In Gratitude to Nicholas Hobbs

In 1977, I accepted a job at Central Kentucky Re-ED, a residential school for children with serious behavioral disorders. The school was located on the campus of a state psychiatric hospital in Lexington, Kentucky. Working there was a great experience, in part, because I was introduced to the Re-ED model - an innovative approach for working with children and families. A few years later I accepted a job at Wright School in Durham which is another residential school for children that is based on the same Re-ED model.

 

The Re-ED model was created by Nick Hobbs in the late sixties. Nick was a psychologist and very wise person at Vanderbilt University. His model for working with children was based on 12 principles. 

 

I am now old and retired but those 12 Re-ED principles are more relevant to me now than ever. 

 

Twelve Re-ED Principles

The italicized comments are mine and should not be blamed on Nick Hobbs.

 

1.     Life is to be lived now. 

I think Nick Hobbs thought children should not be required to drag the baggage of past negative behavior with them into the present. What a profound idea! 
I have found this principle extraordinarily important as a life-long reminder to (in the words of Ram Dass) …Be Here Now.

2.     Trust is Essential

Nick Hobbs thought trust is essential to the relationship between teachers and students. I have since learned that it is essential to all authentic relationships at every stage of life.

 

3.     Competence Makes a Difference

Re-ED schools focused on teaching new skills and behaviors instead of waiting for therapeutic insight that might never arrive. I think most of us now realize that competence breeds confidence and it is key to anyone’s success. 

 

4.     Time is an Ally

Hobbs realized that many problems will find a solution or they will just pass away over time. This principle has been extremely important to me over the course of my entire adult life. I particularly appreciate remembering that Time is an Ally in the midst of chaos that is 2020.

 

5.     Self-Control Can be Taught

In the 1960’s this was a radical idea in the treatment of children with behavior disorders. In 2020, we must hope that it is still true and relevant for elected leaders, stressed-out police officers, rioters, and all others acting out in the public square.

 

6.     Intelligence can be Taught

It is hard to believe that professional educators would have doubted this in the sixties. In Re-ED schools children learn “problem-solving skills” and those skills contribute to intelligence. Don’t you wish that these skills were taught to people today who spend time on the internet embracing their lack of problem-solving skills while ridiculing the intelligence of others?

 

7.     Feelings Should be Nurtured.

This principle is well-understood in schools for children with behavior disorders. It is much less understood by most adult men in our culture.

 

8.     The Group is Important

In Re-ED schools, kids live and work in small groups of six or eight. They learn from each other how the behavior of an individual can have impact on the group and vice versa. They learn how valuable and powerful it is to feel connected to a group of peers who are working toward common goals. Today there are some who would likely think this principle promotes socialism. Maybe it does. I hope so.

 

9.     Ceremony and Ritual Give Order and Predictability

Kids respond well to ceremony and ritual. In 2020, I yearn for the some of the ceremony and ritual that we used to associate with long-standing, respected institutions. I miss the prospect of holiday celebrations, spectator sports, non-violent election days, inauguration days, etc.

 

10.  The Body is the Armature of the Self

I think Nick Hobbs realized that mind and body are interconnected and function as one unit. Even now, we remain unlikely to improve one without the other.

 

11.  Communities are Important

The Re-ED model was sometimes called an ecological model. It recognized that children live and interact within a context of a community. That community could alter the behavior of a child and the child could alter the behavior of the community. They were, just like we are now, interconnected.

 

12.  A Child Should Know Joy Each Day.

This was another radical idea in the treatment of kids whose young lives had already included so much pain. But it was a beautiful aspiration of teacher-counselors to look for joyful opportunities for their students. 

 

Today I am 71 and it remains a beautiful aspiration. It is why I have written this post.

Girls CAN Throw

Recently I was watching my family play (at social distance) in the swimming pool in our neighborhood. My wife was throwing a plastic ball to her grandchildren and I said, “Nice throw, Carol. You don’t throw like a girl.” Sara, my adult step-daughter, responded with an uncharacteristically harsh admonition. She said she resented the phrase “throw like a girl.” She said she did not want language like that spoken in the presence of her two young sons. She said she wanted her sons to grow up to be sensitive, good men who respected women. 

 

I thought Sara’s reaction was a little extreme. However, it did cause me to reflect on the role of parents in the character development of young boys. 

 

I wondered (especially in the context of the #metoo era) how do young boys learn to become men who respect women? This month I have also asked myself how do young white males learn to recognize and (unlike my generation) do something useful in response to systemic racism?

