Miss Mudge's Retirement
Ida Marie Mudge taught fourth grade in the Port Collins Elementary Center for forty-nine years. She was hired soon after her college graduation at the tender age of twenty-one years and kept the position for close to five decades. In fact, Miss Mudge taught fourth grade when the elementary center was still referred to as a grammar school and included grades kindergarten through eight.
Then came the day Miss Mudge turned seventy, the school district's mandatory retirement age. No doubt, an exception could have been made to the policy under the grandfather clause allowing Miss Mudge to remain for another year or two, but the school board felt that it was time for Ida to turn in her red marking pen, pointer, chalk and eraser and to retire.
A farewell party was held in her honor at the Harborview Country Club. It was the least the school board could do for her. She had, after all, been a teacher for more years than anyone else in the history of the Port Collins School District. The retirement dinner was a formal affair, attended by Miss Mudge's colleagues and the members of the board of education. There were the usual boring speeches and stale jokes, but there were no tears, for no one regretted the loss. Ida Marie Mudge, you see, was not particularly admired by her peers. She was even less liked by her twenty-seven students and the nearly fifteen hundred children she had taught in her forty-eight previous years as a teacher.
Unknown to the administration, a second, much more casual party was scheduled to celebrate the teacher's leaving, an unofficial party that would be held in her classroom. It was Miss Mudge's last day, and she had planned a little surprise for her students.
The elderly teacher arrived at school early that morning, carrying grocery bags full of potato chips, pretzels and popcorn. She also brought boxes of cookies, cupcakes and chocolate-frosted brownies, which she had picked up at the bakery on her way home the previous evening.
Miss Estelle Winthrop, the young substitute teacher who was to take Miss Mudge's place starting the following Monday, arrived ten minutes later and found Miss Mudge busy hanging balloons above the blackboard.
"Let me do that, Ida," Estelle insisted sweetly. "This is your last day of work; sit back and take it easy."
"Hmmph," Miss Mudge replied.
Isn't that just like the young, Ida thought, to assume people my age have no use in life, that we would all be better off sitting in rocking chairs, knitting sweaters or crocheting afghans? The damned fool probably even thinks I'm looking forward to retiring!
Actually, retirement was the last thing Ida wanted. She longed to go on teaching. It was all she had ever done, the only life she had ever known. Miss Mudge, you see, had never married. She was what people used to refer to as a spinster. While in today's world, it was no longer a social stigma for a woman to remain single, Miss Mudge still saw the pity and condescension in the eyes of parents and fellow teachers, and every year at least one student would scrawl OLD MAID on the blackboard when she was not looking.
Ida was not an unmarried woman by choice. She would have liked to have found a husband, maybe even to have had children of her own. Perhaps, when she was younger and more idealistic, she might even have made a good mother; however, years of loneliness, frustration and disappointment turned her into a dour, embittered, unpleasant old woman. That was one of the reasons she was still a classroom teacher after forty-nine years, why she had stayed dormant in her position while others moved on to better-paying jobs or were promoted to supervisors, department heads, vice principals, principals and even superintendents.
Clearly, Miss Mudge's life was one long disappointment. She had been stuck in a mediocre-paying, dead-end job for close to half a century. She had no family, no love interest and no hobbies—not so much as a pet to care for. Years ago she had bought a cat, but it ran away one day while she was at school. Apparently, not even animals seemed to like Ida very much.
Her only consolation could be found in the classroom. There she reigned supreme. In her role as teacher, she held the lives of her fourth graders firmly in her hands for six hours a day, ten months out of the year. Those pathetic little eight- and nine-year-olds could not ignore her as adults usually did. They were at her mercy, and as the years went by, Miss Mudge exhibited about as much mercy as Caligula or Adolf Eichmann had.
In her role as a teacher, Ida Marie Mudge was a strict disciplinarian. The slightest infraction of the rules resulted in detention, and students who did not do their homework assignments were given a verbal lashing that often reduced them to tears. She was also of that curious breed of instructor who often called on students who did not raise their hands—and God help them if they did not know the correct answer! Without a doubt, Miss Mudge ruled her classroom with an iron fist, using intimidation and fear to keep her students in line, and she relished every minute of it!
