Nothing could stop Jim McCollum from charging through the Rundlett Middle School hallways Tuesday.
Not a left knee that became hamburger after several football-related injuries in Florida. And certainly not a columnist and photographer from the local newspaper, trailing behind, documenting his first day as principal, replacing Tom Sica, now at Concord High.
He wore many hats, including ambassador near the front entrance, greeting students as they stepped off the bus.
“You guys ready?” McCollum asked. “Down the hall, take a left. Good morning. How ya doing, bud?”
McCollum, 53, could have passed for a noble sea captain hunting Moby Dick, with a full head of white hair swept back, and a matching white beard, trimmed to putting-green perfection. He wore a yellow SpongeBob SquarePants tie and blue short-sleeved button down shirt, which showed biceps that have obviously lifted weights.
He covered ground like a slot back, which is the position he played in high school and college, in football-crazed Florida. His father was a captain in the Air Force, a helicopter pilot in Vietnam who was declared missing in action in 1968.
McCollum released that information with the same affability and discipline he used to say everything else. He never wasted words. He always moved forward. He never said too much. But he always said enough.
“It’s not going to be about luck today,” McCollum told me. “It’s about structure to make sure each kid feels important and has a sense of purpose.”
He said he was excited, and forced my mind to rewind, adding, “Everyone can remember their first day.”
Remember? Remember when every student, besides yourself, of course, exuded confidence, seemed so comfortable, blended in so easily?
McCollum greeted nervous students shortly after 8 a.m., as they exited their buses. The kids had attended other schools through grade six, meaning this was a whole new ball game, all new hallways to navigate, a whole new set of teachers to meet.
I met Jaxson Conway, fresh from Broken Ground School, whose anxiety and freckles could be seen on his face. He said he was nervous and I asked why.
“If my grades are bad,” Jaxson said.
I met Molly Moran, Jaxson’s friend from Broken Ground, standing next to her mother, Jeanne. Molly was nervous, too.
“Really nervous,” she told me. “Certain things are hard for me. Math is pretty hard for me. Last year, I liked social studies. I like that there are teachers who are really nice to you and aren’t rude.”
This, of course, was the Rundlett staff’s central mission on Day 1, to incorporate 300 children into their new environment. (Seventh and eighth graders, about 650 of them, would arrive later for an afternoon session).
McCollum was part traffic cop, part disciplinarian, part cheerleader, part therapist and all principal, a post he held for more than a decade in Laconia.
He presented three microphone-enhanced instructional meetings: one in the cafeteria, with a far wall that seemed miles away, where McCollum reminded students to invite others, those searching for a place to sit, to join them; and the other two in the student activity center, a combination gymnasium, with basketball hoops, and auditorium, with blue chair-back seats.
There, McCollum paced back and forth, showing slides that stated the importance of education and dignity, of respecting others and making good choices, of taking responsibility for your actions and making excellence into a habit, not an act.
“Half of your education is over,” McCollum told his audience. “You’re the Class of 2023. You young ones think that’s a long way off. But for someone like me, that’s tomorrow.”
He also told his students that GPAs and extra curricular activities and transcripts and advanced placement courses and family income are not the most vital components of getting into, and succeeding in, college.
Studies have shown, McCollum said, that the work ethic developed in middle school, the foundation built right there, at Rundlett, was the key to opening doors in the future.
“I’m going to say this again,” McCollum said. “Yes, I’m going to get that serious with 11-year-olds. It’s how hard you work here.”
McCollum then retreated to his office during a short morning break, making sharp cuts left and right through the narrow maze that made up the school’s nerve center, the administration offices. He received schedule information and quick call outs from staffers as he flew by each door.
He stayed for only a moment, though, long enough to grab a water bottle off his wooden desk before zipping back to the activity center, leaving a columnist and a photographer in his dust.
He covered the same information, this time for a larger group, stressing that the future is here, now, today. He said what he came to say, then watched the group, about 200 boys and girls, file out.
“Choose well,” McCollum told them. “Have a great day, sixth grade.”
(Ray Duckler can be reached at 369-3304, rduckler@cmonitor.com or on Twitter @rayduckler.)