Her name was Esmeralda.
The word, itself, is beautiful – mellifluous, full of sibilance.
It’s the Spanish word for one of the most prized of the gemstones, the emerald.
The name Esmeralda inescapably conjures the heroine of Victor Hugo’s famous novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. That particular Esmeralda is the legendary beauty with whom Quasimodo falls, fatally, in love.
Our Esmeralda was a different kettle of fish.
So these are the things the name Esmeralda is freighted with: precious gemstones, tragic beauty, heroics, great literature.
Our Esmeralda was a different kettle of fish.
Our Esmeralda was a big, old, grey battleaxe.
She was the family car.
An old Pontiac. And when I say old, I mean verging on collector’s item, a few weeks shy of museum-worthy. She was ancient even when we first got her. With a gun to my head I couldn’t tell you the model. If it hadn’t been for the handsome hood ornament, I wouldn’t even have remembered the make. She was a dull grey tank of a thing with a rumpus room for a back seat. The front seat was a wide bench of leather upholstery; we kids could have sat four abreast on that bench beside the driver. But why would you want to?! The backseat was a veritable playground. You could have pitched a tent or easily set up a monopoly board on the ample floor. We’d fight over who got to stretch out in the magnified sunlight that poured onto the hat shelf behind Esmeralda’s deep back seat. Yes, Esmeralda had her charms.
I knew this means of conveyance only as Esmeralda. We didn’t ‘get in the car’, we ‘got in Esmeralda’. She was the long-awaited luxury of a second car for the family. The word luxury goes wide of the mark here. Dire necessity would probably be more to the point. I shudder at the thought of shuttling four preschoolers around by bus in all sorts of weather but prior to Esmeralda’s arrival, that was the drill. But it must have seemed unspeakably luxurious to be able to toss the kids into that cavernous back seat and set off for the grocery store. In our lives, Esmeralda – conveyance and playground – became a heroine in her own right. As for dad’s car, well, they never had names. They were just ‘dad’s car’.
Esmeralda – conveyance and playground –
became a heroine in her own right.
When I was a kid, everybody named their cars. I have a friend who grew up with a ‘Betsy’ parked in the family’s garage. There might be a new car every few years, but the name never changed. When she went off to university, she got her own car – a beater – and she named the car Betsy. Every car since has been a Betsy. She recently got a big, shiny, white Tesla with black interior. To me, it looks exactly like a killer whale. “Shamu! Shamu!” I cried. “It looks just like a killer whale!” I pleaded with her to name her new car, Shamu, or even just Orca, but she couldn’t do it. The new Tesla goes by Betsy. It’s an unbreakable tradition, she tells me.
What’s black and white and driven all over? SHAMU!
It turns out that there’s a car name generator website. Cute names for cars isn’t the thrust of this website’s business – they specialize in insurance comparisons – but they’ll happily help you settle on a name for your new car. You simply enter some of the particulars, like year of manufacture, colour, make, etc., and they’ll spit out a name for you. I entered the details of our beloved Pontiac and the name they suggested was Tiffany.
Tiffany, it turns out, is a girl’s name of Greek origin. It’s the anglicized version of Theophania, meaning ‘Revelation of God’. Pretty lame car name, in my estimation. It might have been okay for the turquoise Valiant station wagon that followed Esmeralda, as that car was vaguely reminiscent of Tiffany turquoise. The station wagon, however, was named Aleta, as in Prince Valiant’s wife, Aleta, the Queen of the Misty Isle. It’s nowhere as good as Shamu, but way better than Betsy.
This week’s question for readers:
CARS, BOATS, BIKES, CABINS – DID YOU NAME YOURS?
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Submissions to last week’s question:
DID YOU HAVE A TEACHER WHO RESONATED IN YOUR LIFE?
My absolute favourite bumper sticker states: IF YOU CAN READ THIS, THANK A TEACHER.
All good teachers teach a lot more than the subject(s) taught. They are advisers to our youth. They help young people deal with life.
Jerry Steinberg
I graduated in 1962 from Little Flower Academy girls’ a Catholic school in Vancouver. Having three younger brothers, this was a welcome environment. In today’s era of entitlement it is hard to attract anyone to a religious order that demands poverty, chastity and obedience. Our home room teacher was Sister Mary Monica. Her graceful composure, patience and dignified presence inspired us to be better. Classes were small and we thrived under her excellent tutelage. Five years after we graduated she made the decision to “have ‘nun’ of that” and left the order. I owe her a lot and am forever grateful for giving me the confidence to be the person who I am today.
