More than a Mentor

I generally have an open Facebook tab on my browser at work (only so I can keep track of local happenings for the newspaper, wink-wink.)

But this week I’ve left it open to someone else’s newsfeed and found myself compulsively refreshing to read new messages posted there.

“This woman single handedly changed my life, and countless others. I absolutely would not be who I am today were it not for her.”

“Thank you for being the first person to really see me. It made the rest of my life possible.”

“You were the first person to ever challenge me, hold me accountable. You were sunshine, and equal parts fire. The kind of fire that melted and molded us into exactly who we were meant to be.”

“Your classroom was our sanctuary. You were the center of it because you met each of us exactly where we were. We were seen. Accepted. Pushed gently. Understood.”

Every time I refresh the page, I see more and more messages exactly like these.

Including one from me: “You taught me that I was worthy of love and capable of anything I dared to dream.”

There are wonderful teachers and passionate mentors in the world.

And then there is Jeanne DeVilliers Scott.

She wasn’t a Scott back in 1977 when I first met her – her marriage to former football coach, athletic director and love of her life John Scott was decades in the future.

Instead, she was “Ms. D” to most kids, just plain “D” to the cool kids and “DeVilliers” to weird, nerdy me – when I finally got brave enough to address her at all.

I was a geeky, awkward and largely silent high school freshman when I first came into her magical orbit.

The only way I knew to survive the toxic soup of chaos and dysfunction often swirling through a family dominated by a mentally ill parent was to make myself as small as possible.

Invisible. Unnoticed.

That worked like a charm in nearly every other high school classroom; overstressed teachers faced with a roomful of mouthy teenage attitude are more than happy to ignore the quiet, compliant kid who never makes waves.

But that didn’t fly with DeVilliers.

It was a speech class, after all. Not only were classroom presentations regular and compulsory, but she was more likely than not to call on the most nervous kid first – aka me.

When I finally got brave enough for actual eye contact, I focused solely on her, seated at the desk in the back, smiling encouragement and making notes in her yellow legal pad.

Those notes would become her oral critique delivered after everyone had spoken, and would be crossed off one by one as she made each point.

She pulled no punches and her sarcasm could be biting, but her encouraging hugs were as legendary as her distinctive laugh.

My growth from a knee-knocking novice to a nationally-ranked college debater and eventual 12-year courtroom attorney was all on her.

But challenging kids in the classroom and pushing them to their full potential was the easy part – and should be the goal of every teacher dedicated to his or her craft.

The way above-and-beyond stuff was everything else Jeanne did to scale over, tunnel through or bulldoze down all the mountains separating a student from his or her destiny.

For me, that meant picking me up every single morning my senior year to make sure I got to school (no car at my house) and letting me stay at school as late as she did all the nights my home did not feel like a sanctuary.

She also sourced donations from local women’s groups to buy me the professional attire expected for speech contests and then took me shopping for them on her own time.

She brought me to the attention of Doug Duke, the near legendary debate coach at then Central State University, who eventually recruited me and offered me a full ride scholarship.

She checked on me regularly throughout college and beyond and could always be counted on for advice when requested and reproofs when required (solicited or not).

More than that, she got around the defenses of an awkward kid who was trying so hard to be unlovable, eventually convincing me that not only did I have a voice, but I had things to say that the world needed to hear.

I’ve spent a lot of time this week counting all the reasons why I’m grateful for the 44-year relationship I’ve had with this wonderful woman.

But mostly, I’m grateful that I had many, many opportunities to tell her how she’s impacted my life, the most recent just a few weeks ago when I sent her the message that it would take a commercial airplane hangar to house all the broken kids that she’s put to right.

Jeanne Burger DeVilliers Scott, 78, is now reunited with her beloved Big John, whom she lost to cancer in 2018.

I’m told by her great-niece Alyssa that she left this world exactly as she lived in it every day, surrounded by those who loved her and sharing her wit, joy and light up until the very end.

Rest in peace.