"I am not a teacher: Only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way" (George Bernard Shaw)

When I was coaching track and field at North Shore H.S. I had a young man on my team who ran the 100 and 220 yd. dashes, and the last leg on our championship mile relay team. His father was my doctor, but that fact in no way affected the magic of my relationship with Bob Marsden, a champion in every possible way and in any arena. And recently we have been in touch through e-mails. After Bob graduated in 1968, I don't remember ever seeing him again. Among other messages, the following is one that gave me the great satisfaction as a former teacher and athletic coach. Bob has been reading my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" and apparently has reached the description of my 80th birthday celebration. However, it was not at my birthday that I received remembrances from former colleagues and students. It was at a "tribute" part;y held in Glen Cove some time later that had been arranged by Debbie (Benson) French, a student I always loved. And I copy Bob's e-mail to me:

"Reading "Memoirs" today and it is winding down...the 80th birthday celebration, February 27, 2004 which I was not able to attend due to (another)financial melt-down that was all too common in the Marsden-Randall household as we too, were winding down. I recall the event as Debbie (Benson) French (daughter-in-law of Principal John French) sent out letters of petition to those dear to Doc to please send in some accolades of remembrance. That I did. As I'm reading these tributes from a booklet at that party from colleagues and from "real" students who actually had the tracked-intelligence and privilege to be in Doc's classes. I had a fleeting moment of thought that perhaps I just might make the cut. And then, there it was. Quite an honor to be among the roll-call of those closest to Doc's heart...to find that perhaps in one small way I am part of his legions in memory, and of merit lending worth to one's life. Damn...humbled am i, Doc--"

Speaking of being humbled, I simply cannot avoid that emotion myself in light of the fact that "Flash" (as I like to call him) can still remember the bond we established in several track seasons, and that he still feels the way he does about his old mentor and coach. I have no shame in admitting that I relish these kinds of letters that I receive from former students who now are in their 50s or 60s and who remember me as they do, and feel for me as they do. After all, as a perk to the kind of salaries teachers receive, there remains the satisfaction that somehow you have set a spark in the lives of your students. That's what teaching is all about. And that's the truth.