Four Teachers

As I came of age in Baldwin Park, California, four teachers had an impact on me and my life.

First, the lay of the land. When my parents chose Baldwin Park in 1957, it was still SoCal country. From the late 40s till the mid-50s it had been the home of the Country Barn Dance Jubilee which was broadcast over various radio and TV stations. Bob Hope would make sly jokes during WWII about sailors visiting Vineland, one of the names for the area before incorporation.

Our house had no sewer or curbs. Our neighbors had horses and my dad went through a gentleman farmer phase when he raised chickens and pheasants and grew vegetables.

By the 1960s growth was underway. A new high school was under construction. It wasn’t ready, however, when I was ready for seventh grade, so I went to Jones Junior High. That’s where I met Mr. Gil Moralis.

Mr. Moralis

Not being aware of my own blossoming nerdiness (skipping 4^th grade should have been a clue), I went out for the Jones football team. I gave it my best and despite my rather limited physical abilities, I was enjoying myself and the craziness of it all. There was a word the coaches would yell – I’ve forgotten what it was – at which point we would all try to tackle one another. It was crazy fun.

One day as we were running off the field after a particularly energetic work out, Mr. Moralis slapped my butt. Now I understand that this is a not unusual way of showing support and a physical way of saying “good job”. (Just Google “athletes slapping butts”.) But at the time, I was totally embarrassed and humiliated. I never went back to football practice. I was locked into my nerdiness.

Skip forward four years. I was now at that new high school, Sierra Vista, and Mr. Moralis was the PE teacher. Being a new high school, we were challenged in many ways and the word went out that the football team needed help. My best friend, Bill, and I went to see Mr. Moralis to volunteer our help. Picture teenage versions of Sheldon and Leonard from Big Bang Theory. He told us, “It wouldn’t be fair.” We asked, “To the guys already on the team?” He replied, “No, to you. By the time you two learned the plays and got trained with the team, the season would be over.” We accepted his explanation. I think he was letting us down easily. Bill and I may not have been aware of our nerdiness, but I think Mr. Moralis was.

Mr. Knop and Mr. Alexander

I write stuff. See above and below.

Mr. Roderick Knop taught Journalism and worked with students on the yearbook and literary journal. He shared so many lessons about storytelling. Sometimes when I am writing now or critiquing another writer, over 50 years later, I still remember things he taught me.

When I went to UCLA, I was happily surprised to find out that he had accepted a position with the University. I visited his office in the Administration Building regularly to share things and ask for advice. He was my unofficial counselor and a link back to my roots.

One day when I popped over to his office, it was empty. I poked my head into the next office and asked about him. The gentleman there told me to sit down. He explained how Mr. Knop had recently found a girlfriend and was extremely happy. She died in an auto accident. Mr. Knop hung himself in his office. Sometimes, we have no idea what stories and conflicts are hidden below the surface.

Mr. Michael Alexander taught English. He had an appreciation for my talents. My senior year was a walk through except for one class. Mr. Alexander had me come to the library for an English class just for me. He provided me the materials for a college level English class. It involved learning about the Hero’s Journey, a critical element in storytelling. Again, that class taught me things I still use.

Mr. Alexander went on to teach at Chaffy College in Rancho Cucamonga. He must have helped many other students as well. A building there is named for him. The last time I saw him was at a Sierra Vista reunion in Ontario in the 2000s. We talked. I told him how I had become a computer programmer. His response, “What a waste of your talent.”

I was crushed. I still cared what he thought.

Maybe if he had lived to see the writing I’m doing now, he’d have been happier with what had happened to his student.

Mr. Gossett

After Jan Gossett’s name in the yearbook, it says “Music”. But to me he was Coach Gossett – the wrestling coach. Yep, I still hadn’t given up on that physical stuff. He is the one teacher I am still in contact with through Facebook.

He appreciated the fact that I really tried with all I could give to get in shape and do a good job. A couple of times he pointed out to some of the other guys how hard I was trying. For some reason they didn’t hate me and that made me feel good about myself.

As we were a new school, administrators tried to find other new schools for us to compete against. I’m fairly sure what I’m about to tell you happened at Alta Loma High School. I remember the long bus ride from Baldwin Park.

I was not a great wrestler (Surprise!). In my entire experience on the wrestling team I only won a single match during inter-school competitions, there at Alta Loma. After the match, the other guys on the team, carried me on their shoulders out to the bus, like Sean Astin’s character in the movie Rudy. I think, maybe they were being tongue-in-cheek, but I still remember it. It was one of the highlights of my high school life.

Teachers have an impact that extends throughout lives.

Thanks for believing in me, Coach.