As an undergrad music ed student, you have to complete "field experience" before student teaching. Part time, observations, etc., but getting into the schools. My field experience mentor was Megan. Megan is a tell-it-like-it-is Jersey girl who did her first few years teaching in South Central L.A. in the 80s, is like 5'4" and plays upright bass. She's a badass orchestra and mariachi teacher and I loved working with her.
During that field experience, she said to me "you know who would be PERFECT for you to student teach with is my friend Rich, he's over at Nathan Hale, and he teaches both band AND choir so that would be a great place for you." Even though Rich had promised his students he wouldn't take any more student teachers, the university person in charge of my placements was HIS high school band director. So Rich interviewed me, then let the kids vote on it.
In other words, a lot of things had to go exactly right for me to be in this student teaching placement.
If you've known me for any length of time, you have definitely heard me talk about this guy. Rich was full of one-liners and stories, wicked funny zingers, and he had high musical, personal, and ethical standards. There are many things he taught me in that placement that I still use and now teach my own undergraduate students. My second year at Mason, I even had him speak to my undergrad foundations class via Zoom.
Rich is also the person who introduced me to my husband. Tyson student taught the school year before me, and the students had made a meme out of him and hung it up in the classroom. "Hey Rich, is that you?" I asked during my interview. "Aw hell no," he said. "That was my LAST student teacher." [belly laugh]. Then one Friday afternoon, Megan and Tyson both showed up to the Fiddler's Inn (a local watering hole where Rich and I were reviewing the week over a pitcher of beer) to hang out and eat nachos. Rich said "hey! You guys should start a 'student teaching with Rich' support group!"
I don't remember anything else about the conversation at the Fiddlers Inn that day except that I talked to Tyson for almost two hours straight. The rest of that is history, as we're currently in year 22 of marriage.
Rich and his wife Kris gave me a place to live in that transition summer after I graduated. My roommates moved out in June and I couldn't afford the rent alone, so R&K offered to let me rent a room in their house until I saved enough from my first teaching job to get another apartment. The day I moved in, they waited for me hidden behind the giant hedge in their front yard and when I opened the gate they jump scared me. I learned a lot about finding joy in everyday things by living at their house. A really good cup of coffee before going to work. Walking the dogs. But most of all... Kris' overstuffed armchair by the piano. It was the best. nap. chair. ever.
There was also a resident ghost in that house, but that's a story for another time.
Over the years, I would occasionally call Rich just to catch up and chat. The year I taught at Everett High School, I called him up and without even saying hello said "Rich. Who the hell let me teach HIGH SCHOOL when I was TWENTY TWO?!" He did his full belly laugh and said "it's nice to hear your voice. Sometimes you hire whoever you have!"
When we were in grad school in Chicago, he made a stop to see us while driving from Ontario to a summer theater festival Kris was performing in somewhere nearby.
After we had kids, I figured out through Facebook that our oldest child Sam was born on Rich's birthday. So it gave me a really easy way to remember to call him every year. Sometimes it was just a text happy birthday/thanks sometimes followed by a phone call.
This last November, I texted Happy Birthday! and he started texting back a lot. Like more than we normally do. Then after several messages back and forth, he informed me that he had retired from education and was currently fighting cancer. He seemed optimistic about how chemo was going, and there was another treatment after that that seemed promising. I said something about rocking a bandana (as he sometimes did anyway to keep his super curly hair under control) and he sent me a selfie...already wearing one. Typical. A couple months later we were texting about the Seahawks going to the Super Bowl. True to his character, if he knew then things were going south, he didn't let on. The next text I got was from Kris that he had passed. 61 years old. Too young.
I haven't really been able to process that he's gone. Tonight at 7 pm is his memorial service, and I will be teaching secondary instrumental methods--a class I am qualified to teach partially due to his guidance. I think he'd be ok with that.
