In 1687, Ottoman Turks used the Parthenon as an ammunition dump. When a Venetian mortar exploded gunpowder that was stored there, one of the most famous buildings in history suffered its worst damage. It would too much to claim an exact parallel with a curricular decision by Michigan State University, but the difference is one more of degree than of kind. This spring MSU graduated its last Classical Studies major. No longer will the Spartans offer a degree that focuses on the ancient world from which their namesake came. Ridding a major university of a core area of liberal arts study and storing gunpowder in one of the stunning works of human achievement share one thing. Both are the consequence of blind allegiance to the immediately and narrowly pragmatic while rejecting a broader understanding of truth, goodness, and beauty, or more simply, that which makes us human. Of course, this is nothing new. In 335 B.C. Alexander the Great razed the great city of Thebes, killing thousands of men, women, and children, just to make a point. Whether or not Nero burned Rome, he seemed to benefit from the widespread destruction of the city. Ancient Egyptians went a bit too far in their recycling efforts by using papyrus manuscripts in mummy cartonnage, even for crocodiles. The article by Fritz Klug on the ending of Classical Studies at MSU does offer an apologia for the value of Classics by highlighting immediately applicable benefits, but there is an even greater benefit than can be had by looking only through the lens of the financially profitable and pragmatic. It is the well-lived life. While training in specific skills is important, it is a different endeavor from education, which, to borrow from a Platonic allegory and Latin etymology, is a leading out from darkness into the light. If an educational institution wishes to claim such a widely encompassing title as a university, then it must reach as broadly as it can to embrace the universal rather than shrink its grasp to the quivering, chest-hugging parochial. Julius Caesar wrote that the Gallic leader Vercingetorix, in order to send a clear signal of his cruel and absolute authority, cut off the ears of messengers from other tribes. Jesus was fond of saying, "Those who have ears to hear, let them hear." No school, rightly called, should be in the business of cutting off ears.
What do two middle-aged high school teachers and a hair metal band from the '80s have to do with each other? They prove that the teacher-student relationship lasts a lifetime. In 1986 she moved from Illinois to a small city in southern Indiana to teach Latin after a local legend had retired. She had taught previously, but was not that long out of college, and while she would teach for a number of years at this Indiana high school, she would eventually return to Illinois to teach at her alma mater for the remainder of her career. If she were to have built any kind of relationship with her first students in Indiana, you would have thought it would have been with those in her Latin I class. They knew no other teacher and would be completely hers. The seniors should have been least likely to form a bond with her since the majority of their study had been under someone else.
(Marcene, me, my friend Bryan McCorkle, and my mom)
I was one of those seniors, and I can tell you none of us knew quite what to make of our new teacher who changed the arrangement of the desks and was hopelessly devoted to all things Stevie Nicks and purple. Yet in that one year as a student with Miss Marcene Holverson, I received the finishing touches on my dream to become a Latin teacher. She introduced us to new activities and gave leadership tips that I have shared with other teachers over the years and still follow to this day. She stayed in touch with several of us through college, and when I finally entered the teaching world, we became colleagues. We email frequently, I have been fortunate to speak at her Illinois high school for Latin conventions on several occasions, and she was an honored guest at my Teacher of the Year banquet this year. So where does the rock and roll come in? In the late spring of this year, I was on Facebook and a message popped up from Marcene (now Farley after marrying and returning to Illinois) saying that my favorite band, Stryper, would be performing in her town in June. A few clicks later I had tickets for my son, 13, and me to attend. We arrived early the day of the show for Marcene to load my truck with boxes of Classics books, some dating to the late 1800s. She is not retiring, but said that there comes a point when a person has to start getting rid of things. We had dinner with her parents, and then she said she would lead us to the venue.