Now, all that is going to end, Miss Mudge thought with seething resentment.
* * *
The morning of Ms. Mudge's last day at Port Collins Elementary Center went by without incident. Miss Winthrop sat in the back of the classroom, observing the students as Ida taught English, reading, science and social studies, although now these subjects were referred to as language arts, American literature, Earth sciences and world cultures. At 11:30 the class stopped for lunch. Two periods later, the students went outside for recess.
While the children played a game of kickball under the watchful eye of the volunteer lunchroom monitors, Estelle helped Miss Mudge set the snacks and treats out on the library table in the back of the classroom.
"Cookies, potato chips, fudge brownies," Miss Winthrop commented with obvious disapproval. "All that sugar and salt! The students' parents are going to love you."
"Look here, Miss Winthrop, I've been a teacher for more years than you've been alive. Don't you dare criticize my methods!"
"I didn't mean to criticize you, Ida," she replied, exhibiting a considerable degree of politesse. "It just seems to me that things must be quite a bit different today than they were when you first started teaching—things like the school now taking an interest in a child's nutrition, for instance."
"That's true. Teaching methods were quite different in my day. Back then when a child acted up or spoke out of turn, you didn't give him a time-out. You just took out your ruler and—whack! No more discipline problem."
"You mean to tell me you actually hit your students?" Miss Winthrop asked with astonishment. "That's terrible!"
"You think so, huh? I'll have you know, young lady, that back then teachers didn't have to be afraid of their own students. Kids didn't deal drugs in the hallways or bring knives and guns into the schools. If you ask me, there would never have been a Columbine if teachers were able to dispense proper discipline in the classrooms."
Miss Winthrop was appalled, but she wisely held her tongue. After all, Miss Mudge would be gone at the end of the day, and she would be in charge from there on in.
At twenty after two the students returned to their classroom. They had expected to have mathematics, their last and, for the most part, their least favorite subject of the day. Instead, Miss Mudge had thrown them a surprise party. The twenty-seven boys and girls of Ida's fourth-grade class gaped open-mouthed at the table full of goodies their teacher had provided. Such generosity was completely out of character for the woman they had previously known only as a heartless tyrant.
"Boys and girls, may I have your attention?" Ida addressed them with an uncharacteristically bright smile. "As I'm sure you all know by now, today is my last day as a teacher here at Port Collins Elementary Center."
Was she kidding? They not only all knew it, but they had also—each and every one of them—counted the days in anticipation.
"Beginning Monday, Miss Winthrop will be your new teacher."
A few brave students dared to applaud, but they were quickly silenced by a withering glare from Miss Mudge.
"I thought, since this is our last day together, we could have a little farewell party. Suzie, would you hand out the paper plates? And, Richard, you may pass out the napkins. Help yourself, children. There are plenty of snacks for everyone."
The children stared dumbly at their teacher. No doubt Bob Cratchitt had been in as deep a shock to see the transformed Ebenezer Scrooge on the morning after his visit from the three spirits of Christmas.
"Well?" Miss Mudge raised her voice. "Don't tell me no one's going to eat anything after all the time and effort I've spent on this party—not to mention the money!"
Still, the children did not move.
"Looks like I'll just have to postpone my retirement and stay a little longer!"
That did it. The students rushed to the snack table, even those who had not yet gotten their plates and napkins.
"Whoa!" Miss Winthrop cautioned. "Take your time, children. Don't choke on your food. William, you've already had one brownie, there's no need for you to take another. You don't want to spoil your dinner now, do you?"
"Miss Winthrop!"
The sharpness of Miss Mudge's voice brought silence to the room.
"I'm still in charge here, if you don't mind. Eat up, children!"
Estelle Winthrop was hurt and humiliated by Miss Winthrop's reprimand, but she bit her tongue and kept quiet. In thirty minutes, Ida would be history.
"Here, Andy," Miss Mudge coaxed, "take another handful of pretzels. And you, Kevin, is that all you're eating, a few kernels of popcorn? Have something else with that."
The teacher took a handful of potato chips and plopped them onto the boy's plate.
"My mother doesn't like me to eat junk food," he whined pathetically.
