Mr. Johnson was my first Russian teacher. He had learned the language from Soviet soldiers while he was on his LDS mission to occupied East Germany a few years after serving in WW II (during which he received a purple heart). He brought back his love of the language and culture, and shared it with generations of Midvale Elementary School students. For some of those students that introduction grew into their own individual love - and that is true of me.
He also taught his classes very much in the European style: you stood when he walked into the room, and he was rigorous in his lessons. I think he must have sensed that I wasn't challenged in my regular homeroom (headed by a teacher, who had spent her entire career in kindergarten and first grade classrooms...), so he would routinely pull me out and have me join his class.
I learned a great deal from Mr. Johnson.
He was also the only person I've ever known - well, the only non-Greek - who pronounced my surname perfectly. But that skill was also a big part of his singly most annoying habit. From the the very first time he learned my name, way back when I was in first grade, whenever he saw me - in the hall, in the cafeteria, in the playground - he would loudly bark, "Katis! I always wanted to marry a nice Greek girl like you're mom!"
No little kid wants to think about his mom being married to someone besides his dad...especially not to one of the teachers!
The last time I saw Mr. Johnson I was mailing my grad school applications. His eyes lit up when I told him I was about to graduate with a degree in Russian, and was off to study international relations. For a moment there was a connection, a tangible example of the influence a teacher can have on a student. Then he said it, "Katis! I always wanted to marry a nice Greek girl like your mom!"
Rest in peace, Mr. Johnson. Spasebo bol'shoe.
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