The kids were oddly casual about the subject matter and it bothered Danelle Johnson when they told her that Mary Letourneau had been beaten by her husband, Steve—at least that's what she told Drew and Vili during one of the late-night bulletin board sessions at Shorewood Elementary.
The kids related how Mary had told them Steve had hit her and was “mean to her and all of that.”
Danelle wondered about it later.
Why in the hell would a grown woman be telling this twelve-year old-kid about her family life? About her husband beating her and things like that? Where would that come from? And, she wondered, where would it lead?
Chapter 30
ONE AFTERNOON A Shorewood teacher looked out of her window and saw Vili Fualaau driving Mary Letourneau's van in the courtyard. It was worth a double take. It was so outrageous and potentially disastrous. The van moved slowly toward the window and the teacher worried that the boy was going to drive it right though the glass. He wasn't even a teenager as far as she knew. He was a child. Just as she bolted from the window to avoid a disaster, Mary came running out of the annex to save the day.
The teacher was relieved. Why had Mary given a kid her keys? Why hadn't she supervised him, though it “was possible Vili had taken the keys without permission?
The teacher couldn't help but notice the expression on the boy's face.
“You could see this big smile on his face. 'I'm this evil little person doing something… ' ”
Later when she thought about it, the teacher dismissed it as just “weird interaction” stuff between Mary and Vili. It was not anything unusual for Mary Letourneau.
“Mary was always weird. She did strange stuff.”
Years later a teacher who worked for many years at Shorewood shook her head at the memory of an encounter she had with a student in the hallway near the school library. A girl came up to her and asked her if she knew where Mary was. The teacher thought the girl was looking for a student.
“Mary who?” she asked.
“Well, you know, Mary.”
“No, I'm afraid I don't. Whose class is she in?”
The girl got snotty. “Mary Letourneau” she said.
The teacher was miffed by the attitude and reminded the student that at Shorewood teachers were addressed by their last name.
“If you are looking for Mrs. Letourneau, I'm sorry,” she said, “but I haven't seen her.”
“Whatever!” the girl said before stomping off in a huff.
The teacher held that little scene in her mind as a perfect example of the boundaries that Mary seemed to ignore.
“She allowed the kids to call her by her first name. She gave them her phone number, address, call anytime,” she said later.
When she told another Shorewood teacher about it, she too thought it was inappropriate—and dangerous. Fostering that kind of closeness wasn't right in a professional setting. It could only invite trouble.
“I don't give out my name and address unless it is an absolute emergency. Parents can send a note to school, leave me a message at the office.” the other teacher said.
For some the noise coming from room 39 was more than they could take. It seemed that no matter what time of day, Mary Letourneau's classes seemed to buzz with a boisterous energy that sometimes seemed to border on pandemonium. Friends seemed to understand that was just the way Mary did things, but newer teachers—teachers who didn't have an emotional investment in a relationship with the woman—found they could tolerate it less.
“Mary had a comfort level that was probably different than some people, but when Mary wanted to have their attention, she had their attention,” said a veteran teacher and friend. “So if she allowed kids to behave in a way that was comfortable for her, but uncomfortable for other people, that was her style of teaching. But she also had very good control when she needed it or wanted it.”
One newer teacher who occupied the classroom next to Mary Kay's bit her tongue until she could no longer take the invasion of noise coming through the walls.
“Sometimes I couldn't hear myself think,” she said later.
After much exasperation and soul-searching, the woman finally went over to tell Mary that the noise level was disturbing her students. She had tried to choose words that would not offend, because she didn't want to cause problems or make Mary feel bad. Nevertheless, Mary was offended.
“The next day she made sure to come over and tell me that we were being too noisy,” the teacher remembered.
Chapter 31
NO ONE COULD figure out her waning sense of style. Mary Kay Letourneau always prided herself on her appearance. Always had. Her hair and makeup had been a priority since those agonizing hours Michelle Jarvis had had to endure in Mary Kay's bedroom back in Corona del Mar. But as the school year went on, people noticed that the woman who shopped at Nordstrom with a maxed-out credit card wasn't dressing that way anymore. Instead of a classic pleated wool skirt and blouse, Mary wore tennis shoes and layers of T-shirts—sometimes as many as three or four at once. She also wore tights and sometimes two skirts—at the same time. Parents noticed, too.