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Towards that end the school system had found the perfect teacher/performer/playmate for the job. "Madame Williams" was none other than Blanche Legereau, who as a child performer, had toured the world with the Sarah Bernhardt Troupe for seven years until the death of "Madame Sarah" in 1923.
Mme. Williams never simply walked into our classroom. Oh non non! Rather, she would make a grand entrance as she burst through the door, a human whirlwind of beads, scarves, perfume, and joie de vivre.
"Bonjour mes petits chéris, vous allez bien ?" she would announce in a loud voice, trained no doubt by Madame Bernhardt to carry to the last row in a large theater. I'm sure Mr. Maxwell, our school principal heard her through the closed door of his office at the far end of the building. Then as she scooped us up out of our chairs, crushing us with embraces and kisses as she flourished her beads and scarves, she would lead us in singing...
Sur le Pont d'Avignon
On y danse, On y danse
Sur le Pont d'Avignon
On y danse tous en rond.
On an imaginary bridge the boys would deeply bow to the girls as we sang...
Les beaux messieurs font comme ça
Et puis encore comme ça.
And as they curtsied they girls would reciprocate with...
Les belles dames font comme ça
Et puis encore comme ça.
And so it would go for the next 45 minutes or so until, just as dramatically as she had entered, Mme. Williams would take her leave and vanish down the hall to the next "class". I felt sorry for our teacher Mrs. Dougher, who had to re-establish order in the classroom. Mme. Williams was a very hard act to follow indeed.
Unfortunately, when I moved on to more traditional foreign language classes I discovered that none of the "real" language teachers (bless their academic hearts) could hold a candle to Mme. Williams. I did poorly. So poorly in fact, that my Seventh Grade French teacher advised me that since I obviously had no aptitude for foreign languages I should abandon her class and take auto mechanics instead while there was still time for me to learn something that I could use in life. I ignored her advice, preferring to remain in her class, among my friends, rather than risk an uncertain fate among the cigarette smoking, grease-stained troglodytes who inhabited the auto mechanics building.
In those days movies about ancient Rome were popular: Quo Vadis in 1951, The Robe in 1953, Ben Hur in 1959, Spartacus in 1960, and Cleopatra in 1963. So when I entered Oak Ridge High School in 1964 and discovered that the language of Julius Caesar was a choice I signed up for Latin 1 where I had better luck than with French. But only barely. I was now a "C" student rather than a "D" student. I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that being constantly tormented by the two-bit bully who sat behind me made it difficult to concentrate on mastering the complexities of Latin declensions. Eventually I would take care of the bully, but that is another story for another time. By then I had already had "the Great Awakening".