Yvonne J. Kolstee
I was infatuated with my third grade teacher. She was a young woman, probably quite new to teaching. She was always so enthusiastic and positive and welcoming. I tried to be a perfect student for her. Aware of my wide-eyed devotion, she invited my mom and me to her apartment in the West End of Vancouver for lunch one Saturday. I was over the moon! I remember she made a tuna fish casserole with crunched up potato chips for the topping. I thought she was the most sophisticated person in the world. Decades later, I often pass by her old apartment building enroute to other places and when I do, I never fail to reflect on the value of kindness and enthusiasm.. She was a gem.
B. Slinger
I was a student at Eric Hamber Secondary in 1965. My teachers included Jim Carter, Bruce Ashdown and Bill McDonald. In 1976, I was a TOC (Teacher on Call) at North Delta Sr. Secondary, when Jim Carter, my “old” Social Studies teacher recognized me while touring secondary schools. He asked, “Do you want a full-time job?” I answered of course so he said come to West Van Secondary that Monday. Carter, the principal of WVSS, hired me that day! I taught there for two years before moving onto the Delta School District. Jim passed away two years ago and at his Celebration of Life I told his daughter, Stephanie, this story. I also found out that Jim was an accomplished artist. I will never forget that Jim gave me an opportunity to continue teaching. I retired from Burnsview Secondary in 2006 after 34 years of a wonderful career. As a side note, Jim Carter was also Hamber’s Senior Boys Basketball coach who cut me from the team. I was a mediocre player! I also knew Al Crittenden and John Moir, teachers at WVSS.
Christman Lee
In the 1940’s, Cyril Chave taught us English at Prince of Wales High School. I fondly recall his classes on how to recognize and appreciate fine writing by asking us to stand up, read and discuss aloud what we had been reading. At the time I was uncritical and indiscriminately gobbled down both Nancy Drew books and English classics. Now in my 90’s, those long ago lessons have helped me do an unthinkable thing – write my own memoirs!
Nan Spedding
Most people look back on their high school years from two entirely different perspectives. One group remembers them as halcyon days – the best of their lives. The second recalls the same period as miserable and fraught – something to survive. For me, it was definitely the latter. Unlike many, I have just one friend from my “service” at John Oliver in the 1960s. She tracked me down almost 50 years later! Her experience was similar, and we often commiserate about tortures endured in an institution organized on almost regimental lines. I was constantly in trouble for too-long sideburns, untucked shirts and forgetting my gym clothes. While most of the teachers I had demonstrated little empathy for—or understanding of—teenagers, Mr. Veazey, the art teacher, was a notable exception. A maverick in his own right, he was both sympathetic and inspiring. Whenever the larger environment became too much, I could retreat to the art room. He provided a safe, non-judgmental space where I could relax and recharge. I also found his assignments both challenging and fascinating, and I still have the essay (with footnotes and bibliography!) I wrote for him in Grade 8. Mr. Veazey truly did change my life. Largely due to his influence, I earned three degrees in art history/visual studies, and I’ve taught those subjects for over 40 years.
Allan Fletcher
My math and science teachers were the most special to me but so were Mr Chamber’s, Biology, and Mr Ravenscroft, Geography. I also remember my art teachers and English teacher, Mr Harvey, who taught me poetry could be a song, and I turned their poetry into art. We looked at Jim Morrison’s music, Jimmy Hendrix’ and others!
Margaret Dutilloy
In 1960 my first grade teacher was Mrs. June Smith at Ridgeview Elementary in West Van. I adored her. She was sweet, kind, and beautiful. In second grade, at my birthday party, my parents promised me something special. I was certain it would be a pony, but it turned out to be even better – it was my Mrs. Smith. Joy!
We reconnected in the late 197Os when a kind friend invited her to my wedding shower. I was amazed that she was young, still kind and beautiful. Many lunches together/birthday/ Christmas cards/phone calls have ensued in the last 40 plus years. She gave me the gift of literacy in first grade, and the gift of love in the years since. Thank you, June! I so agree that special teachers make a difference that resonate for years and years.
Janet Galbraith
My Grade Four teacher did not like me. When she learned that I was moving, she prepared an introduction to the next school. It was detailed, far from complementary, and she read it to the class. Her attempt to humiliate me succeeded.
My parents were completely unaware of this when they came with me to Ridgeview Elementary in West Vancouver to meet my new Principal, Mr. Dickson. I was rigid with anxiety as he read the contents of the introduction with an increasingly furrowed brow. Finally, he looked up and said, “Well, we won’t be needing this”, and tore it in pieces. It was only years later, when I was a teacher myself, that Mr. Dickson’s simple gesture really resonated with me. And it still does. Thank you, Mr. Dickson.
