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Margery Aukstikalnis Our class was one of the fortunate ones to have enjoyed Mrs. Howlett both in the first grade and the fifth. We learned her gentle, loving motherly side early and enjoyed her firm, strong insistent side as we aged. We learned well and we learned easily from her in both grades. She tolerated a lot from us, except she absolutely forbid dishonesty. The day I remember most vividly, though, was from an experience at noon recess. We were eighth graders, then, about to graduate from grammar school and venture off to Athol High in a few short weeks. She was speaking with a group of us girls, coaxing us, almost daring us not to cry at our graduation. She said it wasn't going to be the end of anything. We would all go together to High School, and simply have more of the same. We promised her we would try not to cry, and several of the girls wandered off. Then she said, "I can't understand why everyone is making so much noise today. I have such a headache." Well, I went to one particularly loud group and asked them to quiet down because Mrs. Howlett has a headache. Within minutes the word spread and the playground was nearly silent. All eight grades were at recess, but she was so loved, and so respected, everybody cooperated. I got the phone call that night during supper. Mrs. Howlett had died. On graduation day, we all cried together in the classroom because Mrs. Howlett wouldn't be there. But at the graduation ceremony we held up our bargain, dry eyed, and ready to venture on to high school together. |
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