 

Asking questions is easy. Answering is difficult. All that I do know is this.

 

I am the father of two young, white men of good character. They both hold themselves to higher standards than I ever held myself. They both treat their wives and other women with respect. They both operate their personal and professional lives in accordance with their own solid ethical standards. They both are gifted at communicating with people from different backgrounds, races, cultures, etc. 

 

They are not infallible, but they are both good men of strong character. I do not know how this happened. Probably just serendipity. Yet, in this era of intense awareness about the attitudes and behaviors of white men I think it is a good idea to ask, “How do young, white men of good character develop?” There are lots of them to observe and to learn from. 

I’m proud to know two.

One Very Long Sentence

Living in a pandemic reveals truths that are endemic 

to the life, times, and polemics 

of Planet Earth in this age

of exaggerated outrage

when we prefer to argue and fight

and insist that only our side sees the Light

that can reveal the solution to our global plight

without seeing that the only hope… however slight

is to work together toward a collective insight

that just might

hold us together 

long enough to tether 

a lifeline to the solution 

to the pandemic’s challenge to our evolution.

What We Might Be Saying in a Year or So

2020 was a doozy of a year! So many of us got sick with the virus. So many of us died earlier than we would have otherwise. We lost jobs, money, and, most significantly, we temporarily lost a sense of confidence about the future.

Yet, here we are in late 2021. We got through it. So what did we learn.

We learned that we are all interconnected, whether we like it or not. We now recognize that all of us on planet Earth are connected in a giant physical (and maybe metaphysical) network. For many centuries prior to 2020 most of us were able to ignore this fact. But in a post 2020 world we can no longer ignore this simple reality... we are one... big interconnected organism.

We learned that we need to create a global healthcare system that has the capacity to respond to the next novel virus and to the one after that. We learned that we need to transcend cultural barriers that inhibit collaboration. We learned that our giant physical (and maybe metaphysical) network can be helpful in solving other global problems we face like climate change.

We learned that our ignorant government leaders had to either grow up or get out of the way. We discovered that we didn't need to accept stupid political gridlock. We learned that we still have the intelligent capacity to work with each other in order to solve problems.

In some ways, the damn virus may have done us a favor.

When Your Mother Dies at a Very Old Age...

You might think there is no need for sorrow, no need for grief.
You might think her death is actually overdue and a welcome relief.

People might say to you, "The deceased has finally been released
from the painful cage of very old age.

So just move on. Don't feel sad.
Just appreciate what a good life she had."

You might even tell yourself. Don't feel lost. Don't feel lonely.
Don't dwell on the loss of your one and only...
Mothership.

All of that might be good advice for how you should feel.
But don't expect that advice to matter a great deal.

Because the Mothership is gone and can never be replaced.
So now you are left to learn how to fill in the empty space.

The Legend of the Sea Beaver

About five years ago I was walking on the beach at Bald Head Island with then six-year-old Sully Davis. Sully saw something that caught his attention and he ran ahead to check it out. It was a mangled mess of seaweed, driftwood, trash, and some unidentifiable organic matter that had washed up onto the shore. 

Sully said, “Hey, what’s that?”

Always interested in the depths of gullibility of the six-year-old mind, I said, “That, my friend, is a Sea Beaver.”

Sully said, “Sea Beaver! What’s that?” 

I said, “Sea Beavers are very rare creatures that are only found deep near the ocean floor. This one must have gotten into shallow water and lost a fight with a shark or something. You are really lucky to find a Sea Beaver, even a dead one, because Sea Beavers avoid people and are seldom seen by anybody.”

Sully picked up the dead Sea Beaver with a stick and took the carcass back to an area of the beach near our rental house. 

The following day we were walking on the beach again with several adult family members including my son, Patrick, when Sully saw another washed up pile of debris. He shouted, “Hey, another Sea Beaver!” Patrick, who had many years of experience with my gullibility tests asked Sully what he was talking about. I heard Patrick ask, “Who told you that was a Sea Beaver?” Even as he was asking I could see Patrick’s eyes turning toward me. Patrick leaned over Sully and said, “Don’t you know that you can’t believe anything he tells you?”