Rick Price
Like one of your correspondents, I attended Eric Hamber in the 1960’s and had Mr. McDonald as my PE teacher in grades 10 and 11. I wasn’t on any of the teams he coached, but his easy going and pragmatic approach to an unathletic student who had previously dreaded PE class brought the best out in me. That he noticed my improved performance as time went on and the B he awarded me at the end of grade 11 meant a lot to me at the time. Thanks to you and your correspondent for retrieving the memory, it made my day.
John Bryden
Valentine’s Day 1964, Mrs. Thirwell, my Grade Two teacher presented us with an elaborate Post Office in our classroom. Students took their turn selling “postage stamps”, cancelling those stamps, distributing the mail from a mailman’s pouch to students’ red Valentine pouches that hung from their desks. I still remember the sense of community, the responsibility aligned to each job, the anticipation of cards waiting to be opened.
I tried to incorporate the ideas and sentiments of Mrs. Thirwell during my own teaching career.”
James Harcott
Hazel Chong was my Home Economics sewing teacher at John Oliver High School in the 80s. My mom taught me to sew, but it was Mrs. Chong that inspired me to pursue teaching (Home Ec) as a career. Mrs. Chong was lively, funny, and down to earth. She was always using the clothing on her body to show an example of a zipper or placket, and always had a measuring tape draped around her neck. Many times we had to remind her to zip or tuck or remove the measuring tape before she left the classroom. She always had her door open for us to hang out during the lunch period to work on our projects and chat. I had wonderful times in that classroom and hoped to emulate the same for my future students. While I did become a Home Ec teacher, my career took a different path. But I will always look back fondly on those years in Mrs. Chong’s classroom. She was very proud of her two sons. I saw her obit in the newspaper a few years ago. I hope her sons know how much their mom positively impacted her students.
Pam Bush
The fact is, only one in a thousand teachers ever hear these kinds of kudos. As a school principal I have interviewed many young teacher candidates and my final question to them was, “ Who was your favourite teacher and why?.” Instantly the young teacher would talk about one of their favourite teachers and why they loved him or her. I knew that candidate would likely teach very much like their mentor and would be a good candidate. If I knew the teacher they had referred to, I would always phone them to pass on the story. It always made their day. There are many rewards in the profession of teaching and I would always tell young staff, other professionals may create more financial equity than they will, but few that will develop more karma equity. I found that to be so true.
Ross Davidson
The teacher whose example became the blueprint for my own work with youth was Mr. Georgas at Yale Jr. High. He was the “cool” teacher who was a rock musician and drove a VW van. More importantly, he made everyone feel seen and valued. One day I was being jostled around by a couple of bullies and Mr. Georgas, upon observing, came alongside me and put his arm around me and said, “This Kowalski, he’s a cool dude!”. All it took was an acknowledgement from him and my tormentors didn’t bother me again.
Two years later he showed up at my Sr. High play and presented me and the other lead with a framed picture of us, this after not seeing him since Jr. High! It hangs in my home still and serves as a reminder of a truly gifted and caring teacher.
Don Kowalchuk, Abbotsford
One of my favourite teachers at Mennonite Educational Institute (MEI) in Clearbrook was a slow-talking Social Studies teacher, Henry Klassen. His teaching style was not dynamic, but he was popular because of his obvious concern for his students and the things he did outside of the classroom. He sometimes invited me and some other boys who didn’t have TVs to his home on Saturday nights so we could watch “Hockey Night in Canada.” He also entrusted us with his school keys so we could open the school gym on weekends to play basketball. Even when we accidentally broke one of the floodlights on the stage, he continued to allow us this privilege – after we paid for the damage, of course. When our basketball team won the provincial tournament in 1963, Mr. Klassen was included in the team photo, although he had no official role with the team. No one questioned his right to be there.
Vern Giesbrecht, Gibsons, BC
Mr Chapman–who could have been played by a younger version of the recently deceased Sir Michael Gambon–who taught me to at least respect History, if not love it. Over years, that respect has become the love of the subject he so hard tried to transmit to me. Second, the school librarian, Mr Robson, a short, balding, man with horn-rimmed glasses, gave me a book of Beat poets and asked my opinion of it. Me? You want my opinion?! He was the first and only teacher in high school who ever asked me my opinion on anything. And taught me that libraries are the real treasure-houses.
Michael Price
Many years ago I built a house in the bush south of Kamloops where I was teaching, and when you do something like that, you can see the result right away. With teaching, you rarely see the results of your efforts, so I was deeply moved by the comments of so many of your readers on the teachers who made an impact on their lives.
Perry Kilby