Honoring RK

Honoring RK.

My favorite teacher from high school who, in time, became a friend, died this Fall. RK was in his early 90’s.

Some thoughts as I watched RK fade away:

1) Living alone all your adult life leaves you vulnerable as your physical and mental abilities fade. RK was exceptionally fortunate as the friendships he forged with former students provided a support network that did come together in the end. His home had repairs done, he had help getting to doctor’s offices, and his finances were managed when he required institutional care—all provided by former students and friends. Good advice to all of us—nurture some friendships with people at least ten years younger…

2) When you haven’t seen someone in decades, reestablishing the friendship has its challenges. RK knew I was a doctor but the power relationship that defined us when we first met remained one where he told me how things were when I would visit. We sat outdoors under his carport as he had a morbid fear of Covid. Loudly spoken: “No, you are too close—you sit back down right now!” That was a familiar command in 2020-2023. He appeared frail but many of the characteristics I recalled from the classroom were still recognizable—he would pause and think for an uncomfortably long interval when asked a question. He had a dry sense humor. He still did not like facial hair……

3) RK was my High School American History teacher and taught Civics as well. In 2022 we had recurring talks on who should run on the Democratic Side for the 2024 presidential election—and we both agreed Biden was a bad choice. Our suggestions did not rise to the occasion and if asked, Ron would be happy to have died before November 5 this year—which was the case.

The following is a written response to my kids who asked, “Who was your favorite teacher in High School?”

Who Was My Favorite High School Teacher?

10/25/2021

Hands down, no thought required, R.K. was my favorite teacher in high school.

R.K. was multidimensional with respect to his effect on my education. I was in a group of perhaps 18 people my Junior year taking advanced placement American History.  RK had a nerdy look for 1969: slightly long curly hair, Buddy Holly glasses, and always dressed nicely ie coat and tie. He was very good at orienting us to the subject and explained things in a manner that allowed for clear understanding.  He graded on a curve. He demonstrated and taught discipline in the class for interactive conversations. He ranked students after each graded test/quiz and posted the top five in rank order on the wall next to the blackboard. I found this motivating.

My junior year covered the years 1968 and 1969. While Coronado was a staid and stable community, the revolutionary times and fervor with many students was evident.  His history class did allow for us to take time and compare notes regarding our personal experience and what was happening that year in the country.  He had a cork board full of political cartoons upon entering the class and many were quite critical of President Nixon. I doubt you would see that in a modern public High School.

I see RK socially now that I spend time in San Diego and he has memories of his teaching focus that begin to sound old. He noted that in that time, he did not know about the Oklahoma City riots of the 1920’s. He did not know about Redlining.  Our text book would no doubt be controversial now with what it did contain, as it clearly invited a critical look at many features of American History—as it should. And that was the point—to let us see the incongruities and work our a point of view in class and long afterward.

RK faced the same problem every American History teacher faces though having an advanced placement class gave him some room to move.  The traditional chronological order was taken but he was good at finding emphasis where it was needed. We did not memorize the dates of battles but focussed on the negotiations for the constitution and the issues leading to the Civil War. We read excerpts from DeToqueville.

We studied populists and populism.  We petered out at World War II.  Peppered in all of it was a link to the present and how the past set it up.

Ron taught me something about teaching.  One class, our eyes were glassing over. Ron loved to point out economic theory and models for what motivated historical figures and as he explained in detail some accounting of economics in the gilded age, he saw that he had lost us. With clarity, I saw him as he spoke, lift his metal chair and tip it off balance.  It clanged with a loud noise and 17 students jumped out of their seats with the noise.  He apologized, moved to, “where were we?” —as if nothing happened that was unusual—he got everyone out of their lethargy with a simple and swift act.

I was very impressed. That technique is not in any book or course on public speaking.

Ron had a sense of humor. If one gave a lame explanation or had obviously not read the text, he smiled, might grimace, and then moved on to someone else but you knew he noticed and yet you were not humiliated in a public way. When we were in a discussion of the labor movement, he described the events of a fire in New York City at a cotton shirt factory which had been locked up securely to avoid laborers from leaving without permission. There was a fire and loss of life. The people who died were young woman and they died of smoke inhalation or they jumped out of windows.  He went from serious to comical as he detailed all the things that could go wrong in this setting—putting a comical spin on this horrible event nonetheless cementing it in our minds.

RK is aging and his memories (he is in his later 80’s) are admittedly vague on people and events, but when I asked for the title of a book in 2020 on popular reform starting with Teddy Roosevelt that we had read in 1969, he knew the title and author, no problem.

I recently saw a special on William Randolph Hearst and was reminded that in my history class, we had to become an expert on an American. I chose WRH in part, because I could delay my class-long report out until the second semester (they were done chronologically as we studied). I asked some of my peers who they had reviewed and if they remembered the exercise.  Peggy Hopkins did William Jennings Bryant and Bruce did Huey Long.  All of us are reverential about the exercise.

