I will open with two statements of fact: 1) I’m a huge sports fan. 2) Substitute teachers often deserve ‘combat’ pay. Follow along while I attempt to pull these two thoughts together inside one column.
For thirteen years, I taught in senior high schools in Arkansas and Houston. I loved teaching and I loved most of my “children,” as I continue to refer to them today.
In 1975, I took a spring semester break from full time teaching to substitute in Houston’s SBISD. My first job was a long-term assignment at Westchester High School. It went well. Excuse me while I do a bit of name-dropping here. Berke Breathed was in one of my classes. He was brilliant but reserved. He later became the cartoonist who introduced us to Opus in “Bloom County.” This assignment was followed by brief stints at two area junior high schools which almost drove me to an asylum. Hormones raging, petted by wealthy parents, these two classes caused me to put away my pencil box and Big Chief tablet swearing, “Never, EVER AGAIN.”
I stood by that promise for eighteen years. Until we moved to La Grange. After several months of arranging our house to my liking and taking day trips in between these chores, I became antsy. Hearing me complain, a neighbor suggested I sign up to sub at the local schools. The year was 1997.
Substituting in LGISD was a totally different experience from those last two Houston stints. I found the schools to be clean, staffed by friendly faculty eager to help me, and the students to be polite and disciplined. Of course, there will always be a few ‘unruly’ exceptions in any classroom apple barrel.
In late September, I received my first long-term assignment at the high school. Needless to say, I prayed long and hard about this one. This meant if a few ‘bad apples’ showed up, I would have to deal with them for weeks—not for just one day.
Walking down the hallway on that first morning, I saw a small group waiting at the door. They were watching each step I made and whispering among themselves. Uh-Oh! Mutiny already?
I greeted them with “Good Morning, People!” All faces stared back with little or no expression and no one greeted me back. I didn’t miss a beat, “Let me get this door unlocked so we can get inside and meet one another.” I then handed my book tote and purse to the girl standing nearest me and asked her, “Help me here, please.” She took them but promptly dropped both to the floor.
With hand still clutching the door key, I hesitated a moment before addressing the group: “Now, here’s the deal… I’m here to be your teacher for a while, like it or not, and I have always liked to have a little fun with my classes while I teach. You all have to watch me very closely because there’s no telling what I might do — and this is your warning.” A few smiles were added to quizzical expressions as a stocky Black young man emerged from the group and bent over to pick up my things. As he did so, he nudged the “dropper” admonishing, “Now you know there’s no business in you doin’ that.” He followed me inside the room and placed my tote and purse on my desk while the others headed for their places. Then he turned back to me and asked,
“What’s your name?”
“Mrs. Miles. I’ll write it here on the board. And what’s your name?” I asked him.
“Lawrence Dobbins.”
“Well, thank you for helping me, Lawrence. I recognize your name. You are the one those opposing teams chase around Leopard Field on Friday nights, but they have a hard time catching you.” He rewarded me with the big grin I learned to know so well.
“Yes’m, that’s me, awright.”
“Well, Lawrence, I like to give pet nicknames to my nicest students, and I’m going to call you “Refrigerator” from now on.”
“You mean like Refrigerator Perry?” he grinned.
“Yep, but you are pretty special so I will just shorten it to “Fridge”—how’s that?”
“I like that!” he laughed. And, from then on, “Fridge” it was whenever I addressed Lawrence.
When the bell rang at the end of class, he shouted, “Y’all hold up –I wanta’ say something.“ He walked up to stand beside me. “Miss, here, is cool, and if any of you try to mess with her, you gonna’ have to go through ME first because I’m gonna’ be her new body guard!” And then he wrote the message on the board right beneath my name for the following classes to read. He signed it “Dobbins” with his jersey # “Miss (Miles’) body guard” The ice had been broken and I enjoyed a wonderful three weeks in that classroom.
During the following months, whenever Lawrence saw me in the halls, he’d run up and say, ”Hey, Miss—you let me know if they give you any misery—just tell ‘em Dobbins will see to ‘em if they do!”
Saturday, December 6, 1997, was the highlight of that teaching year. Freemon and I drove down to the Houston Astrodome to root for the Leopards in the semi-finals, where they beat Columbus 48-20. That day I watched my ‘body guard’ run like a rocket around the largest sports venue in Texas! After the game, Freemon took a picture of us down on the field—one big arm around me and the other cradling his helmet. That picture was one of the treasures I lost in the October flood of 1998.
We lost Lawrence, himself, to a stroke in 2014.
Fast forward to 2020. I am now a huge Baltimore Ravens fan. J.K. Dobbins #27 is their flashy running back and the PICTURE of his dad, Lawrence. J.K says his dad remained his inspiration while he, too, starred at La Grange High School and Ohio State. In his September 13 pro debut with the Ravens, J.K. carried the ball seven times for 22 yards with two touchdowns in their win over the Cleveland Browns. J.K. has the same running style… the same body build… the same facial features—including that big, beautiful grin I loved so much.
Brenda Miles is an award-winning columnist and writer living in Hot Springs Village. She responds to mail sent to [email protected]