There's a point on our adopted Anicent-Roman derived, but not exact, calendar. It falls smack in the last week of August, right before Labor Day.

Yes folks, "Back to School" time is a period, all it's own, apart from the sometimes dragging hot summer months and right before our houses of learning reopen for business.

The weather stays the same and the leaves hold firm hanging on the trees, but something different is happening. Attendance at the pools dips, while the malls swell with customers.

It's a time of much exaggerated emotion; kids act sad (and even mad), but secretly glad to go back and connect with pals; parents are like, "finally!"

Truth be told, the little ones run out of steam by this point and the preparation and anticipation for what's coming is a nice diversion from watching that 1,000th episode of "iCarly."

As for myself, I "Remember When?" I went back to school in these parts and some of the teachers who stood out from the rest.

I have many memories, but after review, I've decided to share some in a two-part series.

During these somewhat cuckoo times in the business of public school education (let's try to remember that change is good), I feel compelled to first spotlight one of my fifth-grade teachers at Wilson School. Although I was only under his tutelage for half a school year, he certainly left his mark.

Starboard to Hull: Where Are You?

Dennis Hull was a cool educator. In retrospect, maybe he was too cool, like a young David Letterman. Visually, you wouldn't know it—he was your stock skinny, mostly bald, bearded and coke-bottle-glasses wearing 1981 kinda guy, yet he had a certain offbeat, rugged individual vibe going on. His fast and loose, yet laid back personality and style of teaching fostered self-expression, independence and constructive use of time. That's huge.

What The Hull Was Going On in that Classroom?

I first heard about Mr. Hull through my next-door neighbor, Chaz Rapa. I looked up to Chaz, who went by the more plaintive "Charlie" before entering the Hull of Fame, and if he thought highly of this guy, I just had to be in this class.

After a year of the boring Mrs. Mather (what a drip with a 1980 Liza Minnelli haircut to boot), I needed a teacher more my speed. I actually had my mother call the administrative offices at Wilson School (she probably talked to Mrs. Boyer, probably the world's best school secretary ever) to help me head down the Hull-way.

Reading is FUNdamental

Mr. Hull allowed massive amounts of free reading time, often with material of your choice. I would bring in obscure rock books from the '70s as well as Creem and Cracked magazines. Right there, I built up my vocabulary, humor and writing style like crazy. This was a perfect addition to the good ol' Silver Burdett & Ginn textbook reading series we used back then. I'd also use some of the time to discuss AC/DC with Eddie Malia.

In the event that all the reading (and talk of "Highway to Hell") made one thirsty, you could get up to get a drink of water—at will. No asking and no more of that "cooped up in the classroom" feeling. One could get up, get a drink and go back to his or her desk.

Speaking of desks, Mr. Hull let everyone decorate their own as they saw fit by drawing/writing on it, via taped-on pictures or whatever came to mind. Pencil holders were also permitted (some teachers outlawed them). I covered my desktop with Kiss and had a battery of the then-new-to-market EraserMate pens in an elaborate multiple compartment, spinning pen-o-rama I bought at Cohen's. 

Hull Was Never Dull

In case you don't know, I am an elementary teacher as well as POLKA DOT!, and while Hull's approach would not yield as much success for today's students as back then (for a myriad of reasons), he and his style made a major impact on my personal teaching style—really.

I use the following two "Hullisms" in my classroom all the time.

Mr. Hull called most of us by our last names, always with a humorous and never condescending tone: "Hey Albanese, come over here with your phonics book." It was his way of giving you a nickname—with your actual name.

Finally, the abundant freedom and decision-making that Mr. Hull allowed us didn't mean he sacrificed authority in his classroom. How did he regain control when things got of hand? He would get up and state that anyone who kept misbehaving would have to do a report on the topic he was about to write on the board.

It was (insert screeching chalk sound here):

"The Monsoons of India!"

He included the exclamation point.

After seeing this, we would calm down—and be baffled. His threat would actually also function as a discussion prompt, albeit in hushed tones.

"Who were the 'Monsoons'?" kids like David Planten would ask aloud. We'd be lulled (Hull-ed?) into good behavior by wondering, but would remain blissfully unaware of extreme weather fronts. Hull would just sit at his desk, with half a smile on his face. Whoever they were, we didn't want to write about them.

When I use this bit in my classroom today, it still pretty much does what it did back then. However, it's effect—mystery-wise—is more short-lived, as I am a technology teacher. My students are at computers, so they jump on the Internet and realize what I'm talking about in seconds. That doesn't mean they get it. I sometimes still make the ones who are fooling around the most type a report about these big winds. Hey, it helps develop the students' research and word processing skills, right?

Where The Heck is Hull?

As I quickly mentioned earlier, Mr. Hull was only my teacher in fifth grade for about five months. To my knowledge, his departure was rather low-key. I recall him announcing to the class that he would be leaving. We had a party on his last day, and that was it. My parents didn't hear anything beyond my reporting and receiving a terse notice.

He was certainly atypical. I wonder if he simply grew tired of his profession after so many years and left. Then again, maybe he had an offer in another district?

I hope his departure wasn't for any wrongdoing. I do recall toward the end of his tenure him being flippant with "Hoppy," my enemy, Mr. Hendrickson.

The principal had poked his head in the classroom, and exactly when he did, Hull loudly and sarcastically said in front of the class, "what do you want?" It seemed a little out of character and Mr. Hendrickson was taken aback. It's interesting to note that "Hoppy" himself actually ended up leaving the district in a cloud of allegedly unsavory circumstances not long after this time period (1981-82).

Before Mr. Hull spilt, he gave out his mailing address (I believe it was in Parsippany), so we students could stay in touch. I think Mark Garcia corresponded with him once or twice, but to my knowledge, it didn't yield a clue to his post-Wilson School existence.

So, Dennis Hull, thanks for your unique approach to teaching from this former fifth-grader—it worked for me! Where are ya? Did you get swept up in the monsoons in India? We need more teachers like you. Feel free to solve this Caldwells Patch conundrum—shoot an e-mail over here!

In the second part of "Back to School Memories," we'll stop by the junior high school of yesteryear.