Sully looked a little disappointed that the rare Sea Beaver was not real. But his disappointment was short lived because his beautiful six-year-old mind took over. Sully wanted to believe in the rare Sea Beaver. So, he did. In fact, Sully and I went on to invent a substantial mythology around the Noble Sea Beaver. We decided that Sea Beavers were strong, courageous, freedom-loving creatures that did just what they wanted to do…every day. They enjoyed their lives and lived in the present. They didn’t worry about useless stuff that was out of their control. They did not care what other sea creatures thought about them. They just focused on their unique Sea Beaver skills and abilities and did things they were good at. After centuries of evolution the Sea Beavers were now the most confident mammals on the ocean floor. They were also good role models for the rest of us.

Sully decided we should give his Sea Beaver a decent burial. The following day we took the Sea Beaver carcass to a secluded spot on the beach and we buried it. We placed a driftwood marker above the gravesite and we said a few respectful comments about the Noble Sea Beaver.    

This week eleven-year-old Sully, his little brother, Finn, and I were back at Bald Head Island. Sully taught Finn about the legend of the Sea Beaver and he invited Finn to join us at a memorial service at the burial site of the original Sea Beaver. It was a touching service.                                                                           

                                                                          

Be Aware When Going to Whole Foods

This morning I stopped by Whole Foods in Chapel Hill for breakfast. I don’t stop there often anymore but this morning I was there…again. As I sat down I remembered being at that same spot on September 11, 2001 and hearing about the 9/11 attacks for the first time. 

Today it was another surprise. I was reading the news on my iPad and came across an article announcing the death of Ram Dass. I was not shocked by the news but really shocked by my response. I felt a deep sense of loss, as if I had lost a close friend. Fortunately, I was alone and could allow myself a few moments to feel the emotion. I found the Ram Dass Facebook page where thousands of people were commenting. I added mine, hoping this simple act might matter to someone. I wrote:

After hearing Ram Dass speak in 1971 my life was never the same. I sense his Being...here…Now.

Dallas Cowboys Give Back

Yesterday I had a pleasant text message exchange with Steve Rodriguez who is an extremely nice guy in Louisville.

Steve wrote, “Remember that Cowboys jacket I got from u a while back?”

I remembered because the jacket had a history. About 10 years ago a generous woman, Laura Ring, gave me a bag of clothes to share with some panhandlers in my neighborhood. Laura had an unusual but admirable respect for the panhandlers and their difficult lifestyles. Included in the bag of clothing was an almost-new Dallas Cowboys leather jacket. 

I made a decision to take the really cool leather jacket intended for the homeless guys and instead give it to the only Dallas Cowboys fan that I knew – Steve Rodriguez. I asked my wife to wrap it up so we could give it to Steve for Christmas. I enjoyed watching Steve open and appreciate the gift. I also felt a slight ambivalence because I knew the homeless guys in my neighborhood might have hated the Dallas Cowboys but they would have appreciated the warmth of that jacket.

Steve’s message yesterday continued. “I went to a function with the Portland Christian School to feed the less fortunate during Thanksgiving and I found a Cowboys fan that needed a winter coat and I gave it to him. He loved it and I was blessed.”

It took about ten years but the jacket finally found its destination. 

I texted back to Steve, “Thanks for paying it forward. If it ever comes back to me I will give it to you again.”

Peace on Earth

Human beings are capable of destroying the ecosystem of our entire planet
- the ultimate insanity.

And yet...at places like Brookgreen Gardens

Human beings are capable of creating beautiful celebrations of our environment
- for all of humanity.

Eulogy for Wilma Owen

February 2, 1923

September 30, 2019

On the drive over this morning I was talking to my wife about this eulogy and I guess she sensed a little concern on my part so she asked, “What’s the worst that can happen?” I said, “Well, I guess the worst thing is I won’t be able to finish it.” She said, “That’s not bad. It’ll be shorter.”

_____________________________________________________

A few weeks ago, Carol and I were up here visiting my mother. My mother knew then that she was about to begin hospice care and that her life was close to the end. She and I had many frank conversations over the years so I felt okay asking her two questions. I asked, “What are you most afraid of and what are you most hopeful for at this stage of your life?”

She didn’t respond right away but the next morning she said, “Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and I was thinking about those two questions. On the first one I decided…I am not afraid of anything. I used to be afraid of things but now I am not afraid of anything.” I asked, “What about the other question? What are you most hopeful for?” She said, “Well, I hope I die before all of my hair falls out.” 

We laughed for a few moments and then she went on to say that she hoped she would not die before Patrick’s wedding on September 21 because she did not want to disrupt anybody’s travel plans. She also said she hoped that soon after Patrick’s wedding she would “just float away and leave behind all of the pain that has been holding on to me for so long.” And I think that is what happened on Monday morning of this week. She finally just floated away.

