EDUCATION PROFILE:THEY CAME from near and far. About 60 past pupils of different ages and backgrounds – from students who had recently left school to middle-aged CEOs – all crammed together in a south Dublin classroom to witness the final lesson of a teacher who had meant something to all of them, writes GRÁINNE FALLER
Intended to last 30 minutes, Maurice McMahon’s final hurrah ran on for two hours. Only the persistent ringing of the school bell, calling the group for farewell speeches and tributes, broke the spell. “I don’t think he enjoyed the speeches and all that followed so much,” said one who was there that night. “That final class was his thing.”
It was a fitting swansong for a singular teacher.
For McMahon, teaching was in the blood. He is the son of Kerry writer and teacher Bryan McMahon, but the only one of his siblings to go into the profession.
He has just released a book: Mr Mac – A Blackboard Memoir. "It was written for past pupils only," McMahon says. "But it seems to have struck a chord. The reaction has come from all over – it certainly surpassed my expectations."
Many were curious to read what McMahon had to say. Most of his career was spent teaching in St Benildus College, one of the relatively few non-fee-paying schools in south Dublin.
“Macker was the character of St Benildus for many years,” one former colleague says. “You’d see him striding down the corridor like Batman – black cape flapping, chalk dust flying, barking instructions, students diving to get out of his way. He wasn’t a person you would easily forget.”
He taught history and Irish throughout his career. “He was a sensational teacher,” says a former student. “I remember one time he covered the second World War in 10 minutes and a cloud of chalk dust . . . He instilled a real love of the subject. I think the enthusiasm he had was infectious.”
THE PREOCCUPATIONof the book, however, is school life outside of the classroom and the students who came and went.
“He was very passionate about what he did,” comments a fellow teacher. “He knew his students inside out and was always interested in any kid who was struggling. There was an awful lot of stuff that went on between Maurice and some of the more troubled kids that no one ever knew about. He was a very concerned person. Maurice always got to the bottom of what was going on with someone.”
“I think most teachers have that instinct,” says McMahon. “It was a radar I had, I think. You’d see it in class – that suspicious, cold, cutting eye that meant there could be a problem – and you would act, if you could, to help.”
In some ways, McMahon was a product of another time. “He was a real disciplinarian – very much the schoolmaster in the old sense,” says one past pupil.
“That first impression of this tall Kerryman in the black gown – and that voice – you wouldn’t easily forget it,” recalls another. “As a first year he’d have you quaking in your boots.”
“I think students realised as they moved up through the school that his bark was worse than his bite,” says one observer. “It was a persona – some of it real, some of it created. Occasionally, we’d be having a cup of tea and he’d stick his head out into an empty corridor and let out a roar. There’d be no one there but the lads in the classrooms would hear and assume that someone had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. There was a lot of devilment in him that way.”
“Students in a way needed to love you and fear you at the same time,” says McMahon. “It’s almost like being a good referee in a match. I think I got the balance right most of the time. I never, to my knowledge, fell out with a student.”
Teaching was much more than a full-time job. McMahon was deeply involved in GAA and he also began a tradition of cross-country running in St Benildus. “He had a great knack for finding the lads in the school who weren’t great at soccer or hurling and getting them out to run,” recalls a past pupil. “He had a talent for finding a niche for particular students.”
He was impulsive. In the book, situations are recounted, some with humour, some with regret, but all are given due thought and reflection. One incident where he came down heavily on a pupil who had been erroneously identified as a troublemaker haunted him at the time. “I made a lot of mistakes with young fellas,” McMahon says. “But when I did, I admitted it. It costs nothing to say you’re sorry.”
Many tell unusual stories with glee. “People almost expected him to be a bit zany,” says one observer. “When corporal punishment was outlawed, lads paid 50p and queued up in the yard for a symbolic final slap of the leather from Macker. All the 50p pieces ended up with the Vincent de Paul and I think there are photographs of it somewhere in the school. Only he could get away with something mad like that.”
Some speculate that the independent, slightly unpredictable aspect of his personality may have worked against him when it came to climbing the career ladder. Despite offers of promotion from other schools, he stayed in St Benildus, eventually applying for the position of deputy principal.
“Had it come up a few years beforehand, he would have been a shoo-in,” says one observer. “Seniority would have won out.” As it was, times had moved on and he lost out to a teacher who was a former pupil of his. McMahon describes the shattering disappointment of the time in the book.
Today, he has no regrets. “I think if I had got the job, I’d be dead now,” he says. “I was a workaholic and I wouldn’t have stopped. It was cathartic to get that disappointment out in the book but I don’t regret it now.”
“He was a brilliant teacher and he had a really great rapport with students, but you won’t see another Maurice McMahon come through today,” says one observer. “Nowadays, you have policies and procedures and chains of command in schools – that’s a good thing, of course – but I don’t think anyone could be independent like he was. He dealt with things in his own way but you can’t really do that today. He was a maverick of sorts, I suppose.”
MCMAHON TAKESthe maverick label as a compliment but baulks at the idea that he was in any way unique or special as a teacher. "I'm not any exception to any rule. I just fell into teaching and happened to find my niche . . . I love teaching, love it, but I just repeated on a daily basis what thousands of people do every day. They don't write about it but they are doing it quietly every single day."
To obtain a copy of Mr Mac - A Blackboard Memoir, contact Maurice McMahon at mrmacbenildus@gmail.com.
Mr Mac on . . .
Discipline"The word 'discipline' itself sits easy with me . . . I was an old-fashioned disciplinarian; past pupils classified me as strict but fair. This I took as a compliment."
Struggling studentsRepeated efforts were made to establish contact when and if it was necessary to do so. Success or no, it indicated a concern, which was sufficient for certain individuals. It was a comforting thought also to know that other teachers were reacting to distress signals I overlooked.
School sportI retained contact with games right throughout my teaching career . . . Few teams managed to take to the field without my sideline support, invited or not by their managers.
Teaching historyDid I teach with examinations always in mind? Hopefully not . . . If curriculum demands were met, every opportunity was taken to introduce other personalities from history. Gandhi, Roosevelt of the New Deal, even Robert Bruce was dragged in without mercy.
His careerTo the very last day . . . I was aware that I had more lessons to learn than I ever had to teach.
