We'll take 'Farewell, Mrs. Flicker' for 500

A celebration had overrun Room 225 at Cynwyd Elementary School, in Bala Cynwyd. Arlene Flicker was about to retire after 37 years in the building.

There was a gift and food, but the soul of the party resided in a version of Jeopardy, with categories "All About the Flickers," "We Mrs. Flicker," and "Flickerisms." The kids were split into two teams - the Flicks and the Ers.

The guest of honor soaked it in - as she has done during all her years of teaching and with all the kids she has taught. Until now.

No longer will generations from the same family sit in her class. Word won't spread anymore, in that end-of-year ritual of anticipating next year's teacher, that Mrs. Flicker is tough but funny.

Her retirement is worth noting because she is one of those increasingly rare teachers - the Mr. Hollands of the world - who stick in our minds like a peanut butter sandwich sticks to the roof of our mouths.

If we had a Mrs. Flicker as a child, we remember her fondly, and if we have children of our own, we hope they have such a teacher. I know about Mrs. Flicker because my 9-year-old daughter, Olivia, was fortunate enough to be in her class this year.

Mrs. Flicker's appeal isn't just because her students learn a boatload, or because of her allegiance to one school - remarkable in these times. Research has shown that as many as 50 percent of starting teachers leave the field after five years, mainly due to job dissatisfaction, while another chunk migrates to different schools. Mrs. Flicker, 59, leaves Cynwyd after teaching third graders there for all but one in her 38-year career. (She was a substitute in the Lower Merion School District her first year.)

Teaching has always invigorated her, so even though she contemplated retiring for the last three years, Mrs. Flicker felt too young to actually pack up her pencil box. She also didn't want to give up her health benefits. Now, the time just felt right.

For the big personality in the 5-foot-tall body, Mrs. Flicker's schoolhouse legacy is how she interacted with students. Like so many teachers, she gave of herself on a daily basis. And what she did give was spiced with a warmth and sharp humor that enveloped the kids and drew them close to each other.

She sang, danced, and performed cartwheels (the gymnastics for when a student had a birthday) to reach and teach her students in an era when people often fear being anything other than somber at work. Sometimes she apologized if a joke didn't go over well - which is a lesson, too.

The foibles of Flicker my daughter related always were entertaining, but better yet, they were an entrée to talking about what book she read or math she learned that day - information not easily coaxed from a tween.

Turns out my daughter wasn't the only child who listened closely to Mrs. Flicker.

As Jeopardy began, class mom Mary Donoghue explained how only one member of each team - the one holding the maracas - could answer the question; the first to shake would be called upon.

First choice: "Flickerisms for 500."

"For 500 points," Donoghue said, "do the Flicker look."

Emma Rosenau shook the maraca and scrunched her face like an angry sock puppet. Mrs. Flicker laughed - and verified its accuracy.

Next question: "What bad habit would cause Mrs. Flicker to throw up on your desk?"

Jack Treiman correctly answered, "Picking your nose."

Mrs. Flicker boasted to the assembled parents that while other children at school were seen doing that dirty digging, her kids kept their fingers clean in class.

How does humor, gross or clean, help at school?

"It keeps their attention," Mrs. Flicker said. "If I can't do it with my teaching skills, I'll go back to humor."

Next up was "All About the Flickers for 500."

"Mrs. Flicker's daughter recently traveled to a foreign country to be an au pair. Name the country."

"Istanbul," Marion Donoghue shouted.

Mrs. Flicker prompted her to give the country where Istanbul is located. Marion thought a few seconds.

"Turkey?" she said.

Among other trivia, the kids also knew the names of her family and her son's band, and that Jamaica is her "happy place."

Just before the final Jeopardy question, the Ers led the Flicks, 2,500 points to 1,900.

"How far apart are you?" Mrs. Flicker asked, seizing the chance to practice math. After hearing the right answer and explaining the strategy behind the final-Jeopardy bet, she emphasized that the game is only that - a game.

"And what does that mean?" she asked.

"You win, you lose, it doesn't matter," said Jackson Payne.

"Thank you," Mrs. Flicker replied.

No, thank you, Mrs. Flicker.