The minister, Tom, knows that my mother, like most of us, has sometimes had a voice of doubt. Over the years and especially after she passed ninety, she often had doubts about her purpose in life. She would ask, “Why is God keeping me alive? There just doesn’t seem to be any purpose for it.”

It was ironic that she was unsure about her life’s purpose because it was obvious to many of us. Her purpose…her talent… her super power was her effortless ability to make meaningful connections with people. She made countless mutually-supportive, meaningful connections with people during each decade of her life. Some of the strongest connections were made right here, in this church. This church and its members were extremely important to her, especially after the death of her husband 21 years ago. Her connections in this church helped her move on from that difficult transition. So, she did move on and she continued to make new, meaningful, strong connections within each community she joined.

She continued to make connections all the way to her last stop…eight months ago when she moved to the skilled nursing care building at Westminster Terrance. Her roommate’s name was Alma, the same name as my mother’s mother, so we all suspected that they might get along. My mother made such a strong connection with Alma that this week as she was dying Alma rolled her wheelchair over to our side of the room and said, “I’ve only known her for eight months but she is like family to me.”

So, if Alma was like family I am sure she heard a lot from my mother about her grandchildren; Wesley, Amanda, Brent and Patrick. My mother took such great pride and satisfaction in the lives and achievements of her grandchildren. They were all so closely connected to her, especially Amanda who had the sweetest granddaughter/grandmother relationship imaginable. 

I am sure Alma heard about my mother’s niece, Marsha Staiger, who she had recently started calling “My Fairy God Mother” because they had that kind of connection. She likely heard about my mother’s nephews, Robert and Richard Brent, with whom she had special, life-long, deeply personal connections.

I am sure Alma observed how my mother got a little less secure when my brother was out of town and how she relaxed when he returned. This was because my brother was her personal, reliable safety net for 21 years since our father died. 

Alma might have heard my mother complain about never having had a daughter and just being stuck with two sons. I used to joke around with my brother that he could remedy the problem if he would just get a sex change operation…but I knew he wouldn’t do it because it was just too expensive.

We couldn’t be daughters for her but we did bring to her daughters-in-law that helped fill the void of not have a daughter of her own. I know my wife has valued her connection with my mother and that the two of them taught each other a lot over 32 years about how to be strong, independent-thinking women.

Now I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my ear saying, “Michael, you don’t have to mention everybody. I did not win the Academy Award. I just died.”

But I will mention that I am sure that if she could she would walk across the hall after this service and thank everyone here for the role you had in her life and if you didn’t have a role in her life she would use the opportunity to start creating one.

I also know she would want one more connection mentioned and that was the relationship she had with her niece, Sharon Price and Sharon’s friend, Judy. Their connection can only be described as a thing of beauty. And as Sharon and I were discussing earlier this week, the connection that we feel with Aunt Sis, Grandma, Meme, Wilma, Willie, Mother, Mom is not going anywhere. That sense of connection we feel today is as strong as it was last week and it will be just as strong next week. That sense of connection will always be available whenever we need it as long as we live and maybe longer.

My New Haircut

When Carol and I go on long road trips we seldom listen to music. We don’t even turn on the radio. We spend most of the time talking or listening to each other. The following dialog is a short portion of a conversation we had this week while driving home from Louisville.

Carol: You know you will need to get a haircut before Patrick’s wedding.

Michael: I know.

Carol: Please, please don’t get another crappy haircut. This time it matters. You don’t want to embarrass Patrick with your usual stupid Super Cuts haircut.

Michael: The Super Cuts haircuts don’t always suck. Once or twice I have come home with a Super Cut and you haven’t even noticed.

Carol: In thirty-two years how often has that happened?

Michael: Maybe twice…okay once.

Carol: How many have sucked? How many times has your haircut been so severe that you could see white, untanned skin all around your neck? How many of your cheap haircuts have taken your head weeks to recover?

Michael: Okay, that has happened a few times. I think the worst one was the damn haircut that made me look like Christian Lattner. That one really did suck. I wanted to call the cops on that barber.

Carol: Promise me you will get a good haircut this time.

Michael: Okay, but tell me what you consider a good haircut.

Carol: A good haircut doesn’t look like you just had one. If you get a good haircut the stylist will groom your eyebrows and ears and remove hair from all of your…hairy places.

Michael: (laughing) I can imagine asking a barber to remove all the hair from my hairy places. The freaking barber would say, “Listen buddy, I am not going near all your hairy places. If you want your hairy places trimmed you’re gonna have to ask your wife to do it. “

Carol: You know what I mean. Would you like me to ask my stylist if she will cut your hair?

