Almost two years ago I visited my hometown of Kent, Ohio. One Sunday as I walked into church, there was an old familiar face. Time had dimmed the eyes and the man that I knew in junior high school more than 40 years ago. His hair was gray and he was a little stooped over; after all, he was in his 80s now. But when he spoke, the voice was still the same.
“Mr. Rogers,” I heard him say in an old familiar way. We shook hands and spoke and reminisced about days gone by. The aging gentleman was Jack Hurd, Mr. Hurd to me. He was the assistant principal at Davey Junior High School during my childhood. In his 80s, he still wanted to know how his former student was doing. I told him where I was and what I was up to and we spoke about his retirement. We joked about a few trips I’d made to his office during my time at “his” school.
Like many administrators, Mr. Hurd was a tough man. He had to deal with those of us who maybe didn’t behave so well in class. My usual trips to see him began with projectiles of some sort, usually paper airplanes, which were frowned upon in English class. The same went for algebra and geometry. I may have used my math principles to design a plane that would sail out of the third story window on a warm spring day and catch an updraft and eventually land somewhere around the 40-yard line of the football field, but to Mr. Hurd, using those skills in English class or history class were not necessary.
When the legs of a dissected frog were found protruding from a drinking fountain, I was summoned to the office to speak again with a rather stern-faced Mr. Hurd. I believe I may have spent a few nights after school cleaning chalkboard erasers in detention for that.
Yes, Mr. Hurd was known for discipline, but he also cared for his students. When I was in high school, I was in the band with his daughters. He was at every game and knew every move the band was going to make. He followed his daughters and their friends as they worked hard on the field each day.
He cared deeply about his students. It was evident when I spoke to him at church in 2016.
I got word earlier this week that he had passed away. Cancer had robbed him of the later stages of his life. Several friends sent me texts to let me know of his death.
I sent a note to his son yesterday and told him that his father had influenced generations of schoolchildren in my hometown.
But that wasn’t all of the sad new out of Northeast Ohio that day. Another teacher, Ben Cowgill, “coach Cowgill,” had passed away. Coach always had a smile on his face. He was a football assistant coach and even when the team lost, his big smile could be seen as he consoled the team and urged them to learn from their mistakes. He brought life lessons to the wins and the losses.
I’m now in my mid-50s and I am thankful that I had so many great teachers. Many of my favorites are gone now, but nonetheless, I remember them. In an age where it seems sometimes students can’t focus on education through the tests, bullying and threats, it was nice to hearken back to simpler times.
Our crazy group of kids now includes doctors, lawyers, teachers, musicians, entrepreneurs, bankers, engineers and even a newspaper guy. The troublemakers of our youth have grown up and we’ve raised kids of our own – thanks to teachers like Mr. Hurd and Coach Cowgill.
This weekend, when I meet up with an old high school classmate in New Orleans, I’m sure we’ll reflect on school days gone by. We might even raise a toast to a few of those folks who helped show us the way to be successful in our lives.
If there is a teacher who’s made an impact on you, don’t wait to say thank you.
Rest in peace, my friends. You had an impact on generations of children in my hometown. We were truly blessed by your actions.
Mark Rogers is managing editor of The Columbian-Progress. Reach him at news@columbianprogress.com.
