When I was in the third grade, my Dad had me tested for placement in a gifted and talented social studies class called “Corona.” All of my friends were in it from the class I had been in the previous year but due to the brilliance of standardized testing and my innate inability to perform at an average level in mathematics, I was placed in the “second-smartest” class while my previous classmates were put in the “smartest” and, therefore, automatically enrolled in Corona. My dad happened to be friends with the teacher and her husband, so he had me tested. I passed and was placed in Mrs. Herndon’s GT Corona class—a class that would last through my 8th grade year.
Every day during social studies time, I was released from Mrs. Smesny’s classroom and walked over to Mrs. Herndon’s classroom. Mrs. Herndon’s room was vastly different from Mrs. Smesny’s room. Mrs. Smesny’s room was your typical-looking third-grade classroom with brightly colored borders surrounding calico-covered bulletin boards displaying outstanding work on math and science tests. There was a quilt hanging from the back wall on which someone had cleverly quilted the fifty nifty United States and from which I learned the states, their capitals, and how to spell them. The desks were arranged in the “table” style where you and 3 or 5 other students were grouped together with your desks facing each other. I got to sit across from my then-best-friend Meredith (being best friends with her probably had something to do with the fact that we faced each other for about half of the school day).
Mrs. Herndon’s room was much darker—not only physically, but atmospherically. It was filled with curios of all types, not least of which was a giant wooden cabinet with glass doors at the back of the room containing sundry jars with preserved and pickled things, including a pig fetus. Also residing therein were squirrel skeletons, dried plants, and fossils large and small. It reminds me now of some type of wizard’s office or witch doctor’s place of business. Instead of desks, we sat at long tables set together in a “U” shape, with the teacher’s desk closing in the top of the “U” so she could stand inside the circle to teach us and monitor our work. I can still remember where everyone in the class sat for those three years that we were in that classroom. Even though we changed grades, we never changed seats in Corona.
Mrs. Herndon’s bulletin boards were unceremonious, containing pictures of cuneiform tablets and maps of the Gobi desert. A giant vase of peacock plumes sat on her desk. She had a thing for archaeology, and specifically for Roy Chapman Andrews. In the fourth grade, we had a precious little event called “Night of the Notables” in which each child at the school in 3rd through 5th grades chose a different famous person throughout history and presented him or her, in full costume, to our parents and invited guests, replete with informational triptych and “personal effects” of the person. You had to stand there and provide facts about “yourself” while each adult came to your station in the cafeteria and tried to guess who you were. I portrayed Amelia Earhart. People repeatedly asked me if I was the Red Baron. Mrs. Herndon was the only cross-dressed character since she came as—who else?—Roy Chapman Andrews. She was obsessed.
Mrs. Herndon’s non-archaeological, regular workaday-attire was generally a blouse and long skirt accompanied by, almost without fail, a neck scarf with a bejeweled clasp and always—always—a large gift-wrap-style bow tucked at the back of her coiled, long gray hair. She wore bright pink lipstick and the kind of eyeglasses that have gigantic bifocal lenses and low-set earpieces. She was from “Nohth Caolahna” and spoke with that distinctive drawl that is simultaneously east-coast and southern. She had high expectations of her students. Under the tutelage of Sarah Herndon, I and my classmates effectively studied, beginning in grade 3, ancient Mesopotamia, the hanging gardens of Babylon, ancient Egypt, ancient Rome, Russian history, and American and Texas histories in junior high school to fulfill district educational requirements. She had us define words like “hieroglyphics,” “cuneiform,” and “sarcophagi” at a time when I barely knew what the word “define” meant. To define words was a really big deal to me. I hadn’t heard that word used before. I soon learned that it really meant “copy the definition from the dictionary.” Suddenly, it wasn’t so glamorous. We also began making bibliography cards at an early age to go with our reports. The woman was relentless about works cited. I can still hear her voice and see her writing book citation examples on the chalkboard, “Last Name COMMA, First Name PERIOD, name of book UNDERLINED, city COLON…” She always wrote over and over the punctuation in chalk for extra emphasis.
