Miss Mudge's Retirement

         Ida Marie Mudge has been teaching fourth grade in the John F. Kennedy Elementary Center for the past 44 years.  She got the job right out of college at the tender age of 21, and she has kept the position ever since.  In fact, Miss Mudge taught fourth grade when the school was still known as the Brookview Grammar School and included grades kindergarten through eight.  This month, however, Miss Mudge turned 65—the school district’s mandatory retire­ment age.  The school board now felt that it was time for her to turn in her red marking pen, her pointer, her chalk and eraser and to retire. 

            A farewell party was held in her honor at the Brookview Country Club.  She had, after all, been a teacher for more years than anyone else in the history of the Brookview School District.  It was a formal affair, attended by most of her colleagues and members of the board of education.  There were the usual boring speeches and stupid jokes, but there were no tears and no regrets.  Ida Mudge was not particularly well liked by her peers.  She was even less liked by her 27 students and the 1,063 children she had taught in the previous 43 years. 

            A second retirement party, a much more informal one, was to be held in her class­room.  It was Miss Mudge’s last day, and she had planned a little surprise for her students.  She arrived at school early that morning, carrying bags of chips, pretzels and popcorn.  She had also brought boxes of cookies, cupcakes and chocolate-frosted brownies that she had picked up at the bakery on her way home the previous evening.

            Miss Estelle Winthrop, the young substitute teacher who was to take Miss Mudge’s place starting the following Monday, arrived ten minutes later.  She found Miss Mudge busy hanging balloons above the blackboard.

            “Let me do that, Ida,” she said sweetly.  “This is your last day, sit back and enjoy your­self.” 

            “Hmmh,” Miss Mudge replied.  It was just like the young, Ida thought, to assume people my age have no use in life, that we would all be better off sitting in rocking chairs and knitting afghans.  The damn fool probably even thinks I’m looking forward to retiring!

            Retirement was the last thing Miss Mudge wanted.  She wanted to go on teaching.  It was all she had ever done, the only life she had ever known.  Miss Mudge, you see, had never married.  She was what people used to refer to as a spinster.  Of course in today’s world, it was no longer a social stigma for a woman to remain single.  But Miss Mudge still saw the pity and condescension in the eyes of fellow teach­ers and the parents of her students.  And every year there was more than one student who would scrawl “old maid” on the blackboard when she wasn’t looking.

            Miss Mudge was not an unmarried woman by choice.  She would have liked to have found a husband, maybe even to have had children.  Perhaps, when she was younger and more idealistic, she might even have made a good mother.  But years of loneliness and disap­pointment had turned her into a sour, unpleasant woman.  That was why she was still a teacher after 44 years.  She had stayed dormant in her position as others moved to better-paying jobs or had been promoted to department heads, vice principals, principals and even superintendents. 

            Yes, Miss Mudge’s life was one long disappointment.  She had been stuck in a mediocre-pay­ing, dead end job.  She had no family, no love interest and no hobbies—not even a pet.  At one time she did buy a cat, but it ran away one day while she was at school.  Not even animals seemed to like Ida very much. 

            Her only consolation could be found in the classroom.  There she reigned supreme.  As a teacher, she held the lives of her fourth graders firmly in her hands for at least 6 hours a day, ten months out of the year.  Those pathetic little 8- and 9-year olds could not ignore her as adults normally did.  They were at her mercy, and, as the years went by, Miss Mudge showed about as much mercy as did Caligula or Adolph Eichman had.

            As a teacher, Ida Mudge was a strict disciplinarian.  Even the slightest deviation from her rules, resulted in deten­tion.  Students who didn’t do their homework assignments were given a verbal lashing that had reduced more than a few of them to tears.  She was also of that curious breed of teacher who only called on students who didn’t raise their hands, and God help them if they didn’t know the answer!  Without a doubt, Miss Mudge ruled her classroom with intimi­dation and fear, and she relished every minute of it!

