Greg and Pam

McCook students

“Aunt Betty” whose real name was Mrs. Betty Menke taught twelfth grade English at Cozad High School for as long as anyone can remember. We learned about the artist Robert Henri and Aunt Betty’s love of art, we held real English tea parties, we memorized and recited poetry, and she tested us relentlessly over 1000 words from the SAT word list which is the one notebook I still have and use in my own classroom today. She retired after our class graduated

During my senior year with her, she never could remember to call me “Pam”. I was either Judy or Linda because she taught my mother and aunt before me. It must have bothered me as I swore never to make that mistake if ever I became the teacher. However, even though I played school with my childhood friends for hours upon end and my mother is a beloved educator, I vowed never to be a teacher.

Six months into my undergraduate education at UNL and three trips to the career testing center, I changed my major one last time. I would become a high school guidance counselor but I first I had to choose a major—a subject area where I could teach for three years before I could enroll in a graduate program. What subject did I enjoy? Mrs. Menke was fresh in my memory. She had taken us places I didn’t expect to go with an English teacher; I was her outstanding English 12 student because I learned all 1000 SAT words for the final exam. The career counselor suggested I get a second endorsement. Special Education appealed to me because I had grown up with my mother teaching at the Cozad State School for Trainable Mentally Retarded. Those school-age children with special needs were often my playmates.

During college I married my high school sweetheart. After having lived on $5,000 a year, so we were “rich” for the first time when Greg chose the job offer that would land us in McCook, Nebraska. Here I completed my student teaching and taught my first three years in special education. By the time I began teaching for McCook Schools, the Cozad State School had been closed and ironically, some of my childhood playmates became my very first students. When the eighth grade English position opened at the junior high, I changed positions and for the next six years, I taught eighth grade; for sixteen years I taught ninth grade, and four years ago I asked to teach seniors. My tenor is twenty-seven years.

McCook has a population of 8,000 and our high school graduates an average of 130 students each May. My current position includes Advanced Placement/ Dual Enrollment, English 12 (British Literature), and Applied Communications. I am enjoying the changes and challenges that come with teaching seniors. I taught our son and daughter during their ninth grade year of high school and we all survived. We are proud of their rural education and being raised in community of many opportunities since we are the hub of southwest Nebraska. Geographically, we are four hours from Omaha and four hours from Denver. Our town size is both a blessing and curse: you know almost everyone and you know almost everyone. It is wholesome but struggling to attract young people and maintain its population.
“Aunt Betty” whose real name was Mrs. Betty Menke taught twelfth grade English at Cozad High School for as long as anyone can remember. We learned about the artist Robert Henri and Aunt Betty’s love of art, we held real English tea parties, we memorized and recited poetry, and she tested us relentlessly over 1000 words from the SAT word list which is the one notebook I still have and use in my own classroom today. She retired after our class graduated

During my senior year with her, she never could remember to call me “Pam”. I was either Judy or Linda because she taught my mother and aunt before me. It must have bothered me as I swore never to make that mistake if ever I became the teacher. However, even though I played school with my childhood friends for hours upon end and my mother is a beloved educator, I vowed never to be a teacher.

Six months into my undergraduate education at UNL and three trips to the career testing center, I changed my major one last time. I would become a high school guidance counselor but I first I had to choose a major—a subject area where I could teach for three years before I could enroll in a graduate program. What subject did I enjoy? Mrs. Menke was fresh in my memory. She had taken us places I didn’t expect to go with an English teacher; I was her outstanding English 12 student because I learned all 1000 SAT words for the final exam. The career counselor suggested I get a second endorsement. Special Education appealed to me because I had grown up with my mother teaching at the Cozad State School for Trainable Mentally Retarded. Those school-age children with special needs were often my playmates.

During college I married my high school sweetheart. After having lived on $5,000 a year, so we were “rich” for the first time when Greg chose the job offer that would land us in McCook, Nebraska. Here I completed my student teaching and taught my first three years in special education. By the time I began teaching for McCook Schools, the Cozad State School had been closed and ironically, some of my childhood playmates became my very first students. When the eighth grade English position opened at the junior high, I changed positions and for the next six years, I taught eighth grade; for sixteen years I taught ninth grade, and four years ago I asked to teach seniors. My tenor is twenty-seven years.

McCook has a population of 8,000 and our high school graduates an average of 130 students each May. My current position includes Advanced Placement/ Dual Enrollment, English 12 (British Literature), and Applied Communications. I am enjoying the changes and challenges that come with teaching seniors. I taught our son and daughter during their ninth grade year of high school and we all survived. We are proud of their rural education and being raised in community of many opportunities since we are the hub of southwest Nebraska. Geographically, we are four hours from Omaha and four hours from Denver. Our town size is both a blessing and curse: you know almost everyone and you know almost everyone. It is wholesome but struggling to attract young people and maintain its population.

I never became a guidance counselor for a variety of reasons—most of all, time with my family and location, location, location. Like many of my contemporaries, online classes were not available so we took classes that were brought to the area, and somehow I managed to take and pass the GRE and accrue 40 hours of graduate credit. I never pursued the degree and then, along came fate. While attending an Advanced Placement Institute on the UNO campus, I was asked to become the first out-state dual enrollment teacher for UNO. They offered to pay my tuition if I would get a Masters degree in English. I am currently in pursuit and recently transferred my credit and program from Chadron to UNL where all four of us have earned our undergraduate degrees (a couple of us quite awhile ago.)

You have read the tip of the iceberg about my formation and I am anxious to explore the hidden parts not yet visible to the eye.