If You Don't Know Math, You Don't Know Jack

One of the redeeming qualities of Facebook is that it delivers news that you would have otherwise missed.  Over the past couple of weeks I was informed of the passing of one of my beloved high school math teachers, Jack Grippo.

Jack was part of a triumvirate of math talent at my high school that included John Shaw—a product of Harvard graduate study in mathematics, Helen Dostel—a former nun, as well as Jack—a good humored, former Air Force Captain and engineer for Grumman Aircraft.  Together, this modern day Mod Squad of Mathematics nurtured the young minds of a post-baby boom generation.  They were hand-picked by a progressive principal at a brand new high school to usher in a new style of teaching and learning.   The school itself had no windows to distract eager young minds and a modular space plan consisting of pods and learning labs.  Our math education was designed to be a self-paced, self-motivated exercise that encouraged us to cover as much as we could as quickly as we could.

Much to my father’s dismay, I had never been in love with math.  It did not come particularly easy to me, nor did I enjoy it.  What I did excel at was competition.  Given the opportunity to best someone at a commodity skill, I could become an impenetrable force.  Over the years I became accomplished at math to the point that I appeared to excel at it.  The policies at this new-fangled high school offered a license to speed.  Thus, I took off on a math-propelled racetrack—completing Algebra 2 and Geometry simultaneously during one particular year.  Having already been “accelerated,” this put me way ahead of plan.  By the time I was in eleventh grade, I was already studying calculus.  This may not sound like much to today’s kids, who walk around in AP-induced comas, but back in the day this was the exception rather than the rule.

As a result, I was among a small group of students who worked closely with our Math’s teaching elite.  The situation allowed them to deviate from the plan—there was none—and teach us the math of their hearts.  In these classes, the student-teacher relationship was transformed to that of mentors and enthusiasts.  Together, we explored concepts and problems that revealed the truth rather than simply taught us stuff.   Whereas I had always memorized equations and theorems, suddenly I was illuminated and enlightened.  Most remarkably, I could see, tangibly, the relevance of everything I had learned for the last decade.  It was a rare high water mark in learning that, unfortunately, too many students never reach.

This experience was transformative for me as a student and turned me into a committed lifelong learner.  It taught me the value of “drinking from the well.”   I learned to seek out those who are the originators of thought, trying to learn as close to the source as possible.  I listen carefully to the words of world leaders as they are spoken—not reported in sound bites.   I try to read the book before I see the movie.  I go to museums so I can observe not only a picture’s image but the detailed brushstrokes of the master’s hand.  In college, I chose certain courses simply because of who was teaching them—just to let the ideas of our thought leaders, spoken in their own words, embrace me.  There is nothing that ignites a spark like the excitement of someone who is sharing their own revelations on a subject they know intimately.

The other day, out of the blue, my son asked me how “success” is defined.  At first, I thought it was a curious question, but then I realized that it was a profound and sincere inquiry from a kid who is finishing college and sees the crossroads of life ahead of him.  Many of his friends have studied business—more particularly, “sports marketing,” a specialty of his school—and they are taking off for exciting-sounding jobs in big name companies.  For my son, whose chosen field is human services, the path has considerably less name recognition.  He was questioning whether he would find success by following this path.

Immediately my mind went to this trio of inspiring high school math teachers.  Each began their careers with other—perhaps loftier—goals in mind.  One by one, they migrated to an environment they loved, so they could do the thing they loved most.  In Jack’s case, he spent 25 years sharing with kids his fascination with Calculus.  He was also an avid Italian chef who loved to cook for his children and six grandchildren.  He lived a life of quality time, both in and out of work.  What could be a better measure of success?

When the news of Jack’s passing reached me, it made me stop and think of the many teachers who have touched my life, whose thoughts and words and perspectives have shaped my own.  I carry a piece of each of them, using daily the pearls of wisdom they imparted.