By HAROLD KELLER / L’Observateur / Febuary 11, 1999

Many years ago, I remember reading a story in the Reader’s Digest about a soldier killed in Vietnam. The story told about the short life of MarkEklund and his relationship with Sister Mrosla who taught Mark in the third grade in the small town of Morris, Minn.

I had forgotten about the story until last week when a news release shared the same detailed story. It so happened that a lady named SandyKudenov from Livermore, Calif., received the same story on the Internetand was told to pass it on. She first wanted to know if the story was true,so she called Sister Mrosla. The nun admitted that it was.”After teaching for 35 years…I know that I’ll never have another MarkEklund,” began Sister Mrosla’s story. He was one of a kind, the type ofstudent one never forgets. He was a precious, polite kid who drewattention without trying.

Their first encounter was in 1962 while Mark was in the third grade. Marktested Sister Mrosla daily with his shenanigans. Once she sent him to thecloakroom for misbehaving and he climbed out the window of the two- story school, up the fire escape and onto the roof.

“Mark talked incessantly,” she related. “I had to remind him again andagain of the classroom rule that talking without permission was not acceptable.” After each correction, Mark would impress the good nun withhis simple response: “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”One day Sister Mrosla’s patience ran out and she made the mistake of threatening to tape Mark’s mouth shut if he didn’t keep quiet. Within 10seconds, Mark again talked out of turn. Sister had to follow through withher threat and did, indeed, tape Mark’s mouth. The tape was in the shape ofan X. She continued her reading class and glanced at Mark with his tapedmouth. At that moment, he winked at her. This melted the teacher and shestarted laughing. The whole class cheered as she walked to Mark’s deskand removed the tape.

Sister Mrosla was later moved to the junior high school where she again had Mark in the eighth grade. One Friday after a tough week, she sensed herstudents were struggling and feeling dejected. She told them to put theirbooks away, get a sheet of paper and write the name of each student in class on every other line. Next to each name they were to write a kindword, a sincere compliment. She took the papers home, compiled the listfor each student on legal-sized paper, and gave each student comments concerning them, adding her own compliment. On Mark’s paper, someonehad written, “A great friend.”Years passed. The schoolchildren grew up. Life went on. In 1971, SisterMrosla was told that Mark had been killed in Vietnam. He had written toher and shared his fears of dying and frustration over what he perceived as a fruitless war effort.

In the sanctuary, a soldier played “Taps.” Another soldier approachedsister Mrosla and asked if she had been Mark’s math teacher. “He talkedabout you all the time,” he said.

At the Eklunds’ home after the funeral, Mr. Eklund had the wallet that wasfound on Mark when he was killed. In it was a worn piece of paper that hadbeen refolded many times. Sister Mrosla knew without looking at thewriting that the paper was the one from the eighth grade on which was listed all the good things that Mark’s classmates and she had said about him. Some of Mark’s old classmates were there and each one admitted thatthey, too, still had their papers.

That’s when Sister Mrosla finally just sat down and cried. “He gave somuch to all of us,” she said.

Isn’t it amazing how some of the people we meet in life and sometimes take for granted give us such a powerful lesson in living?

Copyright © 1998, Wick Communications, Inc.

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