Hi, I'm Dave Isay, founder of StoryCorps.
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Hey folks, this is Max Young-Rice from the StoryCorps podcast.
Just want to remind you that we want to hear your personal stories.
So call our voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
This week, we want you to tell us what's the most important advice you could give someone.
Give us that advice in a voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news.
Don't hate me for this.
But summer's over.
Basically.
I know, I know.
But hear me out, it's an exciting time.
A new school year could be a fresh start.
It was around fifth grade when I told my friends and family I was transgender, because up until then I did not know that the word existed.
Freshmen are being dropped off at their college campuses.
Being the first one to go to college, and my whole family of over 50 of us that's my biggest motivation.
And teachers, well, teachers are bracing themselves.
It's one of the most challenging, if not the most challenging jobs you will ever face.
But I love it here.
So this week we're diving into our archive the largest collection of human voices ever recorded to bring you stories about the classroom, a place that shapes everyone who passes through it, young and old where, even if you're not a student, you still might have something to learn.
I'm Jasmine Morris, and this is the StoryCorps podcast from NPR.
Thank you.
Up first, we got a pair of stories about teachers figuring out who they are in the classroom.
Ron Cushman spent nearly 30 years teaching kindergarten.
But that wasn't always the plan.
As a Marine Corps scout in Vietnam, Ron stepped on an explosive.
And though he survived, his right hand was amputated.
At StoryCorps.
He told his former student, Jamie Marks, how he suddenly found himself without direction.
When I was in the hospital you had to kind of think about what are you going to do for the rest of your life, because only 19 or 20?
And then I did remember that there was a gym teacher back in sixth grade who said to me you know you ought to be a teacher.
I don't know why he said it, but I remember that did stick with me through all the years.
And it popped out of my head.
I could be a teacher.
Do you remember your first day being a teacher?
Yeah, I remember being really, really nervous and scared.
And I wore a hook on my hand.
I remember walking on the playground.
This mob of kids just came running over at me.
And they were just gawking and staring.
I folded my arms and kind of hide it, but they were curious.
So every year, like on the first day of school, I'd take out the prosthetic arm and then we'd pass it around and ask questions.
And they'd play Captain Hook or they'd do whatever.
And as long as you're open and playful and answer all their questions, it was only a big deal for about an hour or two.
And kids like you, Jamie, we kind of clicked.
Yeah, there's definitely something past the.
I'm going to teach you the alphabet and then you're going to forget me in second grade.
And I live in a split family, so I've never really had someone that's like always been there and you've always been stable throughout everything.
You've been there with a lot of the huge stages in my life.
Remember driving last spring?
Taught you how to drive.
And you were there when I got my driver's license.
Yeah, I remember.
And that's what I want to give.
Not just fun, but I want there to be meaning.
I want to be a lasting impression.
You know, it really is a privilege to be able to say that I know you, you know.
I guess just thank you for everything, you know.
It goes right back at you.
Ron Cushman and Jamie Marks in Bothell, Washington.
Next, John Byrne taught high school English in New York City.
He described his classes as rowdy, and he was known for encouraging students to be themselves.
But when he started as a teacher in 1980, he had a very different style.
I would make the kids line up before they come into class and then they would stand by their desks and I would say you may sit down when I sit down.
I'd say, good morning, Mr. Byrne.
I was very strict because I was afraid that kids would discover I was gay.
I'm an English teacher.
You know you're teaching literature and some gay scene or character come up and I would start to blush.
I was always frightened.
Until one year, I decided to march in the St.
Patrick's Day parade because they refused to let the gays march in the parade.
And I thought, I've got to take a stand.
I just wanted to be myself.
So I went and marched with them.
And the next day I went to school and the kids asked me, where were you yesterday?
It was St.
Patrick's Day.
You were drunk.
I said, I was not.
I was marching in the parade.
And they said, well, who were you marching with?
I said, with the Irish Gay and Lesbian Organization.
And they said, why were you marching with them?
And I said, because I'm gay.
And they were so kind.
They saw that I was nervous and they helped me along.
You know, it had hurt me to live in the shadows.
And then, when I came out, it freed me to teach and made me better at helping kids who had their own particular secrets.
Two years later, that class that I came out to, they asked me to be their graduation speaker.
And I talked to the parents about how proud they should be of their children for having taught me and helped me through a really difficult time in my life.
It was a wonderful turning point.
John Byrne in New York City.
He taught at that same school up until 2023.
After a short break, we're going to call on the students.
I hate it that I wasn't able to spend enough of my senior year with you in it.
If this were to be our last conversation, is there anything you would want to say?
Stay with us.
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Welcome back.