(Marcene, me, my son)
Pause for a moment. As Joan Jett sang, "I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby!" I agree with KISS, for "I want to hear it loud, right between the eyes." I am one happy camper going from Vergil to Whitesnake, Cicero to Bon Jovi, Catullus to Deep Purple. There are times when I just want a little Led for my head. I think you get the picture. So I was pumped to pull into a small parking lot in front of Goodfellas', a local Italian eatery that featured a stage that has hosted some pretty big names in music. This was to be a small venue, where the fans crowded around the stage and despite the heat would bang there heads for four hours. Rock as it was meant to be. Standing in line (the tickets were general admission), I gasped when Stryper lead singer Michael Sweet came out to say hi to the crowd. I called out to him and we exchanged some pleasantries, including his asking my son about his Lego creations. Suddenly Marcene called out, "Michael, will you take a picture with them?" I handed her my phone, and she snapped several pictures of Michael Sweet with my son and me. I was on the moon! Think screaming teens when the Beatles came to the U.S.
(My son, me, and Michael Sweet)
As the doors opened and we started to enter the venue, Marcene took her leave and told me she would stay up so I could call if I needed to on the drive home. We would be traveling back to Indiana in the middle of the night, and she didn't want me to fall asleep at the wheel. Teachers and students. What happens between human beings who occupy these roles is more complex than could ever be grasped by the blunt instrument of an evaluation. Teachers buy students food and materials that they cannot afford. Students invite us to their weddings. I was humbled and honored beyond measure when a former student and her mother asked me to walk the bride down the aisle since the dad was not in the picture. Once, the social studies teacher on my 8th grade middle school team and I took off at lunch to pay respects at the funeral home for the passing of the mother of one of our students. Teachers listen, counsel, and try to open up the world to the students who share their lives, their hearts, and their dreams with us. It does not end when they leave our classroom. It is not finished when we retire. It goes on and on, and as one summer night in Pekin, Illinois, recently proved, it lasts a lifetime.
(Stryper covering "Jesus Is Just Alright" at the Pekin concert)
Why did you hire me if you don't trust me to do my job? If you thought I was a professional with the required skills to make me worthy of hiring, then why do you not give me the required, trust-based freedom to do my job? If I am as poor at my job as your top-down, micromanaging of my professional life indicates, what does that say about your hiring practices? I recently read an article about technology in the classroom, which is a common topic these days. Even more run-of-the-mill was the use of Finland as the starting point in the discussion. Yet what made this article truly important was not its provocative title or anything on the first page, which pretty much told us what we already know. Page two contains the gem. The article cites a post on Finnish education author Pasi Sahlberg's blog that identifies the two basic things the United States must get right if it hopes to learn anything from Finland: teacher trust and teacher training. Let's acknowledge a few things up front. I teach with an extraordinary department chair, Traci Rodgers, who works hard to help her teachers do the jobs for which they have been hired. My school and my district have been incredibly supportive of me and mine. We all know this is not universally the case. Let us also admit that it is entirely possible to make a bad hire. The person looks good on paper, has a great interview, but just does not work out. It happens. It is also possible for a person to get worse over time for any number of reasons. Even those who do not get worse can and should improve. Yet does a system built on distrust of teachers, one that proves it assumes teachers are doing a bad job with its requirement of endless reporting, observing, evaluating, and testing, really help anyone? Consider for a moment a famous scene from the classic film Cool Hand Luke. In this scene the boss of a prison gang informs the men that they may have some privacy as they answer the call of nature while
working along a road, provided that they keep shaking the bush that hides them. One of the prisoners takes advantage of this, but even as he shakes the bush, one of the prison bosses fires a rifle in his direction. At last the bush stops shaking and the guards rush over to discover that the man has tied a string to the bush so that he could shake it at a distance as he made his escape. Education is a most human enterprise, yet it can feel inhumane in the extreme when professional, caring, and creative adults live under the cloud of such distrust. As the Cool Hand Luke scene illustrates, a sufficiently motivated person can get around such measures, and in what should be a humane environment like education, these measures serve mostly to discourage and drive away the best and brightest. Sahlberg does point out that the trust and respect given to Finnish teachers derives from the high level of their preparation. Perhaps that is what administrators and legislators do not trust. They do not trust the institutions that have prepared their employees. If that is the case, then let's have that conversation. What must stop is a demeaning, punitive system of so-called accountability that seems to have but one actual effect, a hemorrhaging of educational leaders from the profession.
