Mrs. Bradshaw was, well in the early 70s, "the secretary." Jeanette Bradshaw was always much more than that, and she has recently retired from the main desk at The
Ensworth School after 35 years of service. She finished her last school year with the graduating class of 2012, and tonight (as I type actually) there is a celebration for Mrs. Bradshaw at what is now considered the Red Gables Campus.
If I could be there, I would. I adore Mrs. Bradshaw. I sent these words instead.
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October 10, 2012
Ode to Mrs. Bradshaw
I spent a lot of time in The Office during my early years at Ensworth School. A lot of time. And anyone who knows me as a grown-up finds this unsurprising, which honestly would be a little insulting if their assumptions of my mischief weren’t so bolstered by repeatable, observable behavior. But alas, I was a golden child. Ever so well-behaved and Practically Perfect in Every Way that in the early morning light you might just
swear that you could see a halo (not that any of you proper people would swear mind you), and so I would never be sent to The Office for matters of discipline.
No, I was a frequently-just-slightly-sickly child. I’d like to think that it was my tiny little body rebelling at the exhaustion from all that well-behaving. Every Friday in first or second grade I would start to feel sick, and have to climb the antique stairs to The Office where Mrs. Bradshaw would take care of me. Every Friday, like clockwork, I feel a bit ill and Mrs. Bradshaw would take my temperature and find me running about one degree above normal.
Frankly, I like to think I have been running several degrees above normal every day of my life, but that would be speaking metaphorically.
With my little 99.5° fever, Mrs. Bradshaw would generally call my mother to take me home early, and she would keep me company in the meantime. I would dread that I had “ruined” my weekends by being sick only on Friday afternoons. I was not feigning illness and no one thought I was—after all who calls in sick on a Friday afternoon? I have spent hours and hours in the years since analyzing why I might have gotten sick every Friday afternoon. Was it psychosomatic? Was I afraid of weekends? Was my epic shyness so debilitating that such fears manifested physically sending me home to the care and comfort of my mother rather than the grueling social demands upon a seven-year-old?
There came a time in 1992 when I just decided to stop being shy. I got over it. Some say I may have over compensated. But I have forever abandoned Friday afternoon sicknesses for Sunday morning ones.
Looking back, I’d like to think that I wasn’t sickly or psychosomatic, but rather that I was just a clever little boy whose temperature would rise just so he could start the weekend by hanging out with such a wonderful person. (After all I was only seven. It’s not as if I were trying to escape Mr. Katzman—which would have been completely understandable if not outright subsidized by a variety of humanitarian organizations.)
But for many years, there I sat in the Ensworth Office, a boy the opposite of the man I would become: young, small, and timid. And every Friday Mrs. Bradshaw would care for me and keep me company until such time as the feeling faded or my mother would come and get me. Those were actually really nice moments. And I can remember them well. Not any one Friday specifically, but the feeling, sights, smells, and sounds of sitting with the ever-so-kind Mrs. Bradshaw. I remember the lilt in her voice, the alacrity of the clackity of her typing, and the hypnotic experience of watching the blinding speed of the bouncing Selectric ball.
I returned to Ensworth many times after graduation—as friend, camp counselor, substitute teacher, uncle, and alumnus—and every visit to the office was made bright by Mrs. Bradshaw. And that little boy inside me would feel safe, loved, and amused. The imaginary electric Selectric ball would now bounce inside me. I have had a surprising number of reasons to call the Office over the years, and I can attest that Mrs. Bradshaw can convey the Essence of Ensworth with just her voice, and I cannot imagine that the Ensworth Office will ever be as bright either by phone or by face.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw.
You gave me fever.
Wilson Hardcastle
San Francisco, CA
Ensworth, 1985
Ensworth was saddened to learn of the death of Mrs. Barbara Anne Felch, former faculty member, on March 29. "Madame Felch" taught French to generations of Tigers from 1970-2009. Visitation with the family is Fri. Apr. 5, 4-6pm and Sat. Apr. 6 at 10 am preceding the memorial service at 11 am, all at Westminster Presbyterian Church, Nashville. Sons J.W. ('90) and Thomas ('94) are Ensworth alumni.