RK came to me in the second half of my Junior Year and asked me to run for an ASB office.  To this point, I had not held any class office—-ever.  I saw the world only through my individual point of view with little thought to others around me.  That an adult would see something in me and ask this was unusual and flattering.  I knew I was smart enough.  Even then though, I knew I had no passion for leading.  The exercise of running for office and trying out for football found me having to work on teams for the first time. My best friend Bruce, who was also a fan  of Ron was my wingman—no way he was running but he thought this a great effort and fed me lots of ideas on a campaign and how we might reform the student body if not the world.

I went for it. I ran a campaign for ASB president.  Ron, the ASB advisor would later tell me that I was elected by my class and the senior class but I lost badly in the underclass levels.  I lost to an acquaintance, Tom Moran. Tom and I were casual friends and our brothers had been close in High School. Tom and I went to my first rock concert (Byrds) a year before. No hard feelings.  I thought I was done but the ASB bylaws allowed for me to run again for another office if I chose to.  Ron advocated strongly that I do this—-and I did. I ran for commissioner of general affairs (VP). I won that race and as it turned out, the VP did most the organizing and work for the overall function of the ASB.  The president was a figurehead, who ran the meetings and happily, was the face of the student body at meetings at Rotary Clubs and with City Fathers.

I think somehow I was helping Ron out but I don’t really understand that one bit.  I think the ASB officers would have done their thing without much influence from me or Tom Moran. This role however did find me with an hour a day working with Ron and my fellow ASB officers. It was a break from what education had been up to that point.

My freshman year of high school saw a near violent riot during Senior week when departing seniors were gone from school and the up and coming seniors (still juniors) got to take possession of the senior lawn. The seniors however were not having that.  We had water balloon fights that precluded kids going to class on time. It was marvelous to behold as a freshman. The water to the school was turned off to settle the students down.  This week was tightly controlled for two years and then, my junior year, after I had been elected for the next year as VP, the process repeated.  Bruce and I tempted fate as we drove the streets of Coronado in his yellow Corvair seeking seniors at ten miles over the speed limit. I was in the passenger seat with a bucket of water balloons which I threw at seniors when found.

It is a miracle there was no crash.

The principle at one point came into RK’s classroom to ask, “where are your ASB officers to get these students to stand down?”  He then cast a glance at me.  I was soaked.

My education with Ron had a different dimension. I am not sure how it started but at some point, Bruce and I showed up at his house and we developed a social relationship.  We would play cards, talk about current events, and yes, in my Senior year, RK would serve us beer and occasionally Mai Tai’s.

I learned that I don’t have a head for cards. Bruce and Ron did and would go on the play Bridge with many other students and graduates for decades. We would discuss the world and the high school. It was respectful and I am sure RK got a lot of intel on each class. He in fact blessed my daughter Amber’s attending a party with one of his students years later—he vetted the student—- when she visited Coronado for a week in the summer.

Senior graduation—RK was running the process. There was an awards ceremony mid-morning of the Senior week.  My group of friends drank for breakfast and showed up for the assembly where awards would be given.  While I was smart, I was not accomplished—no best student, best GPA, best athlete, most popular for me. I had made sure I would not quality for perfect attendance.  I expected no award. They (Ron) made up an award so I would not leave the assembly empty handed. I was self consciously and proudly drunk walking up to the podium.  I wore sandals and the students I passed kept trying to make me trip with their outstretched feet.  As I climbed the steps to receive my award, Ron looked at me with surprise muttering, “holy shit” as he handed me the award.

I felt badly, like I let him down. It was not the first time. My father died that March of 1970. I remember Ron was nice to me in that setting but he did not attempt to be my therapist. Given the social relationship we had built, I reflected my age and judgement one day when from the back of the class, he criticized a point that I made (Civics class), and I flipped him off.  He could see me do it but being in the back of the class, everyone else had their back to me.  He maintained his composure but as the class broke up, he asked me into his office.  Ron picked me up by my shirt and got nose to nose with me.

“You will never show disrespect like that to me ever again.”

I was a blubbering idiot.

All’s well that ends well though.  He gave me a copy of Mark Twain’s Letters From The Earth; I pulled it out of my bookcase one Friday night for a re read my first month at Santa Cruz, and in the spine, found a new unopened condom—-my first. Quite the send off.

I would see RK during the summers my first few years at college as I painted houses for summer work. My education and experience found me on a path far from his and Bruce’s. They remained close having played Bridge together for decades.

We drifted apart after I moved North—until I looked him up upon our return to winters in San Diego after I retired. He then would meet me under the car port and each year  gave me books from the NYT fiction list that I would never have picked out and I enjoyed every one of them. When I finally went inside his home, I saw the history books I had traded with him, looking mostly unopened. We old folks often lose our mojo for reading long books…….happily, I will remember him as he was and one of his last notes to me by Email was, “I am just glad you remember me the way I was.”