First of all, I know that the title of this post is grammatically incorrect. It should read, "For Those Who Are Not I." The reference, however, is to a Kenny Rogers song with the lyric, "I feel sorry for anyone who isn't me tonight," and it just seemed pretentious to give the correct grammar in the post title only to follow it so quickly with the song lyric. Those of you who are not grammar nerds will not understand why I took so much space in this opening paragraph to talk about such a matter, but I am a grammar nerd and had to clear the air.
Fine. I'm done talking about that now.
The truth remains, though, that I do feel sorry for anyone who isn't me. No, this is not a statement of overweening pride and arrogance. It is, in fact, a declaration of humility. What follows are the remarks I delivered at our district's end-of-year celebration.
"Mr. Perkins, the principal needs to see you on your
conference period." The cold and
clammy hand of terror reached out of Claire Campassi's email and choked
me. For the next four hours I had to
teach while wondering what outrageous thing I had said in class that was
finally going to get me fired. When Mr.
Branigan and Mr. Akers stopped by to tell me I would be North Central Teacher
of the Year I was both relieved and surprised.
I was relieved to still have a job, but surprised by their message given
where I teach. You see, I have taught at
almost every level of school in three states, and I have never seen such a body
of scholarly, creative, and caring teachers as I have come to know at North
Central.
Then it
happened again. "The Washington
Township Teacher of the Year is Mr. Steve Perkins." Dr. Woodson made the announcement, and the
YouTube video tells me that there was a lot of cheering and clapping, but I
remember very little of that moment. I
was stunned by her message given where I teach.
From Kindergarten through twelfth grade, the students of Washington
Township experience award-winning scholars, artists, and scientists who just
happen to be their teachers five days a week.
I was humbled and honored to be chosen to represent such a sterling
group of educators.
And then
came October 4, 2013. "Mr. Perkins
is the 2014 Indiana Teacher of the Year."
The words came from State Superintendent Glenda Ritz amid an invasion of
television cameras and reporters interrupting our warm-up activity in Latin
I. This time I was flat out
nervous. I grabbed our son and daughter,
whom Glenda was leading by the hand, not so much for their comfort as for my
own. Since that day I have had the
opportunity to meet and work with extraordinary educators from all fifty
states. I have participated in policy
discussions here and in Washington, D.C., have spoken to the Indiana House of
Representatives, and yes, I was able to share a message from our Latin students
with the President of the United States in the White House.
Yet for
all the fun and exciting opportunities I have enjoyed so far and will continue
to enjoy through next school year, one of the highlights has included speaking
to pre-service teachers in schools of education around Indiana. We all know that this is one of the most
challenging times in which to be a teacher.
Circumstances at all levels of the great American education machine, to
say nothing of negative media, make it increasingly difficult for intelligent
adults to do their job, which is, quite simply, leading students on the shared
journey of discovery that is education.
Yet these pre-service teachers in our schools of education give me great
hope for the future. In their eyes and
in their words I see and hear the passion for children and commitment to
learning that are the hallmarks of any great teacher. They are not blind to the deck that is often
stacked against them by foolish regulations, the poverty of their students, and
life itself. They are, however, prepared
to do something about it because they have been shaped by amazing Hoosier
educators.
How do I know this?
I know it because I see in them what I see every day in the hallways at
North Central and I what I see here today, men and women who have continued
their own discovery of the true, the good, and the beautiful, lifelong learners
who know that one of the greatest things for a human being is to walk alongside
others in that most humane of enterprises, education. We walk with the richest and the poorest in
our community, with those from loving homes and those from environments that no
one could reasonably call a family. Our
students are hard working and lazy, brilliant and struggling, inquisitive and
dead at an early age to the wonders of life.
