Shain. May all the erasers in all the schoolrooms suddenly find themselves magically shaken free of chalk dust tonight, in your honor.