Monday, February 8, 2010

Alyce Proper at the Wassaic School


She was my teacher at the three room Wassaic School for grades 4, 5 and 6.

I feel she was a caring, friendly person always ready to give a helping hand and always ready with an interesting project for her students to do.
My favorite teacher was Alyce Proper.

I remember once being invited – along with several others - to her home for dinner. I think that was because we were her “special helpers” that year. I am sure it was her caring attitude and the interesting activities that made me want to be a teacher too.

My years in the Wassaic School generated many happy memories. The nature walks, the special lunch program, morning chapel, access to lots of books and the special holiday activities are just a few of them.
My time with Mrs. Proper was during World War II and those were hard economic times. Thus these outlets at school were important to me and to the children of Wassaic.

Doris Smith
February, 2010




Doris Smith attended the State University at New Paltz to prepare for her teaching career at Webutuck where she taught for over 40 years. She retired in 1995, but returned to work to do special consulatation in combining grades and academic intervention.









Saturday, February 6, 2010

Rhoda Lubalin's Aunt Helen

Welcome to Indian Rock Schoolhouse’s Year of the Teacher!
The Association has set aside 2010 as the year to recognize the teachers from the past and present who have worked so hard to share their knowledge with us. Members of the Schoolhouse Association have agreed to write their reminiscences, hoping those writings will strike a note of familiarity in all of you.




A Letter to Aunt Helen
Dearest Aunt Helen,

When you came to visit, as the door opened, an amazing aroma would waft from the bags you carried, conjuring up exotic places. Delicious. Mouthwatering. CHEESE! Not dull, orange American cheese, wrapped in plastic like a mummy. No. Enclosed artfully in heavy paper of some sort, with room to breathe. Often overtaken by, was that mold ? I always wondered what your fellow subway and bus travelers suspected. As you followed the cheese through the door, you generally wore a woven hat from some far off land or a garment that was somewhat unique.

How delicious were the treats you brought to my brother and me. Chocolate in the guise of gold coins, marzipan pretending to be flowers and vegetables. Pomegranates, avocados, artichokes and how to eat them. Silver jewelry from Mexico, of wondrous design. Your letters from foreign lands were long and descriptive as you sought to imbue us with a lust for travel. You rode a donkey into the Grand Canyon before it was fashionable and possibly would have thrust yourself over the Falls at Niagara if it had been legal.




As a teacher you were relentless in stressing education. You fervently wished that I speak French as fluently as you, so that when I went to France I might be mistaken for a native. You were a Spanish-English business secretary and could deliver a speech in German. You were in the process of mastering Russian. Language was, to you, a delicious mouth watering edible.

Earning you PhD with honors in French Literature while teaching elementary school, typing and proof- reading other candidates’ thesis, and tutoring every child who might need it. I marveled at your skills at the typewriter. Your fingers knew exactly where to go without your having to look at them. Of course, unlike mine, your spelling was impeccable.

What a compassionate person you were. Not only on a personal basis but seemingly for every oppressed or maltreated people everywhere. Marching in the May Day Parade was a must. Working for the newly formed Teacher’s Union in NYC. Signing petitions to right a wrong.

When we were little guys you purchased season tickets to the children’s concerts at Carnegie Hall. How delightful was that? The Sorcerers’Apprentice became a friend, and every character in Peter and the Wolf was a familiar personality long before Disney turned them into cartoons. The only thing that might deter you would be a bout with poison sumac, after a hike. But as soon as you recovered you picked up your binoculars and once again sallied forth into the woods and trails.


Aunt Helen, dear, what a constant teacher you were. I’m still trying to emulate you and live up to your expectations. Often it has been a supreme challenge. How did you do it all and with such joy and exhilaration?

Whatever door you knocked on or bell you rang, when asked “Who is it?”
you responded, “It is I !”
And so you were. “It is I”, is the perfect response in any language.

I love you. I miss you. Your niece Rhoda

P.S. It was only later on that I found out what else was in your bags. A newspaper or two, a change of underwear and a toothbrush. After all, one never knows when one might be invited to stay.


Rhoda Lubalin is an artist, a former art teacher and a "Lifelong Learner" in the Indian Rock Schoolhouse Association. She is a charter member who is present at every Arbor Day celebration, every fundraiser, every
picnic and participates with great enthusiasm just as her Aunt Helen would have had she been with us today.