Yet the dedicated professionals in this room have given their lives to
guiding all of them on that shared journey of discovery. Who are we to be entrusted with such a sacred
calling? The answer is that we are
teachers. For this reason, I could not
be more proud to work with the extraordinary educators of Washington Township
and to share your stories with those who, like you, are changing the world one
student at a time. Thank you.
What do you love most about teaching? As much as I love a scintillating conversation with engaged students about Latin grammar, Greek philosophy, Ciceronian oratory, or Vergilian poetry, the over-the-top-blow-my-mind-make-my-heart-swell-to-the-point-it-will-explode thrill for me is telling parents the amazing things I see in their children.
Last night was our annual Latin Club awards dinner. On the surface, it is a humble, albeit large, affair. One hundred forty students, parents, and siblings met in our school's cafeteria for pizza and pop. It was not exactly haute cuisine, but food was not our focus. We assembled so that once again I could I distribute seemingly endless local, state, and national awards that our students had won for their work in academics, art, and dramatic competitions, all related to the languages and cultures of ancient Greece and Rome.
Yet for all the pyrotechnic honors of National Latin Exam and the National Junior Classical League Latin Honor Society, the thrill beyond compare for me was in talking directly with parents. When I tell parents how much I have enjoyed having their son or daughter in class, what extraordinary contributions he or she has made to class discussions, or how I see leadership qualities developing in him or her, I see a sparkle in their eyes. It is the sparkle of appreciation that someone outside their family sees what they see. It is the sparkle of surprise that someone outside their family sees what they have never seen. It is the sparkle that represents what they and I both feel toward these amazing young people...love.
What are the highlights of the school year for me? There is back-to-school night. Yes, it makes for a long day, but I absolutely love meeting parents and sharing with them all the things their children have already been doing and the prospects for the year ahead. There are the letters of recommendation. Now these are truly fun! I get to put on paper the phenomenal achievements and qualities that I have seen developing in the young people who will lead the world. There is our awards dinner. What is the unifying factor in the highlights of the school year for me? It is the opportunity to share with others the amazing, extraordinary, breathtaking abilities and, even more importantly, character, of the young people with whom I am blessed to spend my working life.
In the movie Tin Cup, a down-on-his-luck driving range operator (Kevin Costner) instructs a psychiatrist (Rene Russo) to hit a golf ball. He waxes a bit poetic as he models the swing while describing it. "I think of the golf swing as a poem," says Roy "Tin Cup" McAvoy. "The opening phrase of this poem will always be the grip. The hands unite to form a single unit by the simple overlap of the little finger. Lowly and slowly the club head is led back, pulled into position not by the hands but the body, which turns away from the target, shifting weight to the right side without shifting balance. Tempo is everything, perfection unattainable, as at the top of the swing there's a hesitation, a little nod to the gods...that he is fallible, that perfection is unattainable. Weight shifts to the left pulled by the powers in the earth. It's alive, this swing, a living sculpture, and down through contact, striking the ball crisply, with character."
Anyone who has ever attempted to play golf has probably heard the litany of things that must be done to launch a tiny, white ball away from you just so you can walk to find it and hit it again. Overlap your fingers. The V formed by the thumb and forefinger should be pointed over your shoulder. Keep your left arm straight. Don't break your wrists. Keep the club parallel to the ground on the takeaway. Turn your torso and shift your weight, but do not move laterally. Keep your head still. Swing down and through the ball. And of course, the cardinal rule, keep your eye on the ball.
With these and countless other tips running through your head as you stand on the tee box preparing to expose yourself as never before in front of God and all the world, it is a wonder we don't all fall into a fetal position, tearfully sucking our thumbs. I have no doubt that some have.
How close is this to a teacher's daily life? Align your lessons to state standards. Adhere to the school grading policy. Follow best practices. Prepare for the test. Don't teach to the test. Incorporate technology. Know the learning styles of each student. Incorporate the learning styles of each student. Be familiar with educational acronyms and abbreviations. Utilize the concepts the acronyms and abbreviations stand for. Continue professional development. Stay on top of content.
