Remebering Zimmy

At the Belaire tram stop in Geneva, a stout woman with frizzy grey hair walked by the tram’s window. She looked like Zimmy, Dr. Helen Zimmerman, my biology, chemistry, anatomy and physiology teacher. Now that’s going back a way.

Imagine a doctor teaching high school biology, although I don’t really remember her ever teaching it, yet when I faced college biology, I breezed through the course. Phyla and bones popped into my mind. What I do remember is her talking about all sorts of things, rabbits in Australia and the problems of environmental balance.

Already old when I took her courses, she lived with Elizabeth Bachelor, another single woman who taught business subjects.

Having the raging hormones of most teenage girls and dating the handsome trumpet player, I knew I was destined to marry and felt sorry for this women without a family.

Years later, divorced I was talking with Mardy, my high school chum, and we were saying how much we had learned from Zimmy. When I hung up, for no reason, I called Zimmy to thank her. She and Miss Bachelor had long retired at that point.

She said the call meant a lot to her. Miss Bachelor had just died and she was feeling lonely.

Now some years later, hell -- some decades later, I no longer feel sorry for either woman. The wisdom of the years has taught me that they did lead full lives with meaningful work and meaningful relationships. I could speculate what type of friends they were, since neither married, but it isn’t important. They were two women who bonded in friendship and gave to the next generation new knowledge.