Michael: No. But if I did how much would it cost?

Carol: About forty-five dollars.

Michael: No way. That’s more than I pay for a year’s worth of haircuts.

Carol: And how do think that is working for ya?

Michael: Forty-five dollars!  That’s more than we used to pay to have the dog groomed. Maybe I should get my hair cut at the vet. I’ve often thought the vet offered a better deal on healthcare than the Family Practice Clinic. Maybe they can offer a better deal on haircuts.

Carol: You know when they groomed the dog they also drained his anal gland. 

Michael:  Point taken. Let’s ask Patrick for a suggestion for a good place to get a new haircut. He once mentioned a place where they offer free beer and sports on TV. Maybe I should look into that. 

Retirement: A Stairway to Heaven

Retirement is neither bad nor good.
It is a blank slate. A time to reflect and look under my own hood.
I guess I could just sit around and wonder what it might feel like to be ninety seven

Or I could try to learn something relevant on ukulele like the Stairway to Heaven.

The Lucky Ones

The lucky ones have already died.

They’ve gone ahead and migrated over to the other side.

They are no longer suffering or relying on pain meds just to get by.

The lucky ones have already died.
They no longer have to struggle to remember answers to questions about where or why.
They no longer have to search for words to help them pretend or deny.

The lucky ones have already died.

They’ve looked straight into their loved one's tearful eyes.

They’ve taken their chances and said their goodbyes.

The lucky ones have already died.

Everything Was Possible

This week I reconnected with an old friend with whom I had lost contact for about 44 years. The connection was made possible through the magic of the Internet and a helpful assist from another old friend. The Internet can be extremely bad or extremely good. This time it was good.

My old friend, Tom, and I were close friends when we were in our early twenties. For a while we shared a big house in the West End of Louisville with two other friends, Lloyd, and Jan. I think it was in the summer of 1973 that Tom and I took off in his brand-new car and drove across the country camping out, smoking pot, and creating funny adventures. We got separated in San Francisco (another story) but we both eventually found our way back to the big house in the West End of Louisville.

Not long after we returned from our trip(s) Tom walked into my room and told me that he was gay. He looked sincere but I was skeptical. I knew Tom sometimes made quick (impulsive) decisions so I said something like, “I don’t think it works like that. You don’t just decide one day you’re gay.” * Tom told me that he suspected that he had always been gay. He had just been denying it. I was a little shocked. I thought this was a pretty big deal for Tom. However, I did not think it was going to make much difference in our relationship...and it didn’t.

A few months passed and Tom moved to the Pacific Northwest. He bought an old house outside of Granite Falls, Washington. He named his house The Institute. It was big enough to accommodate a bunch of people. By the time, I visited The Institute in 1975 there were about five other people living there with Tom and there were numerous neighbors coming and going. Tom had started a large vegetable garden and all of the other residents helped maintain it. I never heard anyone mention the term “rent.” Instead people just spontaneously dropped money (or food stamps) in a basket in the kitchen and then took it out as needed to make grocery runs or to pay for other household expenses. The Institute had become a magical place. I think I was the only straight person staying at The Institute at that time but Tom made me feel welcome for the few months that I was there.

When I no longer had enough money to drop in the basket I left The Institute. I moved to southern Indiana where I became the temporary caretaker of two goats and a summer campground for kids. I was there throughout most of the winter. Eventually, my relationship with the goats and the owner of the property went sour so I moved back to Louisville and launched a semi-normal life and career. I completely lost contact with Tom - until this week.

Another wonderful old friend sent Tom’s email address to me. We have now swapped emails and shared short summaries of our past 44 years. Tom has lived in New York City for most of his adult life. He wrote two poignant comments that were very meaningful to me. He wrote, "We shared a time in our lives when everything was possible." I immediately re-experienced the feeling associated with that time. The memory and feeling brought a tear to my eyes. 

Tom also wrote, "You helped my transition to my true self." I wrote back, "I don't know what I did but whatever it was I am proud of it."

________________________________________________________________

*I recently spoke to Tom on the phone. We talked for about an hour reminiscing. He told he that he was not gay but instead he was sexually fluid. It's a real thing. I looked it up. If you are interested you can too. After all, Everything was Possible.

