When he handed back our papers, groans from the disappointed made Professor Dressel’s classroom sound like a hospital ward. He tossed my paper on my desk withoutment. I shut my eyes tightly, steeling myself for the blow. When I cracked them open, an A+ leaped off the page. I disbelief I bent over for a closer look. Professor Dressel had written a terse note just below the grade: “See me after class.”
Nervously I approached his desk as the others grumbled out. “Young lady,” he said, “your term paper is among the finest I have ever seen produced by a junior accounting student. Do you know what this tells me?” I shook my head.
“It tells me that somewhere along the line you had a remarkable English teacher. If he or she is till alive, you should go to that teacher and express your gratitude. Good night.” He snapped his textbook dosed, abruptly stood and strode out.
My mouth gaped. In my heart I knew Professor Dressel was right; I owed a good measure of my A+ to Mrs. Coots. I knew I should thank her, but the memory of her no-nonsense, crisp classroom demeanor still intimidated me.
On the evening I finally forced myself up to the front door o