As with the received wisdom on how to swing a golf club, the thoughts that crowd a teacher's mind are not all bad. Some may even be good. Yet when the mind is thus inundated as teachers stand before their classes preparing to expose themselves in front of God and all the world, it is a wonder they don't run screaming from the profession. I know for a fact that some have.
Kevin Costner does offer one other approach. He tells Rene Russo, clearly overwhelmed by the poetic physics of it all, "There's only one other acceptable theory about how to hit the ball. Grip it and rip it."
I am certainly not suggesting that teachers can enter a classroom with no thought or preparation for how to lead students and guide them toward understanding. I am saying that there is simply too much in education right now. There are too many mandates, requirements, suggestions, theories, ideas, tips, strategies, rules, procedures. There is too much riding on what does not matter and too little riding on what does. Any sane person, out of sheer necessity, has learned to ignore much of the blooming, buzzing confusion. We must step back from it all, at least every once in a while, and just grip it and rip it. We must ignore the clamor and do what we know, deep in our souls, to do. Will we make mistakes? Of course we will. Is it possible a student will not learn something he or she should because of a mistake we have made? Yes, and it is not the end of the world. If we can work with each other in genuine collegiality and not through a forced meeting or structure imposed upon us from above, we can recover from our mistakes and become even better.
Later in the movie, Kevin Costner's swing falls apart. He loses his touch. His friend, Cheech Marin, spends hours on the driving range analyzing his swing, but all the theories and rules fail to restore Costner's ability. Eventually, Marin changes tactics.
"Take all your change and put in your left hand pocket. All right, now tie your left shoe in a double knot. Turn your hat around backwards. Now take this tee and stick it behind your left ear."
Costner takes a sweet swing and sends the ball far down range. Stunned, he asks Marin how he had been able to hit such a great shot."
"Because you're not thinking about shanking. You're not thinking period. You're just lookin' like a fool and hittin' the ball pure and simple. Your brain was getting in the way."
My ideas for education reform will not draw big bucks. They are not data driven. I am simply suggesting that from time to time we get back to the human aspect of this most human enterprise called education. Sometimes we need to risk looking like fools. We need to turn off the sound and fury of the educational world and, pedagogically speaking, grip it and rip it.
Education is a shared journey of discovery, and that was most evident on a recent evening at North Central High School. As I have shared elsewhere, our Latin V students, those who started Latin in 8th grade, have spent most of their senior year exploring topics of particular interest to them. From philosophy to historical linguistics to bees...yes, bees...these intellectually curious and motivated students have demonstrated the best in what we hope for from lifelong learners.
During the final quarter of the year, they decided to work together to pursue something that few high school students even know exists, the tragedies of Seneca. Tradition has Lucius Annaeus Seneca born about 4 B.C. Despite his having once been the tutor of Nero, the emperor ordered him to commit suicide A.D. 65. He is famous for his philosophical writings in the Stoicism and his tragedies, which are decidedly not Stoic. To quote one of his modern translators, "Seneca's tragedies are intense. They show us people who push themselves too far, beyond the limits of ordinary behaviour and emotion. Passion is set against reason, and passions wins out. Seneca's characters are obsessed and destroyed by their emotions: they are dominated by rage, ambition, lust, jealousy, desire, anger, grief, madness, and fear." (Emily Wilson, Seneca: Six Tragedies, p. vii.)
Into this dark literary world that has influenced Elizabethan and Jacobean tragedy and has sparked almost unbroken interest for two millennia, a small group of Indiana high schools seniors dared to enter. They read several of Seneca's works and settled on Thyestes, the revenge story that tells the tale of Atreus, father of Agamemnon and Menelaus of Trojan War fame, feeding to his brother Thyestes his brother's own children. They explored the vexed question of whether or not Seneca's plays were ever performed in antiquity and then set about the task of imagining how to perform this one in the 21st century. I should add that I had little to do with this. Other than providing some resources and asking questions, I left the students to their own devices. The result was the fulfillment of a dream for me.
