Looking for Teachers Who Remember the Original 1968–1996 Letter People Program: Lessons for Early Literacy Today
The basement of our public library smells like old cardboard and forgotten gum when you hunt for used children’s books on the annual sale weekend. I was digging through a box marked “free” looking for extra alphabet practice for my 5-year-old Leo, when my elbow knocked a tattered 1970s flip book onto the concrete. The cover was curled at the edges, stained with what looked like decades-old grape juice, and there he was: Mr. M, with his big fuzzy munching mouth, grinning back at me.
Leo, who usually tosses any alphabet-related worksheet across the room within two minutes, plopped down on the cold floor and flipped through every page, pointing at all the silly, over-the-top traits. Ms. A had an apple on her ankle. Mr. D had a dangerous dimple. Ms. Q had a quacky quilter’s jacket. I’d heard my own mom mention the Letter People from her first grade days, but I’d only ever seen the generic 2000s reboot, stripped of all the weird, messy personality. This was different. Leo wouldn’t leave the library without it.
That night, I posted in our local retired teachers Facebook group, explaining that I’d stumbled on the original flip book, my kid who struggles with letter recognition was obsessed, and I was looking for anyone who remembered using the original program to share what made it work. Three days later, Mrs. Henderson, who taught first grade at the elementary school down the road from 1971 to 1995, messaged me. She had her whole original teaching kit in her garage, and invited me over for coffee.
Her kitchen had yellow gingham curtains and a plate of sugar cookies with lemon frosting on the table. She dragged out a dented cardboard box labeled “Letter People 1972” from the back hall, and it was full of felt puppets, crinkled song sheets, dog-eared teacher guides, and a stack of half-used student workbooks. Mr. D’s paper mache dimple was chipped at the edge; she laughed and said a kid bit it during show and tell in 1984. She ran her thumb over the cover of the teacher guide and told me how she used it, back before reading instruction got all scripted and tied to testing deadlines.
The original program didn’t start with drilling letter shapes or memorizing sounds in order, she said. It started with giving every letter a whole personality, and tied the sound directly to that personality. When you learned the letter b, you didn’t just repeat /b/ /b/ /b/ a hundred times. You talked about Mr. B’s big bushy beard that sticks out on the left side of his body, and when he talks his beard buzzes: b-b-b. The whole point was to give kids a memory hook that wasn’t just a flat shape on a page. For kids who mixed up b and d, the beard-on-left, dimple-on-right trick worked way better than any of the generic hand tricks she tried later when schools switched to newer programs.
I told her Leo has been showing early signs of dyslexia, and we’ve been doing all the recommended structured literacy practice, but he gets so frustrated he shuts down after five minutes. He can never remember which side the bump goes on for b and d, no matter how many times we practice. Mrs. Henderson wrapped the two puppets in a plastic bag and handed them to me. “Try it his way,” she said. “Stop pushing for 10 minutes of drill every night. Just tell him the story every time you see the letter. Let him draw a silly picture of Mr. B’s beard if he wants. The memory doesn’t stick when it’s work. It sticks when it’s fun.”
I went home and tried it that night. Instead of getting out the flashcards, I pulled out the flip book and showed Leo Mr. B and Mr. D. I told him about the beard on the left, the dimple on the right. He thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and spent 20 minutes drawing his own Mr. B with a beard so big it went off the edge of the paper. A week later, when we were reading a bedtime book, he stopped at the word “ball” and pointed to the first letter. “That’s Mr. B! His beard’s on the left!” he said. He hasn’t mixed it up once in three weeks.
That’s the thing no one really talks about when you’re getting advice for early literacy, especially for kids who struggle. All the guides tell you to be consistent, to practice every day, to stick to the script. But what the original Letter People got right, that a lot of modern programs push aside, is that silly, small, personal memory hooks work better than drill for a lot of kids. You don’t need a vintage 1970s kit to do this, either. Any parent or teacher can make up their own traits for tricky letters in 30 seconds. Give Ms. S super slippery hair that hisses when you slide your hand down it: ssss. Give Mr. P a big pink pig nose that sticks out to the left. Cut five minutes off your drill time and add one silly story. It’s low effort, and it makes a huge difference for kids who get overwhelmed by flat, repetitive practice.
I’m still getting messages from other teachers who remember the original Letter People program. Some send me old song lyrics, some tell me about how they let kids act out the Letter People every Friday to get wiggles out while they learned. It’s not that everything old is better than everything new. We have a far better understanding of dyslexia and how kids learn to read now than we did in 1968. But every once in a while, an old program got one big thing right that we’ve lost in the rush to get kids reading by the end of kindergarten. Right now, five minutes of silly Letter People stories every night works better for Leo than 10 minutes of flashcards ever did. I’m still looking for more people who remember how the original program worked, and I’m happy to pass whatever I learn along.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Looking for Teachers Who Remember the Original 1968–1996 Letter People Program: Lessons for Early Literacy Today