In early August 2004, I stopped by Concord High School to pick up some materials to prepare for my new job as an English teacher. I walked into the main office to be greeted by a man with a shock of white hair and the thickest Boston accent I had heard in a long time. I quickly realized that this was the principal, Gene Connolly.
On our walk to the supply closet he asked me if I would be interested in facilitating an advisory, but because of his accent, I thought he asked me to facilitate an inter-varsity (Christian fellowship) club. Confused, I said, “Well I don’t want to be overwhelmed in my first year; I’ll think about it.”
Gene smiled and said, “You’ll do great; we need you.” I walked away that day with a box of books and significant confusion as to why he needed me to lead a religious club at the high school. Imagine my relief when I eventually realized my misunderstanding.
I never told Gene this story, but I have no doubt that he would roar with laughter, tease me endlessly and then tell everyone about it. Gene loved to tell stories.
There are many stories about Gene that capture all of who he was. There was the faculty meeting he started by sharing with us that he had split his pants that morning, and instead of going the half a mile home to change, he stapled them to make it through the day. Or there was the time an angry parent told him that he was so inept he couldn’t even run an ice cream stand. When he told his wife this, she quickly replied, “She’s right; you couldn’t run an ice cream stand.”
And who could forget the time when he needed a French interpreter for a parent meeting. He enlisted the help of Assistant Principal Joanne McGlynn, who is fluent in French. He was so impressed with her command of the language that he participated in the meeting by speaking English, but with a French accent.
This is not, however, an article to tell funny stories, although there are many. This is not an article to eulogize Gene; there are others who will do a much better job of that than I could. This is not an article to elevate Gene to sainthood; he would not like that. And this is not an article to make us feel sorry for Gene; he would most certainly be angry with me for that.
When I told my 8-year-old daughter that Gene had died, she replied, “But he hadn’t even gotten wrinkled up yet!”
There is much heartbreak as we mourn his passing. It feels unfair. He had a family that he adored; his office was filled with their pictures. They were everything to him. He once told me that your health comes first, your family comes second, and your job comes third. That has remained some of the best professional and personal advice I have ever received, and is now the advice I offer most frequently to others, whether they ask for it or not.
So what is the lesson in Gene’s story? How do we make sense of the man “who didn’t even get wrinkled up yet?”
For me, it is about not losing sight of the passion we have for our work. We sometimes forget why we do what we do. We enter our professions in various ways, but most often we are young and idealistic, and we can usually articulate why this profession.
Yet, as time passes, the clarity of that passion sometimes dissipates as the routine of work becomes comfortable. We don’t necessarily lose the passion, but we lose sight of it.
For educators in particular, an absence of passion for our work is a recipe for disaster. If our students, who are impressionable children regardless of their age in school, do not sense that we care for them, then they won’t learn as well. Our students need to know we care; they need to know that they matter; they need to know that we think they matter. Without that, there is nothing else. That was one of Gene’s greatest strengths: He made all people feel noticed and cared for.
As we begin a new school year, let us allow Gene’s joy and passion for his work to propel us forward. Let us allow him to teach us one last lesson about what matters. It’s the people, not the products, that matter.
Gene used to love to quote famous people in his communications with staff and families. It is a delightful coincidence that one of his favorite women to quote, Maya Angelou, is who also best captures the meaning of loss for me in her poem, “When Great Trees Fall.”
.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
.
As we return to our classrooms in the coming days, may I suggest that the best way to honor Gene’s existence, whether you knew him or not, is to allow yourself to revisit your passion and to remind yourself that the people who really matter in your work are the children who come into your classrooms: some eager, some anxious, some loved, some not loved enough, but all deserving of your best self. Let us all be and be better. Together. Happy New Year.
For little readers:
Lifetimes: The Beautiful Way to Explain Death to Children by Bryan Mellonie
The Invisible String by Patrice Karst
I Miss You by Pat Thomas
For elementary school readers (Grades 3-5):
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White
Sadako & the Thousand Paper Cranes by Eleanor Coerr
For middle grade readers (Grades 6-8):
Death Be Not Proud by John Gunther
Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech
Counting by 7s by Holly Goldberg Sloan
For older readers (Grades 9+):
When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
Being Mortal by Atul Gawande
(Heidi Crumrine, the 2018 New Hampshire Teacher of the Year, teaches English at Concord High School.)