GOOD TEACHERS MAKE A DIFFERENCE

The author and her former teacher, Mr. Albert Crittenden. Photo by Laurie Crittenden

“Did I remember Mr. Crittenden?”, she asked, tentatively.

I hadn’t heard that name in decades but in the instant that she mentioned it, I reflexively began fabricating excuses.

Did I remember Mr. Crittenden?

Albert Crittenden was the vice-principal at my high school. He had an uncanny knack of catching me each and every time I was late for school. I remember trying to dodge him in the hallways minutes after the bell had rung. I had visions of him from when he’d chaperoned a school trip to Paris, an exasperated Mr. Crittenden shooing me off Parisian boulevards onto the bus.  

“Always the last one, Macdougall ….”

Back at school I’d run into him in the hallways five minutes after the bell rang. I can still see him looking at his watch and shaking his head.

“You’ve been late three times this week, Macdougall.  You know what that means?”

I thought for a moment and then floated a response,

“It’s Wednesday?”

I lived close to the school. It seemed entirely possible to leave the house at 8:57 and be in my seat before the bell rang. Mr. Crittenden was there to document the many times I failed this practical algebra test.

… a gentle luminary that made you want to be a better person.

The person asking if I remembered Mr. Crittenden was his daughter, Laurie. Remember your dad? You bet I do. Albert Crittenden was a legend. Not a big, looming legend but something more indelible – a gentle luminary that made you want to be a better person. Okay, maybe not a punctual person, but better in other measurable ways. 

I knew Mr. Crittenden was special back when he was patrolling our hallways, but I came to understand just how very special when a reader sent in a response to a Bookless Club question about whether you wanted to live to be 100. June Macdonald wrote in to say she wouldn’t ponder this question for herself but she was hoping her former eighth-grade teacher would achieve this landmark birthday. At the time he was 97 and June was “wading into her dangerous eighth decade”.  June continued to say that this teacher of hers, took the time to call both her and her husband, Grant – both former students of this teacher – on their respective birthdays. And they weren’t the only ones.  She commented that there’s something very reassuring about having your eighth-grade teacher call you each year on your birthday. She said that “everyone needs a buffer between themselves and the great ‘hereafter’ – an elder to validate your history, to remember the house you lived in … to remember your parents, and even your dog”. June said she’ll never feel old as long as she has this person in her life.  The person she was referring to is Mr. Crittenden.

Mr. Crittenden photographed with his former student, June Macdonald.  Photo by Jane Macdougall.

Turns out, Mr. Crittenden likes to read my stuff. So, does his daughter, Laurie. Like her father, Laurie is imbued with bonhomie.  Her dad is turning 99 on September 27th and she was wondering if I might join them in a celebratory luncheon? It only took me a heartbeat to say yes. I tend towards the nostalgic but I had especially fond memories of Mr. Crittenden. The older I get, the more I realize just how rare an individual he is. How his quiet, amiable and constant example set the bar at three lucky high schools – Penticton Secondary, West Van High and Sentinel Secondary.  

We met at a restaurant close to the assisted living facility Mr. Crittenden has recently moved into. I was determined to show him that the adult version of me had heeded his ministering reproaches. I arrived ten minutes before our noon meeting time.  Smugly convinced that I had arrived first, I sat and waited. And waited. I texted Laurie. I checked with the hostess. I asked the hostess to call the number associated with the reservation. No luck.  It was now 12:20.  As I walked back to my seat my heart sank as I spied Mr. Crittenden and his crew seated at another table, clearly, patiently waiting on me.

I approached the table, spluttering my excuses.

Mr. Crittenden smiled and looked at his watch

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Happy 99th birthday, Mr. Crittenden.  


This week’s question for readers:

DID YOU HAVE A TEACHER WHO RESONATED IN YOUR LIFE?


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Submissions to last week’s question:

ARE YOU A BAKER OR A COOK AND HOW DID YOU ACQUIRE THAT SKILL?

I reluctantly admit that, even after two cooking “tours of duty” (boot camps) at the Culinary Institute of America, I’m still a baker at heart. I did a week at the CIA campus in upstate New York, and a week of barbecue, smoking and roasting at their campus in San Antonio, Texas, to broaden my knife skills and general food knowledge. I have also done many cooking classes in Mexico, India, Thailand and Vancouver, but I have been baking since I was a kid. I learned to adapt every recipe for a coeliac, but my baking is fast, instinctive, and better than anything you can get in a store or restaurant (so I’m told!)

Danielle Bretton

I’m both! I love to cook and I love to bake. Baking scratches my inner perfectionist as following a recipe precisely and the wonderful results makes me so happy. Cooking, on the other hand, enables me to find random things in the fridge or cupboard and develop a meal that satisfies everyone in the family. It challenges me in ways baking doesn’t. With baking, I know if I follow the recipe, it’ll turn out. Especially since I invested in an electronic scale. If the recipe has come from a trusted source then I know I can pull it off.  With cooking, years of creating meals for the family has developed me into an intuitive cook. Give me an ingredient and I’ll cook up something that ticks most of the boxes. When the kids were little I used to announce to the table what country we were going to via the dinner. Invariably, a fun discussion would take place. Now in my fifties, I look back on the early days and reflect on the mistakes and cooking discoveries that have made me more versatile and creative today. 

