Interview with Janis MadsenRecorded June 2, 2013
If I could share one
story with you, it would be the story of the first day of class.
When
I was in fourth grade, Mrs. Barnett was my teacher. I loved Mrs. Barnett because she was quite strict—no messing around
from anybody. And being the shy little individual I was, I flowered in that
environment. But as we approached the new school year, everyone said, “I want
Mrs. Madsen because she’s the nicest!” I decided right then that I didn’t want
Mrs. Madsen, because I wanted a strict teacher.
In those days we didn’t
know who our teachers were until the first day of school. My mother took my two
brothers and me to school. I was disappointed to see that my name was on
Mrs. Madsen’s class list. So I went in, one of the last ones to enter the
classroom. I can still picture the classroom. There were probably five rows of
desks that were in straight rows back from Mrs. Madsen’s desk. Her desk was in
the center front of the room, and as you faced her desk, on the left were six or
more tall windows (we were on the second story). She had put white ruffled
curtains at the windows, which were probably open.
She sat at her desk,
and the only open desks were at the back of the rows, so I went to the very
back of the middle row, directly in front of her desk. There must have been at
least four children ahead of me in that row, so I couldn’t even see her. The
bell rang, and she began talking about how happy she was to have us all in her
class this year.
She was magic. I can’t
even describe that magic. I went into that classroom determined not to like
her. (I was kind of an obstinate child.) But I sat there as she spoke, and it
was as if she was the Pied Piper. We all sat enraptured, listening to her talk,
even though her voice was actually a little bit monotone! She was quiet
and gentle and spoke slowly with little animation.
She began talking about
the children she knew. I knew most of them because I’d been in the same grade
with them. But she knew a lot of them—they were neighbors, or in her ward, or
she knew their big sister, or their big brother—it seemed like she knew everyone!
She was saying the nicest things about them. And even though I had
determined not to like her, I sat there thinking, “She doesn’t know me; she
doesn’t even know I’m here.” My ten-year-old heart was a little sad, and I just
sat there accepting the fact that I was an anonymous child in that class.
I think she got through
everybody in the class but me—she said something about each student.
And then she leaned
wayyyyy out to her right so she could see around the other children, and she
looked directly at me and said, “And I don’t know that beautiful little girl with the dark brown eyes and long brown hair,
but I know we’re going to be really good friends, and I’m so glad you’re in our
class.”
That was the beginning
of my relationship with Mrs. Madsen. She melted my heart within the first 15
minutes of class. And she did that with everybody.
I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget that longing to be
known and longing to be a part of whatever it was she was doing. Even though I
really wasn’t excited to be there in her class, it didn’t take long to want to be there and want to listen to her and to want to be a
part of her class. It didn't take long for her to make every single one of us
know that each was valuable to her.
She was that way with
all of her students. She gave such positive reinforcement. It wasn’t phony. She
recognized everybody and recognized the good things they did. I’ll never forget
the longing I had to have her recognize me—and then the overwhelming gratitude
and the sweet feelings I had when she did.