On the night of their performance, a handful of parents and students gathered in a small auditorium at our school. The set and costuming were minimal by design, and for twenty-two minutes, four students presented their version of Thyestes, which drew heavily from the translation of Paul Murgatroyd. Immediately following the performance we engaged in a time of question and answers. We explored their choices in editing the play, their decisions regarding makeup, and whether or not there was any development or progression in the characters.
So that explains the "bloody vengeance" in the title of this post, but what about the rest of the title? For nearly twenty-five years I have wanted to see high school students work with Seneca, but it just never happened. What these students did was beyond my hopes, for they inspired me to think, and that is the reason for the second part of this post's title. I simply love exploring the world and journeying with students on the quest for truth, goodness, and beauty. Does that sound a bit lofty? Perhaps it does, but then again, education is a lofty endeavor. High school students are curious without being jaded as, sadly, too many undergraduates seem to be. What my students did with this play raised questions for me that I am eager to explore with students yet to come. I like to learn. I like to explore. I like to seek the answers to questions, and very often, my students are the ones who have inspired the most provocative ones.
In the film Without Limits, which tells the story of long distance runner Steve Prefontaine, Coach Bill Bowerman of the University of Oregon tells his runners, "If you can find meaning in the kind of running you have to do to stay on this team, chances are you can find meaning in...life." I hope my students have found meaning in our Latin studies, for I know that I have. What I have found is nothing less than life itself.
At 5:23 p.m. on September 29, 2013, I sent an email to author Steven Pressfield about his book The Virtues of War. First of all, I love the story of Alexander the Great. I have read novels by Valerio Massimo Manfredi, Judith Tarr, Mary Renault, and David Gemmell. I am one of the few people who seem to like both Alexander movies (1956 and 2004) and once had it in my head to translate the Alexandreisby Walter of Chatillon. Oh, and I bought an Alexander action figure for our son when he was younger.
I am also in the habit of emailing authors when there is something I like about their books. To me this is one of the true advantages of modern communication. I can find the email address of almost any author, and I have never been disappointed in my correspondence. Authors usually like to talk about their works.
And so it was on that September evening that I emailed Steven Pressfield. I had read Pressfield's Gates of Fire about the battle at Thermopylae and loved how he wrote battle scenes. A few hours after emailing him, I received a very nice response. I emailed him again on November 17 (hey, I'm a teacher with lots to do, so it takes me a while to read things), and this led to an email discussion of other works of his, particularly The Warrior Ethos. I had not been aware of this book, but when I checked it out, I knew it had to become part of our Latin classroom
I obtained a class set of the book and devised an activity to accompany it. When we read Julius Caesar's account of his war in Gaul during Latin II, we talk about leadership principles that we can apply in other aspects of life. All of my students will lead something someday, whether it is a company, a Little League team, or a family. This book by Pressfield fit perfectly into that study. It explores the code of warriors from across the ages and around the world, citing sources from Herodotus to Patton. In keeping with the overarching unit on Caesar and our commitment to applying lessons from different contexts in our own lives, the students had to read and reflect on the book. Their task was to take three principles, one from each of the three major sections of the book, and re-write them in their own words. They then had to write how one of those principles was evident in the life of Caesar, how one is currently evident in their own lives, and how they would imagine themselves applying the third principle at some point in the future. Here are some of the highlights. The students' words are in italics.
Part 1, #3: At a deeper level, the Warrior Ethos recognizes that each of us, as well, has enemies inside himself.
It is very easy to focus on the wrongs that others commit against you. I have found this year, however, that the only person who can really mess me up is myself. In order to do anything to my best ability I must overcome my inner demons.
Part 1, #4: The Warrior Ethos evolved as a counterpoise to fear.
In [this chapter], Pressfield describes a tenet that everyone must face their fears and have courage in doing so. As I find myself nearing graduation and finally leaving the comfort that I have come to know in the crowded North Central hallways, I've become increasingly terrified. I know I must face my fears head on and have courage.