Lourdes Villanueva's parents were migrant workers who harvested fruit throughout the South.
She brought her son Roger to StoryCorps to talk about what it was like trying to get an education while constantly on the move.
Everywhere we went, even if we were going to be there for four weeks, six weeks, picking the crops, my mother would make sure that they enrolled us in school.
And Spanish was not allowed in the school systems.
Even out in the playground.
I mean, they used to have the little playground patrols, which were our friends, that were supposed to turn you in if you were speaking Spanish out in the playground, which of course I was always in trouble because I was speaking Spanish.
Then of course in the ninth grade is when you started working for credits to graduate.
And we never stayed in one place long enough to get any credits.
So why even bother?
I thought I knew everything that I needed to know at that time and got married at 18 and had you.
You pretty much grew up in the back of the pickup truck.
I was picking crops and in my breaks I had to change a diaper and do whatever needed to be done and continue on working.
And I always thought that you need to do what I didn't do, which is finish your education first.
You always said that you were going to lead by example.
And I remember when you got your GED, you were in the fields.
And instead of having lunch, you would have your books and you'd be studying.
After that, I remember that you said, you know, I'm going to go to the community college at night.
And I remember you taking one class and you started off like that.
And then dad was the one to take care of us, to cook for us.
And we hated the beans and eggs because that's all he ever knew how to cook for us.
I can remember us stuffing it under the refrigerator and then we would act like our plates were done.
He used to make us eat everything because he wanted us to appreciate everything that we had, because I know that both of y'all came from basically nothing.
And I mean, I was just so proud the day that you graduated.
I had to hurry up and graduate before you guys did, because I knew you guys were coming right behind me.
Yeah, well, I really thought that was something special.
If I was to have the choice to choose another mother, I would never choose anybody else but you.
And when I looked for my partner, I always said if my wife can be half the woman that my mother is, I will be okay.
And I know I've never told you that, but that's the way I feel.
Roger and Lourdes Villanueva in Tampa, Florida.
For our last story, we'll hear from two classmates.
Kinda.
A couple months before Cole Phillips started his freshman year at high school, he lost his sight to glaucoma.
And that meant he'd be taking every class with Regina Keefe, known as Miss Rue, a paraprofessional who helped him get around, really helped him with whatever he needed.
But as he told her at StoryCorps, at first, he did not find this arrangement ideal.
I had just lost my sight.
And as any normal teenager, you always get worried about trying to fit in.
And as if being blind didn't make me stick out enough, I was like I don't want some lady following me around everywhere.
I'm trying to make friends, not lose them.
Yeah.
But by the end of the year, we started to click.
Cole, you were easy.
You're like peanut butter.
You get spread all over and it sticks.
I'll never forget.
And I couldn't go up the stairs.
And I was like, oh, I'm getting old.
And you're like, how old are you, Ms.
Rue?
Because I've got three more years of school and I just want to make sure you're going to make it.
I hate it that I wasn't able to spend enough of my senior year with you in it.
If this were to be our last conversation, is there anything you would want to say to me?
Oh, Cole.
You saved my life.
Four years ago, it was a dark time.
I had a drug addict in my family, and you gave me a purpose to get me through.
I was there to help you, but in the end, you were saving me.
There were so many times that things were so bad and you would put your hand over my wrist and you were like Ms.
Rue, it's going to be okay.
Even when you were going through such a hard time, you were somehow always caring about everybody else around you.
One of the things that you taught me about is a Circe.
Just a Southern term for surprise.
Right.
A gift that you aren't expecting.
I think, out of all the Circes that you gave me throughout high school, you being in my life was the biggest Circe that I could have asked for.
I told you not to make me cry.
I'm sorry.
I think you should get half my diploma.
You earned every bit of it.
I love you and thank you for getting me through high school.
Regina Keefe and Cole Phillips in Bentonville, Arkansas.
That's all for this episode of the StoryCorps podcast.
We love hearing from our listeners and our voicemail line is always open.
This week, we're wondering what's the most important advice you could give someone?
Share your wisdom in a voicemail at 702-706-TALK.
That's 702-706-TALK.
The stories on this episode were produced by Nadia Raymond Katie Simon, Anita Rao, Jay Bourne and myself.
They were edited by Michael Garofalo.
Special thanks to facilitators Anna Walters and Rose Gorman.
This podcast is produced by Max Young-Rice.
Our senior producer is Jadasti Kendall.
Amy Drozdovska is our executive producer.
Our technical director is Jarrett Floyd.
The artwork for our podcast is created by Liz McCarty.
I'm Jasmine Morris.
Thanks for listening.
Support for this podcast comes from the corporation for public broadcasting, a private corporation funded by the American people.
