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Teacher honored for 50 years of treating inmates with respectWisconsin State Journal
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- By Dee J. Hall
- Wisconsin State Journal
"Some people think when you get older, you slow down," Ed Blomstrom said, glancing over at his colleague, who will say only that she's "about 70."
"It's the opposite with her," Blomstrom said of Marian Olson. "She gets more effective as time goes on."
"They have to know you've accepted them. They know that you're there to help them." |
On Monday, about 100 of Olson's friends, family and co-workers at Oakhill Correctional Institution gathered for a most amazing feat: her 50th anniversary as a teacher of inmates.
It was actually Jan. 1, 1948, when Olson began teaching incarcerated girls to cook at the Wisconsin School for Girls. In 1976, when the campus was retooled for use as a minimum-security prison for men, Olson worked for another corrections program. She then returned to the Fitchburg campus as a vocational teacher.
Her only break from work was 43 years ago -- a five-month maternity leave for the birth of her daughter, Linda. At 50 years of service, Olson is the second-longest tenured state employee currently working, according to the state Department of Administration. (That doesn't include the University of Wisconsin System, which keeps its own records.)
"Marian is a very modest and humble person," Oakhill's warden, Catherine Farrey, said. "It was only with great difficulty that we convinced her to let us have this party."
In a world of tough guys, bravado and foul language, Marian Olson stands out -- if you can see her at all. She may be 5-foot-2, Olson says, or maybe she's shrunk some. On this day, her stylish floral dress is cinched tightly around her tiny waist. Her face is permanently creased with a smile.
"You would think being around the big, burly inmates there'd be some intimidation," associate warden Jeff Wydeven said. "But they understand . . . she really wants them to better themselves. She epitomizes the word 'teacher.' "
In all her years, Olson said she's called security just twice. Both happened while she ran the prison's now-defunct tailoring program, and it was hotheads with scissors who caused the alarms.
Olson also has this working in her favor: "These men know if they cause any trouble, they'll go to medium or maximum. So we really don't have any problems."
In fact, Olson said most of her dealings with inmates are quite rewarding.
"I think you have to respect them," she said. "They have to know you've accepted them. They know that you're there to help them. But they're also here to help themselves. It's not you. It's not me. It's both of us together."
Perhaps that's why Olson's students do so well on the high school equivalency test, Blomstrom said. Twenty hours a week, prisoners study writing, literature, social studies, science and math. Every two weeks, they get a chance to take the test. Most pass within three months, and there are new students to teach each week, Blomstrom said.
Despite that, he said, "She remembers any score from any student." Added her former co-worker, Pam Waddell: "She remembers every student."
Although the word "remarkable" was often tossed about Monday to describe Olson's career, she looks at it more as a series of practical decisions.
After earning a degree in home economics at the old Stout Institute, Olson took the job at the girls' school to be with her husband, Louis, who was attending UW-Madison.
When Louis, an American Family Insurance executive, died in 1982 at age 58, Olson gave up plans to retire early and plunged into work as a way to avoid boredom and loneliness.
After a parade of corrections department dignitaries awarded Olson enough plaques to fill a wheelbarrow, warden Farrey asked her if there was anything she'd like to say.
"Not really," Olson replied. "I'm just overwhelmed with this . . . I worked because I wanted to work. It was easy."
Posted April 8, 1999
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