Cherie Evans

Upon reading your article I got out of my chair and took two eggs out of the fridge.  I don’t do much baking any more but will make a blueberry buckle today as we are having longtime friends coming for dinner and overnight.  I will think of you as we are eating it!

Pat Greenfield


“A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one” (Shakespeare).  Baking, cooking and preserving: I do it all quite well and have a few items in each category that are often requested and always complimented.  If I had to point to just one resource, it would be Canadian Living magazine, but I ask friends and food sellers questions about preparation and ingredients and continue to try new things.  I use the freshest and best ingredients available … except when making soup.

Julie Halfnights

I can do both but, after cooking for 70 years, I’m getting tired of that task. I must say, however, that I still love to bake. I could bake something every day if I had hungry people to eat it. Still bake bread, sticky cinnamon buns, cakes, cookies and desserts. I learned how to bake from watching and listening to my mom who used to win the trophy at the local fall fair every year for getting the most 1st place winners. Could I win on the Canadian baking show? Maybe but I’ll be a frazzled mess by the time I got to the end. Not for me. 

Trudy Halliday 

Interesting dichotomy: I think I’m a cook because I can usually make something tasty to eat from various leftovers, and my soups (also from leftovers) are usually excellent and always unique–never repeated! I bake cookies and muffins often, cakes rarely, and never pies because I don’t have my mother’s “pastry hands”.

Nancy Carlman

My mom was a tremendous baker; a cook, not so much.  After church, we would go on a Sunday drive (in the 40’s and early 50’s).  My mom would put the roast in the oven around 1pm (no timers then) and off we would go to return around 5pm.  My sister, brother and mother never knew where we were going as my dad would pick the “adventure”.  When we arrived home at 5 pm, mom would start on the vegetables – always boiled.  I was married before I knew brussels sprouts were green.  Every green vegetable was grey.  Carrots were never eaten raw – got to kill the bugs was my mom’s excuse.  And the sauce! White sauce, cream sauce or cheese sauce to give the vegetables some colour.  But we all ate all our dinner because we knew there was a wonderful dessert waiting for us. Mom was the best baker in the world.  So, whenever I have beef, I ask for it medium-rare, please, and I smile and whisper, “Thanks, mom”.

Colleen Kason

I’m a cook, definitely.  Julia Child’s first book came out when I was in college.  I met Julia at a friend’s house that year and she was delighted when I told her her cookbook was my bedtime reading.  Her book taught me not only cooking techniques, but the reasons for them.  She opened my mind to fearless adventures in the kitchen.  I seldom make her recipes now, but I enjoy my favorite cookbooks and binders full of recipes I have made, or want to make. So many dishes, so little time!

Judy Bickart

My mother was a supreme baker. Every week, she made at least ten loaves of wonderful bread as well as dough jacks. Her pies were heavenly and I have never tasted any that can match the quality of  hers. She made most of her wonderful cookies, cakes and goodies without reference to recipes. That being said, she was not a very good cook. She sometimes over-cooked basic vegetables and invariably did the same to most meat dishes. The only time a meat dish was okay was when she cooked it in some sort of sauce.

While we are on the topic, I have to mention that in recent years, there’s been a dearth of good bread bakers, especially for a true French baguette. France has the best bread but for many years I could buy baguettes in Canada that were a fairly good representation. Alas, now that is not true. This is sad given that a French cousin who is a baker said that the best flour is grown in Canada. Maybe this comment will inspire some baker to start making good French baguettes.

Norma Vachet

I am both a baker and a cook. I do all the cooking in my house and, fortunately, I have receptive and appreciative family consumers. Most of my cooking is spicy fusion:  Indian, Chinese, Southwestern, Italian, Mexican, Thai, BBQ. My traditional cooking is also strong and my roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is very good. I’m a lifelong baker, especially pies, cakes, cookies and, above all, sourdough breads. I think that baking is a delicate combination of art and science. I realized that my baking is in my hands and my cooking in my brain. I can tell when a sweet or savory dough is ready. I’ve baked 640 loaves of bread, with a photo of each, however my family loves my BBQ sourdough pizza best. I like to cook, but I love to bake.

Jeff D. Narver

As in life, I regard rules as being merely “suggestions”, so obviously I am not a baker, but a great cook!  I, along with my brother and sisters, learned from the best – my mother. We all learned the Ukrainian dishes that are must-haves at any holiday gathering, and now all our children cook those recipes at their own gatherings. The  great-grandchildren  would rebel if we didn’t cook them and are also starting to learn.  We all have a bit of a spin on some of the recipes, leading to some lively discussions! But never have the things we baked sparked much controversy.  Because a recipe is a recipe is a recipe is a recipe!

Jan Mansfield

My mom was both; nothing fancy but competent and consistent. I have a hand-written recipe of my mom’s framed and on the wall in our dining room. In the process of framing and hanging this yellowed and food stained paper I read, “Line muffin tins with pastry. Chill while making the filling.” Up to this point in time, my butter tarts never looked or tasted like my mom’s. Reading these few words was an epiphany. I transferred that lesson to making the famed kouign aman french pastry that requires following directions precisely. I now consistently nail this recipe. Thanks, Mom

Jim Van Meer

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