Recently, a childhood friend sent me a link to the obituary above (which was already a few years old) and wrote
“Does this bring back any memories?” I sent the obit to another old classmate, then made this screen print and saved it to my computer desktop where it’s been ever since. What I’m about to share here isn’t kind, but it’s time I did something with this and filed it away.
In elementary school I only had 2 male teachers: Mr. Porter in 3rd grade, when we still lived in town, and Mr. Rumancik (above) in 6th. I idolized Mr. Porter. He was tall and lanky, in his twenties with long sideburns which were the style in 1968-69. He spoke with such a quiet voice, the girls in front would turn & shush everyone when he started class. But he was wonderful, and gave us fun assignments like “Who will I be in the year 2000”.
One time he asked me to bring in some of my drawings from home, to hang in our classroom. When I did, he asked if he could have one for his own. I thought my heart was going to burst with pride.
Mr. Rumancik was another story. Balding, stern, in his mid-40s. He never once referred to me as Doug, or even Douglas. Only Mr. Morris. He was fond of using the word “shenanigans” in his warnings to us not to pull any, but what I heard almost daily was “I don’t know about you, Mr. Morris”.
What was there to know? I was an 11 year old kid. I knew he didn’t like me, and it honestly puzzled me. I got along with every single boy & girl in our classroom. But not him.
Back in those early school days, when we’d go outside for recess, Rumancik liked to take most of the boys up behind the school to a flat, muddy pasture for some tackle football. In his black raincoat & fedora, he looked like Vince Lombardi as he coached the boys thru their plays.
At recess end, we’d all line up in two rows to head back into the school, with half the guys in my class dirty and grass stained. Not me though. I often took a drawing pad outside and drew monsters & spaceships with David and Danny, or horses & dogs with Tracy & Kerri King.
It was one of those days, as I stood waiting to go back inside with my notepad, that Rumancik asked why I didn’t play football with the other boys. I had no answer, but I wasn’t the only boy who didn’t play.
Our sixth grade class photo—that’s me, standing right beside Mr.Rumancik
Rumancik asked me if I was a mama’s boy, I wasn't sure what that meant but had a feeling it probably wasn't nice.
That night at home, I asked my mom what a mama’s boy was, and did she think I was one. When she asked where I’d heard that, I told her what happened earlier that day at school. I can't remember what her reaction was.
The next morning when my brothers and sisters & I left to go to school, there was an envelope on top of my lunchbox. In my mom’s pretty handwriting it said Doug, please give this to Mr.Rumancik
When we got to school and I got off the bus, he was one of the teachers outside guiding the students into the building. I laid the envelope on his desk’s blotter and took my seat. He came in shortly after with his cup of coffee, picked up the envelope, opened & read it. Without looking at me, I watched him fold Mom’s letter and lay it to the side. What did she write to him? I was dying to know. I’d find out a couple hours later, when we were all outside at recess and he was in that muddy field with the boys. I asked another teacher if I could go inside to use the restroom, then went to our classroom and read Mom’s letter.
I can’t remember what it said exactly, but it went something like this:
Mr. Rumancik, my son told me how you embarrassed him in front of his classmates yesterday, calling him a mamas boy. You are a bully, and if you do that again to any of my children, I’m going to come down to that school and embarrass you. If you don’t believe me, then go ahead and try. Linda Morris
If you knew my mom… she wasn’t bluffing.
He left me pretty much alone after that, until one morning in early April when we were taking turns reading aloud from our history books. When it was my turn, I read “In 1942, Christopher Columbus set sail across the Atlantic Ocean on the Santa Maria, with his two other ships, the Nina—“
A few kids snickered and Rumancik said “Start from the beginning Mr.Morris and read it again.” What did I say that was so funny? I read the sentence again and he stopped me. “Come up to the front, Mr. Morris.”
I stood up, asked what I did, as he got up from his desk, reaching for his wooden paddle. It was a nasty looking thing with round holes drilled into it. We knew it was a painful contraption, we’d seen him use it several times that year. He’d swing it hard like a baseball bat, always biting down on his lower lip.
I remember once when Timmy R was called up there and went running out of the classroom instead. I asked again what I'd done, and Rumancik told me to grab the sides of the desk at the front of my row, and bend over.
WHAM! God as my witness, I can still remember it. I saw real stars.
I sat back down, crossed my arms on top of my desk, buried my head in them and bawled my eyes out. I was shocked how much my bottom hurt, embarrassed, confused as hell. Later at recess, some of the other kids asked if I was okay and my closest friend Tracy said “You repeated 1942 instead of 1492, but nobody thought you were doing it on purpose.”
(I didn’t tell Mom about the incident until that summer. I was just anxious for that school year to end and to get out of his classroom.)
On our last day of school, Rumancik gave us a little speech. He said that right now, we saw ourselves as big fish, but that would change. When we started grade 7 in the fall (at the high school) we’d be little fish in a much bigger pond, and wouldn't be big fish again for a long time.
He also said “Someday, 10 or 20 years from now, you might run into me on the street. You’ll probably recognize me before I do you. If you want to introduce yourself and tell me what you’ve been up to, good. But if you can't or don't want to, then let bygones be bygones.”
Fifteen years later, after living in Pittsburgh for a year, I came home for the holidays and my childhood friend Dan called and asked if I’d like to meet up. (In that classroom photo, he’s in the second row from the top, second from the left, wearing a vest.) We got together for lunch at McDonald’s, then Dan went to the restroom, and when he came back said “Look who’s sitting at the table across from the exit.”
I turned and looked back and saw a man sitting there, sipping a large coffee. It took a few seconds to register that it was Mr. Rumancik.
Dan said “Do you remember that speech he gave us on our last day of school?” I said I did. He joked “You want to go back there and introduce ourselves? Or let bygones be bygones?” I said the only thing I wanted to do was go back there and knock that cup of coffee in his goddamn lap.
RIP Mr. Rumancik… I hope you had a good life.
I cooked on medium heat for 6-7 minutes, then flipped both pieces and cooked another 5-6 minutes. Done!
Okay, how do I make this Rice-a-Roni… it says to saute the rice & vermicelli in 2 tablespoons of butter until golden brown.
Add the Asian seasonings and 2 cups of cold water. I’ve never seen so much steam in my life! “美国电机及电子工程师协会!” (That’s “aieeee!” in Chinese)
I reduced the heat, covered & let simmer for 10 minutes. I than added my cooked chicken breast (sliced), 1 chopped onion and 1 cup frozen broccoli florets. 
Put the lid back on and let it simmer another 10 minutes. Here’s the finished product and it smells incredible. There must be 5 lbs of food here! 
