Friday, February 2, 2018

Remembering Dale

Dale Bartkus died last month.

Kathie and I were in Mexico for the first few weeks of January and didn't hear about Dale until a week after we got back in town.  We knew he was struggling and we should have expected this news, but it is still a shock.

I've probably never told him, but Dale was one of the giants in my life.  He took me under his wing almost immediately after I entered the halls of Green Mountain High School for the first time.  He--I can hear his magnificent voice now--cajoled me into becoming a faculty representative to JCEA.  He taught me how to do that job and he taught me about the politics surrounding teacher unions and negotiations with the administration.  He was instrumental in alerting the editor of "The Insight" to my rather breezy style in memos to the staff and I ended up being a long time columnist.  So, what little fame I managed to accumulate in Jeffco is largely due, again, to Dale's influence and that magnificent voice.

He helped my teaching more than I ever admitted to him.  He was the one clever enough to get the department to buy COMIC VISION, the book I used to teach Humor in Literature.  He insisted I read the Bergson essay in that book and that essay became the foundation of so much of my teaching for the next thirty-five years.  He introduced me to Mary Ellen Chase's BIBLE AND THE COMMON READER, an indispensable book for anyone attempting to teach Bible as Literature.  We sat during planning periods and talked about those two works and so many others.

Dale's knowledge was encyclopedic and sometimes really irritating, the way Dietrich's knowledge pissed off Barney Miller, but it was always accurate, insightful, and offered with love.  We didn't need to Google stuff when Dale was in the department; we just asked Dale.

He taught me about drinking Dos Equis and eating clams and listening to jazz and appreciating art and even about the difference between the active and passive voice.  He modeled what a man should do to maintain the nuts and bolts of his life.

Mostly, he taught me how to be reasonable and fair minded, although I still have a hard time with that lesson.  I remember when I first started talking to him.  One day we were talking about the advantages of a life long career as a teacher and I snapped back that I wasn't going to be JUST a teacher for the rest of my life.  My stint at Green Mountain was only until something better, more lucrative, more fame producing came along.  I was such an asshole back then.  Dale, instead of being hurt, or snapping back, simply said--again in that deep voice--"That's a threatening statement Jim."

Once we were in the lounge and a colleague who shall remain nameless came in braying about something JCEA had done that was outrageous and she launched an ad hominem attack on both of us. As Dawn Troup used to say, I started "getting the jaws."  I was ready to lay into this creepy bitch, but not Dale.  He calmly and rationally explained JCEA's position, told her he understood her concerns, and gave her the numbers to call.  He never raised his voice.  He kept a smile plastered across his face.  He acted like an adult in a situation where most adults would have punched her out.  I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but it is a moment I will always remember.

Kathie and I were among the first inductees to Green Mountain's Hall of Fame.  I appreciate the honor, but Dale should have been there first.  I was at Green Mountain for all but the first two years of my career and I can tell you that no one loved that school and that neighborhood more than Dale Bartkus.  He was devoted to the place and he modeled that devotion to all of us.

More than that, he loved the kids that filled his classroom.  He worried about them.  He wanted to know everything he could about them.  He gloried in their triumphs and cried over their tragedies.  I wasn't there, but Kathie remembers a funeral for a beloved student who died in a tragic car accident on highway 93 (I think) between Boulder and Golden.  Dale and Kathie were in attendance and after the the ritual was over, he asked Kathie if he could hold her so he could weep in someone's arms.  Now, with Dale gone, I know just how he felt.

And he was so madly in love with Carol, so awed by her talent and her brains.  He loved his boys, Tony and Nick, their wives, their children.  I can't imagine the depth of their loss.

Dale Bartkus was first and foremost a teacher.  He taught me the greatest lesson of all.  Being "just" a teacher might be the most fulfilling life of all.

Thank you Dale for everything.

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