Remembering Burney Johnson

Some people are born with the gift of language and one of those blessed people was a short, raven-haired girl who sat a few seats away from me in my freshman civics class at East Newton High School a half century ago.

I won't use her name, even though I am certain the statute of limitations for her transgressions expired some time during the Carter Administration.

Her gift of language was that she never stopped using it. It was a whisper here and a whisper there, here a whisper, there a whisper- you get the picture.

That might have cut it if Old McDonald had been the teacher, but this teenage perpetual motion talking machine met her match that day in that particular class.

Every time the teacher turned his back to us, she unleashed a torrent of comments that could not wait until after the bell rang.

We sat there in disbelief. None of us had ever been able to get away with talking in that class.

But this mere snip of a girl had figured out a way to beat the system. Somehow, every time that the teacher turned to see where the whispers were coming from, he found himself staring at a blank slate that had been fully animated only seconds before.

As the time for the bell approached, the teacher asked some questions about what he had been teaching us earlier in the hour.

After he gave us our assignment, he turned to the girl with the gift of language.

"Miss Jones (fictitious name)," he said,  "that'll be a thousand."

The color drained from her face.

On that day, the legend of Burney Johnson grew. It was the first time we had ever seen him use the "delayed reaction" thousand where he let the culprit think he or she had succeeded in pulling one over on him, then he struck with the feared thousand-word essay.

Those thousands are the first thing many of us who attended his classes at East Newton think of when we think of Mr. Johnson, but he was so much more than that.

As much as I learned from his civics class, I was able to see another side of him in the two years I took his Spanish classes. Though I never became fluent in the language, I can vividly remember the day we translated the Marty Robbins song "Devil Woman" and sang "La Mujer Diabla" accompanied by Mr. Johnson on the guitar.

Though I did well in his class, I was not the best student nor even among the top two or three. Yet when I took Spanish classes in college, I was far ahead of the other students, including some who had taken the language in high school, but did not have the good fortune of having Mr. Johnson as a teacher.

In these days when sometimes role models are few and far between, Burney Johnson not only provided us with a roadmap for learning the Spanish language, but also offered a daily example of overcoming obstacles to succeed.

Every day we had the example of someone who did not have the use of his legs, but who never complained, never sought any help, and always exhibited strength and the ability to overcome adversity.

In later years, decades after having him as a teacher, I was fortunate enough to reconnect with him, first through having several of his grandchildren as students in my writing classes at Diamond Middle School.

All were well-behaved and polite, though occasionally one or two of them showed a hint of mischief.

Mr. Johnson might have given them a thousand. I could have never made it stick.

While I was singing with our group Natural Disaster a few years ago, I had the good fortune to hear Mr. Johnson and his family perform their signature bluegrass tunes many times and even had the honor of being asked to bring our band, which performed '50s and '60s rock and country tunes to one of the monthly hootenannies his family used to hold in the old Hornet community building.

We wondered how we would fit in with the other acts, nearly all bluegrass and gospel, but we had a great time and the crowd was really into it. One of the first songs we performed that night was one we did at nearly every performance- Marty Robbins' "Devil Woman."

Looking back, I realize what a wonderful opportunity it was and what a tribute it would have been to this man and the impact he had on my life if instead of "Devil Woman" we would have performed "La Mujer Diabla.'

After the performance, that night, as we were preparing to leave, I had a pleasant conversation with one of Mr. Johnson's granddaughters.

It was that granddaughter, Lacey, who sent me the message earlier this evening that Mr. Johnson died this afternoon at a local hospital while listening to one of his favorite bluegrass songs.

Mr. Johnson made the most of his time on this earth, overcoming all obstacles that had been placed in his way and in the end, even the scourge of  COVID-19 was unable to defeat him.

Lifted by his faith and the music that played such an important role in his life, Mr. Johnson claimed his final victory.

As I think back over those days from 50 years ago when we lived in fear of that one phrase spoken in a voice that never reflected anger, "That'll be a thousand," the legacy of Burney Johnson is one that will live on.

It was never the thousands he gave- it was always the thousands he reached.