Alicia McCauley is a curriculum writer at Collaborative Classroom. Her favorite teacher, Mr. Fells, unexpectedly passed away in November, 2021. This is a tribute she wrote for him for Teacher Appreciation Week. With his family’s and Alicia’s permission, we are honored to share this tribute so that you, too, might be warmed by the great light that was Mr. Fells.
To be a third grade student in Mr. Fells’ classroom at Manzanita Elementary School was to be one of the luckiest kids ever.
He called our classroom the white whale because it was a blindingly white, single wide trailer. The inside seemed to stretch on forever. I was placed in the back row and I remember feeling like the front of the classroom was in another time zone.
Looking back, I now understand that ours was the worst classroom on campus. The walls of the ancient single wide trailer were paper thin. It wasn’t near any of the other classrooms or buildings.
The white whale was all on its own in a sea of asphalt that on hot days radiated heat up through the flimsy floor and the very soles of our shoes, but Mr. Fells never let on that it was anything but grand. He’d pick us up from recess, raise his fist, and declare, “Into the belly of the whale!”
In the belly of that great white whale was where faithful Mr. Fells worked his magic, turning his students into intrepid explorers, a band of squeaky recorder players, masters of the multiplication tables, voracious bookworms, daring artists, and whatever else we wanted to be.
In the belly of that great white whale was where faithful Mr. Fells worked his magic, turning his students into intrepid explorers, a band of squeaky recorder players, masters of the multiplication tables, voracious bookworms, daring artists, and whatever else we wanted to be.
It was in Mr. Fells’ class that I became a writer. He saw and nurtured my love of words, feeding me book after book in the cozy corner library tucked into a rib of the whale. I was a shy child, but under Mr. Fells’ kind direction I found my voice in the stories I wrote, in the plays I created, and in the poetry I still call home.
It was in Mr. Fells’ class that I became a writer. He saw and nurtured my love of words, feeding me book after book in the cozy corner library tucked into a rib of the whale.
Like many others, I hold fond memories of being one of the top spellers in his class. This meant that one evening I, along with the other top spellers, squeezed into Mr. Fells’ station wagon and rumbled to Leatherby’s for the largest ice cream sundae I’d ever laid eyes on and then to see the Shasta High musical, “Annie, Get Your Gun.”
My mom bought me a new dress to wear for the occasion. We didn’t have a lot of money so getting a new dress, going out for ice cream, and seeing a musical with my teacher was an astonishment of riches.
It was the first musical I’d ever seen and from then on I was hooked! I went on to be in the Shasta High musicals.
A few years after that, I became a teacher and my love for musical theater deepened. I led my class in a fully produced musical every spring. Singing. Dancing. Choreography. Costumes. Lights. Sets. My students did it all. And it all grew from the seed Mr. Fells had planted in my eight-year-old heart.
Throughout the years, I saw Mr. Fells around town. He’d call my name across store aisles, at the gas station pump, and even once at a yard sale we both happened upon at the same time. No matter how many years had passed, he always remembered me and gave me a warm hug before taking the time to ask about my life and to tell me about his.
[E]ach day I try to honor the impact Mr. Fells had on my life by planting seeds, nourishing children and teachers with good books, and on my best days maybe even working a little magic with my words.
I’m a curriculum writer at Collaborative Classroom now and each day I try to honor the impact Mr. Fells had on my life by planting seeds, nourishing children and teachers with good books, and on my best days maybe even working a little magic with my words.
When this life is done, I know I’ll hear Mr. Fells calling my name before engulfing me in a hug. We’ll sit and eat ice cream. I’ll tell him about my life and he’ll tell me about his.
And I will let him know one last time that I was the luckiest kid to be taught by the greatest teacher in the belly of a white whale.