12:14 p.m.

The door is open. It’s always open. It is Ellen Zarter’s free period and she is nowhere in sight. As I peer into the room I see two students that have just wandered in to ask her a question. The girl who is leaning against a table looks up at me.

“Hi,” she says, smiling with a smidgen of curiosity as to who I am and why I’m here.
“Hi, do you know where Ellen is?”
“No, but we’re looking for her, too.”

This is a busy week for Ellen. There are 34 college letters of recommendation to pen, 31 research paper outlines to grade from her honors American literature class and numerous other assignments to go over for her four other English classes.

The walls of her office are covered in quotes from admirable figures, including some of Ellen’s favorites from Japanese monk Rengetsu, and fall photographs of nature. Perched on her desk is a daily calendar of humorous quotes from Dave Barry. The Barry quip for October 3 remains on top although today’s date is October 24. A mug filled with pencils reads: “Those who can, do. Those can do more, teach.” Around the room are photos of Ellen’s past pupils and home-roomers, affectionately known as “homies.”

“I would describe her as a surrogate grandma who gives just as many cookies and just as many hugs as any regular grandma would,” says Patrick Mullen, a former homie. “She was kind of like an adult that you could feel comfortable talking to no matter what the circumstances were – she’s so unabashedly caring.”

As I wait in her office, another student pops into the room to treat herself to the tin box of M&Ms that has been a welcoming staple of Ellen’s classroom for years.

When Ellen bursts into her room minutes later, she greets me with a warm hug, a huge smile and a big, multi-tonal, Diane Keaton-esque “Hi-iii!” She wears a pale pink cotton-ball, crew-neck sweater, an ankle-length green corduroy skirt and black ballet shoes. Big gold earrings that resemble exotic antique coins accent her short white hair. For her students, her hair is her distinguishing feature.

Ellen has taught junior English at the Overlake School since 1995. She enjoys the unique private-school environment that discourages traditional hierarchical teacher-student relationships and fosters critical thinking. In the 11 years Ellen has taught at Overlake, she has become one of those special teachers that leave a positive and lasting impression on students. In fact, Ellen says that three of the students in her first homeroom visited her during the past week.

When I myself was one of her homeroom students, Ellen hosted an “extended-family” barbecue for the class at which her daughter and granddaughter were present. Her closeness to her family seems to topple over into the way she cares for students.

12:35 p.m.

“We’re doing lunch!” Ellen says to me as she gestures toward the path to the Campus Center cafeteria.

We take our first bites of uncharacteristically good high school cafeteria chop salads and catch-up with one another. In the middle of our talk, Ellen calls out to a male student passing the faculty table. She has noticed his worn-out gaze and drooping pace. It has been a very stressful week, he says, and it is only Monday. Ellen imparts a comforting words and the student moves on, looking a little brighter and seemingly thankful that someone has expressed concern.

“Students are much more worried about the colleges they can get into than they used to be,” she tells me. “Parents are much more involved [in the college admission process] as well – sometimes too much. They create more challenge for the child, I think, sometimes [because] there’s more stress about getting into elite schools. . . . It’s the learning that matters, intellectual curiosity.”

1:10 p.m.

“If you need quality time, we’ll make quality time,” Ellen assures her honors English class of 16 students as the students inquire about preparations for the 12-page junior research paper.

“Can we go to the library?” asks a student, thumbing through papers.
“Yes, absolutely!”

Ellen has allocated class time for students to have an independent work period, allowing them to complete homework or research their term papers outside of class. Most of the students remain in class to work with Ellen one on one. Minutes of class time tick by, and Ellen reminds students that they can meet with her outside of class for additional help. Ellen then delicately adjusts her thinly framed black glasses low on the tip of her nose as she works with a student to develop the girl’s paper. They seem more and more like scholarly peers than teacher and pupil.

Ellen’s technique is to question students to find the holes in their own work. When she talks with the students individually, she leans thoughtfully into her desk and fixes her attention on the student, all the while wiggling a blue correcting pen.

As the end of the period approaches, some of the students become restless. “This is my thesis. It’s solid, crazy solid. Now this thesis is amazing!” says one student as he stands up, demanding the attention of the class. The students laugh.

“I mean it!” he says.
“Well, I love the confidence. Love it!” responds Ellen with a smile.

When the 50 minutes of class-time is up, students gradually trickle out of the classroom. Some continue working after class is over. Nobody rushes out of the room.

“Today they’re all like “eeee!” Ellen says, wiggling her fingers in the air. “This class is usually much calmer.

“Oh, the kids, they’re just so much fun. . . . They’re funny, they’re smart, they care about so many things. They’re good kids. That’s why I would never, ever want to be an administrator. I like being in the classroom. Give me the kids and the books.”

Now that the room is quiet, I ask Ellen about her plans after 23 years of teaching. “I’m still not ready to give [teaching] up just yet. I think I’ll teach one more year full year and then focus on electives.” For Ellen, teaching is “all about personal relationships” with her students. And her door is always open to them all.