One of the greatest rewards that we educators can have is hearing from former students that we were important in their lives. Educators usually leave an encounter of that kind with the sense that teaching has been worth all the effort.
During a 30-year career as a teacher and an administrator, I've had the joy of having this happen to me a number of times. On one occasion, I was walking down a street in Los Angeles, 3,000 miles from my professional base in New York, when I heard a voice call, "Mr. Drescher." The voice belonged to a UCLA student who had attended the East Harlem Performing Arts School several years before, when I was the school's director. During a memorable conversation, she told me that I had significantly assisted in getting her to her current level of success. After having lunch together, I felt 10 feet tall.
Recently, I had the chance to become the student in this scenario, and it was an incredible experience.
When I took my present position as a principal five years ago, I had the great fortune to become reacquainted with my childhood friend David, Director of Pupil Personnel Services. It was a wonderful reunion for both of us. As we brought each other up to date, we also reminisced about our days with our favorite teacher of all time: Robert Greenhill.
Mr. Greenhill was our 5th grade teacher in 1957 in Rego Park, New York. His classroom was an oasis for any student who was assigned to him. Our class had 36 students. There were no aides or paraprofessionals, no related arts teachers or support personnel. Just Mr. Greenhill. From the very first day of 5th grade, he exceeded our already sky-high expectations of him. He understood how children learn. He motivated us by engaging us in activities that we loved, and he got us out of our seats and involved in learning in ways that were meaningful to each of us.
Bob Greenhill used everything except threats and fear. He didn't need those strategies. He used New York City as a teaching tool, and we took wonderful and frequent field trips. Once we went on a Saturday trip to Philadelphia. The bus broke down on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and we had to wait hours for a replacement. Mr. Greenhill kept us occupied by staging spelling contests and geography bees, just like we had in school. Somehow with him, they were fun.
He would frequently incorporate an imaginary character, "Menasha," into his lessons, and we would hear about Menasha's great adventures in places that we were studying. It was a wonderful year that was over much too quickly. We all moved on, but I never had another teacher who could equal Mr. Greenhill.
When David and I compared the start of our teaching careers in 1969, we realized that we both had modeled ourselves after Mr. Greenhill. We wanted our students to love us as much as we had loved him. I hadn't been an education major, and I needed a role model to emulate. Mr. Greenhill seemed perfect. I tried to understand what students needed, what their interests were, and how their interests could be incorporated into daily teaching strategies. I've continued to use those practices as a principal.
David and I agreed that this wonderful man had had a lifelong effect on both of us. We asked ourselves, Wouldn't it be great if we could tell him this almost four decades later? Where was he now? Could we locate him? We started to search. Calling our old school, the Board of Education, the unions, and the teacher's retirement system all proved fruitless. I even tried various Internet search engines. No luck.
Four years went by. One day, I found myself with a few rare, free minutes near the end of the school day. I had written a letter on the computer, so I decided to go online. I clicked an icon that I had never clicked before. An unfamiliar search engine came on and immediately offered me a people search. I typed in "Robert Greenhill," and a list of about 30 names appeared. I printed the list before I went outside to dismissal.
When I came back 20 minutes later, I looked closely at the list and decided that I'd have time for just one call. For some reason, I was drawn to a resident of a distant state, and I called his telephone number. A pleasant-sounding woman answered the phone. I told her that I was looking for a former teacher and asked whether the Robert Greenhill at this address had been a New York City public school teacher in 1957. She told me that I had probably found my former teacher, and she called him to the phone.
Although I thought that Bob Greenhill might not remember me, when I mentioned my name he not only remembered me, but also started telling me about myself when I was 10 years old. His memory for my class was extraordinary.
As I talked to my former teacher, I had my secretary call David to my office. David had suffered a serious injury when he was in 5th grade, and when he got on the phone he heard, "How's your head and where's your homework?" The look on David's face when he realized with whom he was talking was worth the four-year search. Of course, now Mr. Greenhill wanted us to call him Bob, which was a little strange at first. We spoke for about 20 minutes. Bob told us how marvelous we had made him feel because after 41 years we wanted to find him and tell him how important he'd been to us.
As wonderful as that experience was, things got even better. Bob told us that he was coming to New York in two weeks. We set aside an afternoon to have lunch, to show him my school, and to introduce him to the faculty—whom he charmed with his wit and knowledge.
My reunion with my favorite teacher is one of the highlights of my education career. I was concerned that the reunion might be disappointing or that I had blown up the image of Bob Greenhill to unrealistic proportions. I hadn't. It was a moving and rewarding experience, one that I strongly recommend for anyone who has a special teacher out there somewhere.
