Reading Dane Peters’ excellent essay in this issue about that special teacher most of us remember with fondness, reminds me of Don Devine, a teacher to whom I owe more than I can say. Mr. Devine was my math teacher for three of my four high school years — an experiment, as I recall, that kept our group of students together with the same teacher for all our math courses, except geometry. Fortunately for us, the teacher was Mr. Devine. Though it was more than five decades ago, I can clearly picture Don Devine’s easy-going presence as he moved about the classroom, taking a rubber band off his wrist to wrap around just collected homework papers that we always folded lengthwise in his class. I remember a man of medium height, a little chubby and slightly bald, a real professional who created a calm atmosphere that encouraged every student to thrive.
Unlike most of my other teachers, he never raised his voice, was never sarcastic; his manner was gentle but effective. To be honest, I don’t recall much about the math at all; for me, Mr. Devine’s class was a safe environment in which to ask questions and to challenge oneself without pressure; he made math fun and interesting. I also remember his perpetual smile, a smile that said, to me at least, “There is no place I’d rather be.” I knew, then, that I wanted to be a math teacher just like Mr. Devine.
Don Devine also had an indirect effect on another significant part of my professional life: my writing. Years ago, at another school, I was selected to be one of the faculty members for the Cum Laude chapter the school was starting, and this membership has continued at my current school. When it was my turn to speak at the induction ceremony for new Cum Laude students one year, I talked about Mr. Devine and the influence he had had on my life. Soon after giving that talk, I screwed up my courage and submitted the manuscript of the talk to a magazine, Independent School, and to my amazement they accepted it for publication. I had dreamed of writing for a long time, but I didn’t know how to get going; the Cum Laude talk about my favorite teacher provided that start. Since then, I have had more than two dozen articles, essays, and book reviews published in journals, magazines, and online.
I saw Mr. Devine just once after I graduated. I had already started teaching and bumped into him at a conference so he knew I was a teacher, which makes me glad. In the few minutes we had to chat, though, I wasn’t able to tell him that he was largely responsible for my career choice and that saddens me. I think about Mr. Devine often, especially on those days when I just can’t measure up to his high standard, especially when I collect tests or quizzes that, in my classes, too, are always folded lengthwise.