The First Day of School

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.