(Pronounced, Fee bee Ween kee) Go on, say it out loud. It's just fun to say. Okay now be nice — she's a real person and a real nice person. She's also the answer to the question I inevitably get asked when I'm interviewed about my job: "Who is the person who most influenced you to write?"
Ironically, it was the woman whom I, at the tender age of 12, most feared. More than my mother when she was mad at my dad. More then my large, loud, crew-cut-sporting, ex-Marine Uncle Frank and way more than any nun, although it was a close race between Dr. Wienke and Sister Marilyn. After five years in a little Catholic school, I was a new 6th grader at the big public school across the ball park field. And Dr. Phoebe Wienke was the principal.
Halfway into the school year, during an ordinary day, the secretary's voice bellowed out the crackly classroom speaker, "Mrs. Rinehardt, can you send Karen Buffer to the office? Dr. Wienke would like to see her. "What had I done? I was a model student! I shook in my size four Tretorns as I entered the office and stood before Her Majesty, the flag to my back, my sweaty palms clasped in desperate prayer.
"Do you know what you want to do when you get older, Karen?"
"Uh, not really," I stammered. I didn't tell her I'd made my 16th career choice that month, including, among other rejects, Nursing, Interior Design, and Professional Ice Skating.
"Have you considered becoming a writer? Because you're very good at it."
Huh? "Well actually, I've started a story I want to send to Dell Yearling." I had never admitted that to anyone! I pictured my spiral notebook full of wistful preteen tales stashed in my favorite basement hiding spot.
"That's great! I think you should."
The teen novel morphed into a humor paperback; opening the doors to bookclubs where I'd answer "the question" over and over. One particular group was comprised of retired female educators. "You've told Dr. Wienke what an influence she's had on you, haven't you, Karen?" The next day, still feeling the stares of those women, I worked up the courage to find and contact Dr. Wienke.
At age 40, I found myself under the spell of the sweaty palms all over again. Would she even remember me? Would she care? Was she still alive? As a child, I thought all my teachers and principals were already 80 years old. Turns out, not only is my sixth grade principal still alive, she's still encouraging me to write while doing some rather entertaining penning herself.
So, Dr. Phoebe Wienke — Thank You. And I'm glad you don't scare me anymore.
