My plan, as I write in the future, is to include names of folks about whom there is no question that the thoughts are positive and to use first names, only, if I think someone might be offended.
Prior to beginning our first year at Green Fields School, Wayne and I met with the Head of School and two other teachers to plan the traditional first-week outing to Mt. Lemmon. The opening venture always included the entire school (grades 3-12), two or three nights’ camping, and a variety of activities that needed to be scheduled and supervised carefully. Such trips, in any school, are extraordinarily complicated and require multiple levels of support.
In this case, we knew we were going to be joined by a few student leaders, among them a sophomore named Peter Almquist. From all reports, this fellow was exceptional, and my subconscious, preconceived image of the young knight in question was immediately contradicted when in shambled an unassuming lad with a helmet of very blond hair who sat quietly as we discussed possible plans. We were, after all, in a tiny school. Perhaps comparisons were limited? Was he really so amazing?
He was (and remains) so amazing, as I discovered over the course of the three days when Peter and I sat perched on the edge of a steep rock face and belayed a continuous line of students. One has occasion to discuss a considerable range of topics over the course of three days at the edge of a cliff, and Peter and I got to know each other. While his manner was unassuming, his accomplishments and interests were impressive. Most noteworthy, however, was his selflessness. As the teacher responsible for the culmination of a climbing venture that included all of the students in the school, my task was set. Peter could have elected to hand off his assignment to others. He did not. While we were occasionally assisted by other high school students for an hour or so at a time, all of them ultimately took off. Peter kept me company the entire time and consistently supported his school mates in their efforts. He never appeared tired or bored. His sense of humor and verbal repartee never flagged. Forty-six years later, I can still remember and appreciate his positive presence.
At the end of the third day, I ordered Peter to climb, knowing that he was both practiced and passionate about the sport. I had him on pretty loose belay, respecting his capabilities and the relatively minor challenge of that particular cliff for someone of his caliber. However, just as his face appeared in front of me, the outcropping in his right hand broke free, and he flew backwards with a total look of surprise that undoubtedly mirrored mine. “See? It’s easy for Mrs. Glass to hold Peter, even though he is much bigger than she is,” loudly observed the teacher waiting with students at the bottom. I never let on that Peter’s fall left a rope burn about 4″ long across my back. No more loose belays!
Educators in the trenches frequently sustain rope burns, literal and metaphysical, from unexpected turns of events. Usually, they say nothing. Over the years I have often wished that parents were a bit more sensitive to the considerable sacrifices good teachers make on behalf of their children every day.
Peter is now a Senior Intelligence Analyst at the Bureau of Intelligence and Research, a branch of the State Department in Washington, DC. He earned his undergraduate degree from Pomona and his PhD from MIT. He lives in Virginia with his wife and two grown sons. Not surprisingly, Wayne and I have kept in fairly close contact with Peter and Marty over the years. Peter is now more than twice the age I was when he and I first got to know each other on Mt. Lemmon in 1972. It will surprise no one who teaches that he continues to exhibit the same strength of character now that he did then.
Glass Full 