"She's not here, though, is she? And I won't tell her if you don't."
Guiltily, Kevin ate some of the salty chips.
Miss Mudge saw a small hand raised above the crowd.
"Yes?" she asked.
Little Brittany Fox replied, "I'm very thirsty, Miss Mudge. May I go get a drink of water?"
Immediately, the other students echoed Brittany's request.
"Oh my!" Miss Mudge exclaimed, theatrically raising her hand to her cheek. "I almost forgot the fruit punch."
She went to the supply cabinet and pulled out a stack of paper cups.
"Devon, would you be a dear and pass these out to everyone?"
Miss Mudge then took out two large plastic bottles of fruit punch.
"Now listen carefully, children," she said, loudly clapping her hands to get their attention. "This is very important. I'm going to pour each of you a glass of punch, but I don't want anyone to take a sip until I say so."
The children stared at her. Was this some unique form of torture she had concocted for the occasion?
"When everyone has their glass full, I am going to propose a toast. When I raise my glass and drink, I want you all to do the same. Be sure you drink it all! If you don't, the toast won't come true. Now, do you all understand?"
Miss Mudge's students nodded their heads in unison. After the teacher had filled her students' cups, she poured another and handed it to Miss Winthrop.
"No, thank you," Estelle said curtly, still smarting from Miss Mudge's reprimand.
"Oh, come now, Miss Winthrop. I apologize for yelling at you. Try to understand. It's been a very emotionally trying day for me."
"I really don't like sweet drinks. I'm trying to lose a few pounds."
"But I insist. Besides you're much too thin as it is. You don't want to look anorexic like a Hollywood actress."
Estelle took the cup, but she had no intention of drinking the punch. She would sooner choke than drink a toast to the old harridan.
"Now," Miss Mudge announced, raising her Dixie cup in the air—her good humor at an all-time high—"I want to offer a toast to Port Collins Elementary Center, which has been my home for the past forty-nine years, and to Miss Estelle Winthrop"—she turned toward the younger woman—"I know you'll make an excellent teacher. But most of all, I toast you, my boys and girls, and all the boys and girls I've taught over the years."
Ida raised the paper cup to her lips. The students followed suit. She nodded her head, signaling her permission, and everyone, except for Miss Winthrop, downed their punch.
With a strange, almost frightening smile on her face, Ida walked to the front of the room. She sat down in her chair, folded her hands on her desk and looked up at the clock. It was almost three. The students, copying her example, returned to their desks, and an eerie silence permeated the classroom.
Miss Winthrop held her breath. Was Miss Mudge all right? Would the old battleaxe break down in tears now that her moment of truth had arrived?
Then the eerie silence was broken by a groan. Again a small hand was raised in the air. This time it belonged to Billy Metzger.
"What is it, Billy?" Miss Mudge asked, smiling stonily.
"My belly hurts. Can I please go to the nurse?"
"No, you may not! Your stomach only hurts because you made a pig of yourself."
Little Billy crossed his arms over his abdomen, doubled over and fell to the floor. In a matter of minutes, the other twenty-six students of Miss Mudge's fourth-grade class did likewise.
"I'll go get help," Miss Winthrop cried and raced out of the classroom toward the school nurse's office.
Miss Mudge got up from her seat, and despite the severe abdominal cramps brought on by the large dose of cyanide with which she had laced the fruit punch, she staggered toward the door and locked it. For the final time, she surveyed her classroom, eyeing the twenty-seven dying students: pretty little Brittany Fox, an only child of an elderly couple who had tried for more than fifteen years to have a baby and absolutely doted on their daughter; Billy Metzger, whose mother was head of the elementary center's PTA; Suzie Anderson, whose father was a successful lawyer; Richard York, whose mother and father were both former students of Miss Mudge. Each and every one of them was now writhing on the floor, their fleeting lives coming to a tragic, painful end.
Over the sounds of their agonized cries, Ida could hear the bell ring.
Miss Mudge, like a deposed dictator, summoned all her strength and pride, managed to stand straight and tall, and announced in her dying breath, "Class dismissed."
Salem, if I were you, I wouldn't eat Miss Mudge's cake!
Image from actioncat.com
