Many of my followers with Prince Edward Island roots will know the name Mabel O’Brien very well. The rest of you will be wondering who she is, but I want you to know about this extraordinary woman. Mabel O’Brien was an early influence on me and remained so until she died of natural causes, as the saying goes, at a ripe old age. (Mabel’s age was always somewhat of a mystery, which she was quite happy to perpetuate.)
My formal schooling consisted of eight years in a little red (honestly), three-room schoolhouse in the village of Morell, PEI. It’s now an apartment building, and as of last summer was still red. Throughout those eight years, Mabel O’Brien was the school’s principal; she was also my teacher (all subjects) for grades 8, 9 and 10.
Mabel’s influence began early on my first day at school. She called me into her classroom (known as the “big” room) a few minutes before she rang the nine o’clock bell. She told me to remember that I was just as good as any other kid in the school, and then added “and so is everybody else.” (Important lesson learned at a tender age: Believe in yourself, but never think that you’re better than anyone else.) For eight years she encouraged me, (for example, allowing me to skip two grades); challenged me (if I made 98 on a math test she’d tell me she expected 100 the next time); punished me when necessary (usually by keeping me in at recess, which she knew would hit me where it hurt most — missing out on that day’s sport); and gave me hell when I slacked off. As she did on my first day at school, on my last day she again called me aside. This time she told me that my future success, or lack thereof, would depend a lot more on what I thought about myself than on what other people thought about me. And her influence didn’t end there. She continued to offer valuable advice over the years, both in person when I was home on vacation and in letters that she occasionally wrote to me. Lest you think I got special treatment, I assure you that I did not. Most, if not all, of her former students would have similar stories to tell.
As a principal she was consistently tough as nails, but also consistently fair. Here’s an example. We’d been assigned topics on which we had to write a composition (it would be called an essay today). I don’t recall what my topic was, but as I always loved writing I’m sure I worked diligently on it. We passed in our papers during a week when we had a substitute teacher –— an arrogant ass from Charlottetown who clearly resented being sent out to what he considered the boondocks to teach a bunch of, in his eyes, unworthy students. A couple of days later, after having marked the papers, but having not bothered to connect names and faces, he was handing them out by calling out our names and having us walk up to his desk to receive them. When my turn came he decided to make an editorial comment, saying, “This was pretty good, Lyman. Who wrote it for you?” I replied, “I’m glad you liked it. Who read it to you?” The room erupted in laughter and there was even a smattering of discreet under-the-desks applause. At recess he marched me into Mabel’s room and asked that I be suspended for impudence, impertinence, insolence, and a few other high crimes and misdemeanours. Mabel asked what happened. He told her. She fixed him with a cold stare and said, “Well, you asked for that, didn’t you?” And the matter was closed.
The most important advice she gave me was when I was eighteen years old and home in Morell on vacation. She urged me to take the Dale Carnegie Course. She told me it would enhance every aspect of my life, especially my career, whatever that turned out to be. Trusting Mable implicitly, I enrolled as soon as I got back to Toronto. As usual, she was right. The Dale Carnegie Course was as important to my career as was obtaining my designation as a chartered accountant.
Mabel is still a legend in PEI teaching circles, an honour she richly deserves.