It's not just about money when it comes to Utah's system of public education. It's about how much we're able to value it.

Last week, the Utah Foundation reported that, from 1992 to 2009, the state's "funding effort" dropped from eighth in the nation to 26th. This on top of Utah's long-standing rank at dead last in per-pupil spending and the Legislature's unrelenting need to control it.

It seems that our will to properly educate our kids has weakened, and not just because of the recession.

Of course, a lot of people blame the teachers, most of whom put more personal time and money into their work than many other professionals. That's despite the fact that they're the ones most of us trust with our children's education, physical fitness, musicality and emotional well-being for a big chunk of every school day.

Which set me to thinking about what a teacher can do for a quiet child who'd gladly trade a textbook for a novel any day. A kid with an underdeveloped sense of self-confidence and a primal need for privacy. One who yearns to do better but lacks the skills to do so.

That kid would be me.

My elementary school memories are sketchy at best, but I vividly remember the teachers who took the time to bring me along.

The first was my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Young, in Southern California. She had a stone face and sharp eyes, and she took my measure instantly. She scared me silly, but fear has its good points.

If I messed up, she'd make me do multiplication tables at home, 10 for each number up to 12, which made for 120 tables. If my mother asked what I was doing, I'd tell her arithmetic. If I messed up again, I'd do the tables through the number 24. This accounted for a lot of ruled brown paper and yellow pencils.

In November 1963, Mrs. Young wheeled a little black-and-white television into the classroom and told us that President Kennedy had been shot. She kept it on for the rest of the school day, giving us a minute-by-minute description and analysis of what was going on. She may have inadvertently planted the seeds of my journalism career then and there.

The next year, we moved to Salt Lake City. Much of the good that Mrs. Young had done was undone by a math teacher who looked me directly in the eyes and said, "If you don't understand math, you're stupid." So much for the shaky self-confidence of a lonely 14-year-old.

I was redeemed by an English teacher, my aunt in fact, who read my poetry and assured me I wasn't stupid; a drama teacher who taught me how to read plays and be a stagehand; and a history teacher who opened the world for me.

High school brought Mrs. Broom and "The Crucible," which led my friend Mike and me to call her Goody Broom. And how to recite Shakespeare: "You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!"

Happily, Mrs. Broom contacted me several years ago, and we have lunch now and again. Mike left us many years ago. We still miss him.

Mrs. Ruckman let me work on the school's literary magazine. Mr. Menendez, who taught sociology, was known for nurturing nascent leaders. And a business law teacher, whose class I improbably took for the credits, told me I could earn an A or an F, period. I got the A.

Yes, there are indifferent, and even cruel, teachers we'd rather forget, but most of us remember those who did us the most good and maybe even loved us a little.

So when people complain about teachers and dismiss their educational achievements, their sense of duty and their devotion to students, I can only hope they bring to mind that teacher who coaxed and coached them into learning how to learn.

Peg McEntee is a news columnist. Reach her at pegmcentee@sltrib.com and facebook.com/pegmcentee.