End Game

I thought I had recounted this before, but I cannot find it anywhere on either blog; apologies if the story of how I came to leave Hancock High School and the School District of Hancock Place is a repeat. Incidentally, this is not the end of the HP-HP blog, just another random story generated by a news hook.

An article in the newspaper (yes, this dino still reads one) talks about how about 2/3 of Missouri schools offer no AP or ACP classes to their students. 

There are many pride points to my career, but one of the most important is the role I played in starting Hancock High School’s AP program (and, prior to that, its Advanced Credit Program, years earlier, as well as distance learning through the Junior College District). For my second year of retirement I proposed starting AP-US History (APUSH) at the high school. This earned support from both the district and building administration, so I headed up to Illinois Wesleyan for a summer institute on teaching APUSH and began developing the course.

It was a success and, like any franchiser, I began planning expansion. I proposed bringing a new teacher on board as a trainee for the future. I was, after all, at least officially retired, albeit teaching two college level classes, Pysch 10 through UMSL, as well as APUSH, and I didn’t want the AP program to wither away or be passed on to someone not ready or able to continue it at a high level once I finally decided to put away my chalk, retire my dry-erase markers, walk away from my smartboard, although I admit I didn’t anticipate leaving the Place for at least another year or two.

Little did I realize at the time I had planted the seeds of the demise of my career at Hancock; I just thought I was being proactive in building a strong program. I’ve always been a little naïve. However, Dr. Ed Stewart, who told me I could work at Hancock for as long as he was superintendent, retired and an outsider came in. He (apparently, I learned later) wanted to dump me his first year but was convinced, grudgingly, to keep me on for the additional year (with a 25% pay cut). I took my mentee/successor up to Northwestern with me for another AP institute; we talked about vertical integration to the middle school, other courses we could add to the curriculum, etc.

My mentee, as it turned out, knew my days were numbered long before I did, but had been sworn to awkward silence and secrecy, forced to wordlessly watch as I dangled, investing time in doomed proposals to a principal (Jeff Buscher) who, while acting as though he was my advocate and friend, had, unbeknownst to me, already not just thrown me under the bus, but chained my feet to the pavement. Had I known of his betrayal, I would have pursued a different strategy in my futile attempt to stay on. However, to be fair, which is more than I can say for him, I doubt anything would have mattered. The new super’s mind was made up.

In any case, I went out in, if not a blaze of glory, at least incendiary indignation, with a speech to the Board of Education, which, not surprisingly, backed the superintendent, buying his lie of “I have people who can do what you do [and don't let door hit you in the butt on your way out]” (Hancock still doesn’t offer Intro to Psych, the closest thing to a universal graduation requirement elective out there, or even AP Psych), plus a district-wide “farewell (e)ulogy” (the closest I can get to an FU) letter. I still have a copy. That superintendent? Long gone and unlamented, as near as I can tell.

And that was that. My 37 years at the place were over, before I was ready, my institutional memory and contributions discarded like detritus from the old building. However, please do not assume that I continue to harbor any bitterness or resentment, although I confess that was a process, not an immediate reaction; rest assured that not only am I at peace, but grateful, living a life that “is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.” 

Because after a year off, spending priceless hours and days with my newly born granddaughter, I found the perfect landing spot for my career with the four incredible years I spent at Solomon Schechter Day/Saul Mirowitz Jewish Community School. I became fulfilled again, learned a ton, met many wonderful people, taught a bunch of great kids, and made lifelong friendships. And, thanks to the lessons I learned during my first (and subsequent) Yom Kippur(s), and long before Frozen, I was able to “Let It Go.” When I retired again, it was on my terms and my timetable, because it was time and I was ready. So it turns out that the lack of loyalty was actually a blessing, one for which I will be eternally grateful, as I will also always be for my 37 years at the Place.