            Of course, there were some students who sought revenge for her harsh treatment.  There was hardly an October 30th that went by when some little brat hadn’t soaped her win­dows, egged her house or left a burning bag of animal feces outside her front door. 

            Now, all that was going to end.  Miss Mudge was being forced to retire.

             The morning went by without incident.  Estelle sat in the back of the room observing the class as Ida taught English, reading, science and social studies, although now they were referred to as language arts, earth sciences and world cultures.  At 11:30 the class stopped for lunch.  Two periods later, they went out for recess. 

            While the students played outdoors, Miss Winthrop helped Miss Mudge set the snacks and treats out on the library table in the back of the classroom. 

            “Cookies ... chips ... candy,” Miss Winthrop commented.  “All that sugar and salt!  The students’ parents are going to love you.”

            “Look, Miss Winthrop, I’ve been a teacher for more years than you’ve been alive.  Don’t you dare criticize my methods!"

            “I didn’t mean to criticize you, Miss Mudge.  It just seems to me that things must be quite a bit different today than when you first started teaching.”

            “That’s true.  Back then when a child acted up, you didn’t give him a time out; you just took out your ruler and whack!  No more problem.”

            “You mean you actually hit your students?  That’s terrible!”  Miss Winthrop was shocked beyond words. 

            “You think so, huh?  Well, young lady back then teachers didn’t have to be afraid of their students.  Kids didn’t deal drugs in the hallways or bring knives and guns to school.  There wouldn’t have been a Columbine if teachers were able to dispense proper discipline in the classroom.”

            Miss Winthrop was appalled, but she kept her tongue.  After all, Miss Mudge would be gone after today, and she would be in charge from here on in. 

            At 2:20 the students returned from playing kickball out on the field with Mrs. Martino, the phys ed teacher.  They had expected to have math, their last subject of the day.  Instead, Miss Mudge had thrown them a surprise party.

            The 27 boys and girls of Miss Mudge’s fourth grade class gaped open-mouthed at the table full of goodies their teacher had provided.  Such generosity was completely out of char­acter for the woman they considered to be a dreaded tyrant. 

            “Boys and girls,” she said with an uncharacteristically bright smile.  “As I’m sure you all know by now, today is my last day as a teacher here at JFK Elementary Center.”

            Was she kidding?  They not only all knew it, they had—each and every one of them—counted the days in anticipa­tion. 

            “Beginning Monday, Miss Winthrop will be your full-time teacher.” 

            A few brave students dared to applaud, but they were quickly silenced by a withering glare from Miss Mudge.

            “I thought, since this was our last day together, we could have a little farewell party.  So, Suzie, would you hand out the plates?  And, Richard, you pass out the napkins.  Help yourself, children.  There’s plenty for everyone.”

            The children stared dumbly at their teacher.  No doubt Bob Cratchitt had been in as deep a shock to see the trans­formed Ebenezer Scrooge on the morning after his visit from the three spirits of Christmas.

            “Well?”  Miss Mudge raised her voice.  “Don’t tell me no one’s going to have any snacks after all the time and effort I’ve spent!  Not to mention the money.” 

            Still, the children didn’t move.

            “Looks like I’ll just have to postpone my retirement and stay a little longer!” 

            That did it.  The children rushed to the snack table, even those who hadn’t yet got their plates and napkins. 

            “Whoa!” Miss Winthrop cautioned.  “Take your time.  Don’t choke on your food.  William, you’ve already had one brownie.  You don’t want to spoil your dinner now, do you?”

            “Miss Winthrop!”  The sharpness of Miss Mudge’s voice brought silence to the room.  “I’m still in charge here, if you don’t mind.  Eat up children!  I said:  eat up!”

            Estelle Winthrop was hurt and humiliated by Miss Winthrop’s reprimand, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet.  In 30 minutes, Miss Mudge would be history.

            “Here, Andy,” Miss Mudge said sweetly, “have some more pretzels.  And you, Kevin, is that all you’re eating?”  She took a handful of potato chips and plopped them onto the boy’s plate.

