Tribute to a Primary Teacher

The below is taken from some remarks that my best childhood friend and I put together to remember a beloved Primary teacher. It's written in first person because it started as just my memories and I don't distinguish where Kate added her thoughts.

Back in the days when Primary classes all had different names, I belonged to a class of 10-year-old Merry Miss A girls that were more than a handful. We were so difficult, in fact, nobody wanted to teach us.

We lived in a small town in Southern Utah where most of the people we knew were related to us in one way or another. Three of us were second cousins. Perhaps that’s why they called June Morrell to be our teacher. She was from California and probably didn’t know what she was getting herself into. She must have been in her late 50’s when she became our teacher.

Sister Morrell, June, was different. She drank Coke. Her husband wasn’t a member of the Church. She was strict with us. But most of all, she loved us. She even seemed to like us. Something about this combination clicked with us girls and we responded to her. She was so successful as our teacher, that when we moved up to Merry Miss B, they asked her to move up with us.

She taught us many things in our two years of weekly meetings with her, including the basic principles of the gospel along with the Articles of Faith, how to crochet and embroider, and formal etiquette. To this day, I never set a formal table without thinking of June, because she taught us where to put the napkin, forks, spoons, and knife.

We had awesome Daddy/Daughter Dates under her direction, and fabulous Mother/Daughter luncheons. When we graduated from Primary, the connection with Sister Morrell did not end. We were still her girls and she always kept an interest in us. However, she insisted, much to our parents disliking, that we call her June instead of Sister Morrell, and we eventually came to know her as just June.

June told us in Primary that she would be at every one of our temple weddings. Not every one of us married in the temple, but as far as I know she was there for every wedding. Kristin married a little later, when we were in our thirties, and when the announcement came to June without an invitation to the ceremony, June took matters into her own hands, and before long she was invited to the sealing. I had the privilege of driving her to Manti to attend that sealing. (In my own defense, I didn't think she would want to come that far to go. She was in her 70's by then.)

She never went back on her word, which was another lesson she taught me. June taught us many things, but the greatest lesson she taught me came after I left her class. I don’t think she had ever tied a quilt before, but when we graduated from high school, she tied each of us a quilt. She had us over to her house for an ice-cream party just like we did in the old days and presented us each with a beautiful “star quilt” which I still use today.

But most amazing of all, for the past 36 years, every birthday or Christmas, I got a card from June. There was seldom a message, just a simple signature “June.” I should have known something was wrong when I didn’t get a birthday card a couple of weeks ago, because regardless of where I have lived: Utah, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, South Carolina, Texas, Mexico or Argentina, June has always managed to get me a card for Christmas and my birthday. June passed away last week. She was almost 94 years old.

June held many church callings throughout her life, some more prominent than others. But for me, there was no calling more important than that of a loving teacher to a group of difficult little girls.