The first big project that I had after I first joined the class was making a mummy. We had to find a 12” Barbie doll and wrap her in toilet paper or gauze and find a way to squeeze her into an 11” shoebox sarcophagus that we were to cover with Egyptian artwork. We were to write our names and a great saying about ourselves on the top in hieroglyphics enclosed in a cartouche.
Corona had the best field trips, too. We made numerous visits to the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston to witness exhibits like Pompeii and the Russian crown jewels. The worst field trip, though, was to the Reliant Energy building. It was during a study of Thomas Edison and within reasonable proximity to the Reliant Energy building there was a small Thomas Edison museum. The museum, however, only contained enough artifacts and memorabilia to fill a thirty-minute tour. In order to justify the more-than-hour-long bus ride to Beaumont, Mrs. Herndon had to fill up the rest of our day with field trip activities. So, after visiting the tiny Edison museum and seeing cool early electrical contraptions, including an original still-burning light filament incased in an inch-thick glass bulb, we were carted off to the Reliant building where we were given a thorough and thoroughly tedious tour of the inner-workings of the electric company. I’m not sure how long we were in there because all I can remember is that we were walking, standing, walking, standing for an interminable amount of time, our feet hurt, and all we wanted to do was sit down. We all agreed that it was the worst field trip EVER.
When we changed schools in Junior High, we began meeting in the Library because Mrs. Herndon didn’t have a room of her own. She was one of the only teachers in the district that “floated” between schools instead of just classrooms. I guess it was justified since she was only at our school for two hours a day in the first place. I sat at a table with three of my good friends, one of whom I still am friends with to this day. Mrs. Herndon made us sit at the corners of the six-seat table so that we couldn’t copy off of each other. Although I don’t recall cheating as being something I did, in retrospect I couldn’t be offended because I do recall practicing writing her initials in case I needed to pass off a half-finished paper when she asked to see our work. My friends and I agreed that I had gotten pretty good at it. I don’t think I ever really used my talent, though, and even if I had, I doubt it would have worked. The dratted woman could always recognize her own handwriting.
My friends and I agreed that Mrs. Herndon’s handwriting was cool. She didn’t have typical teacher handwriting that was all cursive. It was a script-y mixture of print and cursive and she always signed her name to form letters and parents’ letters with her middle initial: “Sarah R. Herndon.”
When 8th grade was over and it was time for us to move on to High School where Corona would be replaced with AP Classes, SAT tests, and jam-packed schedules, our class had a small ceremony on the last day of school. That day we were planning to have a class party with snacks, so we decided that it would be apropos to do it then. We played “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday” by Boyz II Men as each of the 12 of us filed into the Library carrying a single rose. We filled a vase that we placed on her table and then took our regular seats. She was visibly touched by the sentiment and we could see her eyes glass with tears. That was the first time in six years that any one of us had seen her show that much emotion. She had been a hard teacher but a good teacher and I still use the things I learned from her.
My brother, who was three grades behind me, was also in Corona. After his class graduated Junior High School, Mrs. Herndon decided that it was time to retire. I think that she had classes that were her favorites and that mine and his were a couple of them. Halfway through my senior year and his freshman year and before her retirement lunch, Mrs. Herndon suffered a stroke. My friend Megan and I went to her retirement luncheon to see her since it had been about 3 years and we wanted to wish her well. When we greeted her, she was unable to speak, but I could see the recognition in her eyes when she saw us. We said hello and that it was nice to see her and then quickly exited the reception line. When we were out of sight and earshot, I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I hated barely recognizing her and seeing her in that state broke my heart. That was the last time I saw her.
Mrs. Herndon passed away while I was at college. My Mom told me that there were a lot of Corona alumni at her funeral, which was held at the Methodist church. I had heard that she had died, but no one told me when the funeral was until it was already over. Not attending is something I regret to this day.
She once told me, “You like history, and it shows.” I never really knew what that meant until a few years ago. At the time I thought that I was just doing the work because it was assigned to me. I later realized that I do like history and it is evidenced in the books I read and the programming I watch and listen to. I think, though, that I like history because she made it likable. Not until college was I able to experience another teacher who was as profoundly passionate about her students and the subject matter as Sarah R. Herndon was about her Corona Kids.