            “My mother doesn’t like me to eat junk food,” he said pathetically.

            “Well, she’s not here, is she?  And I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

            Guiltily, Kevin ate the salty chips.

            Miss Mudge saw a small hand raised above the crowd.  “Yes?” she asked.

            Little Brittany Fox replied, “I’m very thirsty, Miss Mudge.  May I go get a drink of water?” 

            As if they had rehearsed it, the other students echoed this request in unison.

            “Oh my!”  Miss Mudge exclaimed, theatrically raising her hand to her cheek.  “I almost forgot the fruit punch."  She went to the supply cabinet and pulled out a stack of paper cups.  “Devon, would you be a dear and pass these out?”

            Miss Mudge then took out two large plastic bottles of fruit punch.  “Now, listen children,” she said, clapping her hands to get their attention.  “This is very important.  I’m going to pour each of you a glass of punch.  Don’t anyone take a sip until I say so.”

            The children stared at her.  Was this some unique form of torture she had concocted for this occasion?

            “When everyone has their glass full, I am going to propose a toast.  When I raise my glass and drink, I want you all to do the same thing.  Be sure you drink it all!  If you don’t, the toast won’t come true.  Now, do you all under­stand?”

            Miss Mudge’s 27 students nodded their heads in unison.

            After Miss Mudge had filled the students’ cups, she poured another and handed it to Miss Winthrop. 

            “No, thank you.”  Estelle said curtly, still smarting from Miss Mudge’s reprimand.

            “Oh, come, Miss Winthrop.  I apologize for yelling at you.  It’s been a very trying day for me.”

            “I really don’t like sweet drinks.  I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

            “But I insist.  Besides you’re much too thin as it is.”

            Estelle took the cup, but she had no intention of drinking the punch.  She’d sooner choke than drink a toast to this old witch.

            “Now,” Miss Mudge said—her good humor at an all time high—“I want to offer a toast to JFK Elementary Center that has been my home for the past 44 years.  And to Miss Estelle Winthrop:  I know you’ll make an excellent teacher.  But most of all, I toast you:  my boys and girls and all the boys and girls I’ve taught over the years.”

            She raised her paper cup.  The students followed suit.  She nodded her head, and every­one, with the exception of Miss Winthrop, downed their punch.

            With a strange, almost frightening smile on her face, Miss Mudge walked to the front of the room.  She sat down in her chair, folded her hands on her desk and looked up at the clock.  It was almost three.  The students, copying her example, returned to their desks.  An eerie silence settled on the room. 

            Miss Winthrop held her breath.  Was Miss Mudge all right?  Would the old battleaxe break down in tears now that her moment of truth had arrived?

            Then the silence was broken by a groan.  Again a hand was raised.  This time it was Billy Metzger.

            “What is it, Billy?”  Miss Mudge asked smiling stonily.

            “My belly hurts.  Can I please go to the nurse?”

            “No you may not!  Your stomach only hurts because you made a pig of yourself.”

            Little Billy crossed his arms over his stomach, doubled over and fell to the floor.  In a matter of moments, the other 26 students of Miss Mudge’s fourth grade did likewise. 

            “Oh my, God!” Miss Winthrop cried.  “I’ll go get help,” she said as she ran out the class­room toward the nurse’s office. 

            Miss Mudge got up from her seat, and despite the severe abdominal pain brought on by the large dose of cyanide that had laced the fruit punch, she staggered toward the door and locked it.  As she looked over the class­room at the 27 dying students—pretty little Brittany Fox, Billy Metzger whose mother was head of the PTA, Suzie Anderson whose father was the most successful lawyer in Brookview, Richard York whose mother and father were both former students of Miss Mudge—each and every one of them was now rolling on the floor in agony.  Their short-lived, unfulfilled lives were about to end.

            Miss Mudge, like a deposed dictator, summoned all her strength and pride, stood straight and tall, and announced in her dying breath, “class dismissed.”

© The Old Wife