Part 2, #13: The greatest counterpoise to fear, the ancients believed, is love -- the love of the individual warrior for his brothers in arms.
About two years ago I got a job busing tables at a restaurant. I didn't do this so I could ave up for that nice car or new video game. I did it to help out with my family, so that my parents don't have to provide everything for me. I made that sacrifice because I love my family and I know that they'll always have my back so I will always have theirs.
Part 2, #14: The group comes before the individual.
I work for Keep Indianapolis Beautiful, which hires youth to take care of trees in the city. Usually the tasks are physically demanding. Every member must do what is best for the team, so that the team can be strong enough to finish the task.
Part 2, #15: The feat that inspires witnesses to honor it is almost invariably one of selflessness.
[When] I'm making a salary I'd like to donate at 10% to local charities and to help out at least once a year because I believe that care for one's self.
Part 3, #24: When an action is unjust, a warrior must not take it.
The Internet is a flood of information whose validity is easily questioned. I have adapted to my times to be flexible about controversy, but I still have strong beliefs. I hope that in the future I will follow this tenet and stick to what is moral.
Part 3, #29: The virtues we acquire in the warrior archetype we can use when we mature.... We get to keep them -- and profit from them -- our whole lives.
This relates to me because I choose not to waste what I have been taught throughout my 15 years of life. I have been through more than any child my age should go through. I use my knowledge and expand on it for the better and not for the worst.
So what did we gain from all this?
Modeling for students how to engage with authors: check
Discovering a great new resource: check
Expanding our knowledge of ancient cultures: check
Applying the wisdom of other ages and places to our own lives: check
More educational fun than this teacher could shake a stick at: check, check, check, check, check!
On April 25 I had
the opportunity to speak to students from the TOTAL program (http://coe.indstate.edu/eese/total/index.htm)
in the Bayh College of Education at
Indiana State University (http://coe.indstate.edu/). That date is significant because it is my
mom's birthday, and she joined me at her alma mater from which she graduated in
1959. She taught 4th grade in southern
Indiana before meeting my dad, then a 6th grade teacher. They married, he became an elementary
principal, and she became a full-time homemaker.
(My mom in green with Dr. Bauserman, Dr. Leinenbach, and Dean Hill-Clarke)
As we drove through a sunny Hoosier morning toward Terre
Haute, we talked about school, and I listened to her wonderful stories, stories
I already knew by heart, for they had long ago become part of my story.
One that struck me was that of her 2nd grade teacher,
Mrs. Frances Hardy, in the small Indiana town of Scottsburg. Mrs. Hardy, who captivated my mom's attention
in the mid-1940s with the first pair of red shoes she had ever seen, encouraged her when she was a senior to attend her alma mater, what was then Indiana State
Teachers College. She even drove my mom
and her mother, a widow, to campus for a visit.
As I watched the blue sky brighten with the April sun, I savored the
thought of this caring woman who did not stop caring for her student in 2nd
grade, but reached out to her in high school.
Would I be doing what I am doing were it not for Mrs. Hardy and her red
shoes?
When we arrived at ISU, we were enveloped in pure
welcoming hospitality. Dean Kandi
Hill-Clark (http://coe.indstate.edu/directory/dean.htm)
and Dr. Marylin Leinenbach, Associate Professor of Elementary, Early, and
Special Education (http://cms.indstate.edu/faculty-staff/marylin-leinenbach)
greeted us as if we were family. As I
quickly saw, this was not a show for the guests. I watched the interactions of these education
leaders with students in the TOTAL program.
Collegiality and a familial spirit wove through the room. The shared sense of purpose was clear, and
the loving care among the faculty for these future educators evident.
After my talk, my mom was honored with a birthday cake
and a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday to You" by all the
students. A tour of the Bayh College of
Education, housed in the beautifully repurposed lab school, by Dr. Denise
Collins, Associate Dean for Academic and Student Affairs concluded our time at
ISU.