Out and In-Laws

Today Carol and I are celebrating our 31st anniversary. During those years, we have learned a lot about each other. We have learned to accommodate to our vastly different approaches for solving problems and making decisions. Carol has learned to adjust to my slightly causal approach to clothing management. I have learned (with frequent exceptions) to accept her need for order and predictability. The most important thing we have learned is how to function as a team. Included in that teamwork is our willingness and ability to relate to our in-laws. That capacity has developed slowly but marriage is, as they say, a marathon, not a sprint.

My first attempt at building in-law relationships was a complete failure. I was unable and unwilling to accept any role within my first wife’s family. I thought they were uniquely screwed up and I wanted no part of them. I reluctantly participated in family gatherings but I tried to be invisible within the group. When my marriage ended, I was relieved by the fact I would never see my in-laws again. I realize now that I was too young and immature to understand the complicated dynamics that were in play during that stage of my married life.

I could have repeated the same pattern when Carol and I got married. But by then I had learned a few things. For example, I had learned that all families are uniquely screwed up. I also began to understand that all families have hidden opportunities to build surprising relationships. The unlikely relationship I had with Carol’s dad and the beautiful relationship Carol has with my mother are examples of unexpected opportunities realized.

These two in-law relationships might not be the reason our marriage has lasted for 31 years. But I feel like they sure helped. In retrospect, all it took was patience and an openness to the unexpected.

Highway 61 Revisited

My friend, John Freeman and I have been friends for sixty-one years. He recently visited Chapel Hill and stayed with Carol and me for a few days. John travels in a large, solar-equipped, self-contained van in which he can drive, sleep, eat, camp, stay warm, and entertain himself as he travels across the country. I don’t know how many cross-country trips John has taken in his van but I think he has stopped by Chapel Hill in the van three times over the years.

John and I met in Cub Scouts when we were eight years old. We lived on the same street and our houses were only a few doors away from each other.  We were close friends in those days and spent a lot of time just hanging out at his house. John’s mother was a single parent. I called her Aunt Mildred. She was a profoundly good person but being a single parent in the fifties was no easier than it is today - just more unusual. Perhaps out of necessity, Mildred was a good deal more flexible in her supervision than my parents.

When I was about fourteen I started going on long road trips with John and Aunt Mildred. We traveled to the Wisconsin Dells, to Colorado, to San Francisco and many other interesting places in between. I remember stopping once in Springfield, Missouri to visit the gravesite of John’s father. Each trip left me with warm, positive memories of people and places I would not have otherwise known.

John was (and still is) one year older than me. When we were kids that one year made a difference. I looked up to him. His quirky interests and behaviors were far different than those of other kids I knew. John was aware that he was different and I admired the confidence with which he embraced his own unique world view. Without being aware of it, John broadened my perspective about life as a kid. He continued to do that as we became teenagers and young adults.

There is something about John’s consistency after all these years that I respect. He still has quirky interests and an unusual lifestyle. He still enjoys taking long cross country road trips. I suspect it is getting harder but John continues to embrace his own unique world view.

If you are curious about John’s most recent trip you can read about it at http://whufu.com/?page=log&type=id&key=56.

Very High School

My friend, Lloyd, and I graduated from the same high school. We often talk and laugh about that period in our lives. Our high school days occurred over fifty years ago but those days continue to produce interesting echoes.

Our high school served predominately white, blue collar, working class neighborhoods in Louisville. Our school did not have all of the resources or the perceived advantages of high schools in wealthier neighborhoods in the East End. I used to think that whatever I learned in those teenage years was in spite of my high school, not because of it.

Like high school kids everywhere we learned to entertain ourselves during school hours by pranking teachers or inventing other ways to creatively misbehave. Sometimes after school we entertained ourselves by watching tough guys fight each other behind the Texaco station next door. The tough guy fights drew large crowds and provided valuable learning opportunities for those of us in the audience. For example, I learned how to avoid eye contact and become invisible in order to avoid spin off fights that were sometimes inspired by the main events.

I don’t remember much of the formal academic side of my high school experience. However, I do have one exceptional high school memory. My senior year I took a humanities class taught by Francis Schneiter. In Ms. Schneiter’s class we read, among other books, The World's Religions by Huston Smith and The Story of Philosophy by Will and Ariel Durrant. I have very positive memories of sitting in humanities class reading and discussing specific pages of these books with Ms. Schneiter. It was not a coincidence that a few years later I majored in Philosophy in college. Nor was it a coincidence that I paid attention to the remarkable life and career of Huston Smith until his death in 2016.

Ms. Schneiter died a few years ago. I hope she was aware that she was a visionary and an inspirational teacher.