For my mom, I am sure it was one of her more
memorable birthdays. For me, it was a warm
reminder that school is family.
A typical Thursday would see me bellowing "Salvete! The 'Do Now' is on the board!" every fifty minutes at the start of each Latin class. Today was a bit different. It began at the Eisenhower Executive Office Building where the State Teachers of the Year met with key education leaders for a policy discussion.
In response to my comment about the need to maintain more than two hundred years of American heritage of well-rounded, liberal arts education, Roberto Rodriguez, Special Assistant to the President, said there was room for all subjects and that they would be using the bully pulpit to promote that well-rounded education along with STEM. I was gratified to hear such support from the federal level. At the same time, Laurie Calvert of the Department of Education pointed out that 91 cents of every dollar spent on education is local and state money. We must make sure in Indiana that we remain true to the educational heritage that has brought us this far and that will ensure our legacy of a meaningful, productive life for our citizens in the future.
From there it was a trip to the White House. Just the walk toward this historic building was amazing, a feeling I know was shared by my friend Jeff Hinton, 2014 Nevada Teacher of the Year.
We were taken to the dining room in which state dinners are held, and after a few pictures with one of the most famous residents of the house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, we began to line up.
It takes no small amount of coordination and planning for an even that involves the President of the United States. We had to practice taking our places in the East Room, and even though I was awed to be in the place where Presidents have made many important addresses to our nation, I could not help having a bit of fun trying to imitate our first chief executive.
Latin gives us the word gravitas, which is the root of the English word "gravity." Gravitas is the only word that can describe the atmosphere surrounding the meeting of a President. Oh, there were some lighthearted moments, to be sure. I was standing next to Joey Lee, 2014 New Hampshire Teacher of the Year, and we exchanged lines from Caddyshack right up to the final moment. (For die hard fans, we did the scenes of Carl Spackler explaining his work as a caddy for the Dalai Lama and Judge Smails asking Ty Webb how he measured himself with other golfers. I also whispered "Noonan!" to Joey once we were on the risers.) Yet when I looked into the Blue Room and saw President Obama waiting to greet us, the gravitas settled around us. Here was the man who holds the top position in the government of the greatest nation in the world, and I was about to shake his hand. Peter Markes from Oklahoma, Jeff Baxter from Kansas, Matt Lawrence from Hawaii, and Bill Day from Washington, D.C. preceded me. I handed my name card to a young officer who handed it to an aide, and then I was announced to the President. I stepped forward to shake his hand, and he asked me what I taught. I told him I taught Latin, and as we turned toward the camera, I said that my students wanted him to know that his name, when spelled backward, is the Latin verb amabo, which means "I will love." He looked at one of his staff and said, "Did you hear that?" I thanked him for his time, and then I was led to the East Room. This time it was not a rehearsal. My name was announced to the room that was now filled with people. I took my place on the risers, back row, fifth from the left. I gazed out across rows of chairs filled with family and friends of the 2014 State Teachers of the Year, elected officials, and a wall of reporters and cameras. At last the 2014 National Teacher of the Year, Sean McComb of Maryland, was introduced, and he entered the room along with President Obama and Secretary of Education Arne Duncan.
The President offered eloquent remarks on the noble work of teachers, and Sean accepted his award with words of grace and challenge for all in education. The entire event can be seen here.
What you have just read is a chronicle of the events of this remarkable day, but no words can fully describe the feeling of it all, not even a word like gravitas. What I can say is that the joy of such a magnificent celebration of teaching will live long in my memory, but the true and lasting blessing are the friendships I have made with the other 2014 Teachers of the Year. These teachers are educators of the highest caliber, colleagues I cannot wait to work with in the weeks, months, and years ahead. Yet for all of this, the one whose face I eagerly sought in the crowd was that of the teacher I respect most in all the world, the one I have had the pleasure of knowing and working with for more than twenty five years, my wife, Melissa.
