Good afternoon. My name is Tony Szymendera and I am the Head of Upper School at St. Christopher’s.

 

I would like to thank Anita and Sam and the entire Towell family for inviting me to speak about Richard this afternoon. It is an absolute honor. I hope you know that all of our prayers and love go out to all of you in thanks for the wonderful man you shared with us for so many years.

 

In the center of the Rose Window on the south transept of the Cathedral in Chartres, France is an image of Jesus as the Messiah. A variety of images work their way outward from that central figure. Below the Rose, however, are five tall and narrow windows. On either side of a depiction of the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus in her arms are four interesting and somewhat odd illustrations in the stained glass: each window has a man seemingly sitting on top of another man.

 

The four men standing with their feet firmly on the ground are larger than the men on their shoulders. They are the Old Testament prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel and as giants, they could see farther than us, the average man. On their shoulders are the New Testament evangelists Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John who, though smaller, saw even farther because of their position. Indeed, they actually saw the Messiah from the center of the Rose that the prophets only knew would come later.

 

The exact origin of the phrase “standing on the shoulders of giants” is somewhat lost in the murkiness of history, but one attribution comes from the work of a 12^th century scholar and philosopher Bernard of Chartres which is presumably why the image found its way into the Cathedral windows. The phrase has been used throughout history, from Isaac Newton to the British two pound coin to contemporary music albums to Google Scholar, for a variety of purposes. In general, the phrase pays tribute to those who have gone before and have paved the way for us through their knowledge and insight, their hard work, and their gifts. It also acknowledges that as a result, we have the ability to see even farther ahead, to know more or more deeply than they could—despite their tremendous size.

 

The past eight months have been somewhat difficult ones for St. Christopher’s Upper School. As many of you know, in early January we bid an unexpected and way too early goodbye to Rich Hudepohl, our math department chair, JV basketball coach, travel leader, colleague, and friend. Many tears were shed. Many more wonderful stories were shared. A life of dedication and care to young people was celebrated. In a moment of loss, our community, I believe, was strengthened as we were forced to think about Rich, what he stood for, and what he accomplished. But Rich Hudepohl stood on the shoulders of a giant. And his name was Richard Towell.

 

After a 20 plus year career at Collegiate, Richard Towell came to St. Christopher’s and proved his value every single day, every single year for another 20 plus years. On a superficial level, I am not sure that his methodology would be considered textbook. When we moved classrooms around one year, Richard, mindful of visitors and prospective families, remarked, “Are you sure you want me teaching on the first floor?”

 

I cannot tell you how many times I heard Richard from down the hall exclaim to a student who just provided some impossible answer or step to a math problem, “That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. And your parents are paying how much for this?” If you were in the room, you would have seen a straight-faced Richard going on and on about the answer, the boy, and his dire future. But you also would have seen a boy and his classmates with broad grins on their faces and full attention on the work at hand.

 

The boys at St. Christopher’s figured out Richard’s act pretty quickly. He fussed at them. He fumed at them. He poked good-natured fun at them. He played a role and they absolutely ate it up. They knew that deep down he cared about them and wanted them to learn.

 

He was a master of his subject and the boys respected that he could help them achieve their goals in the class. His standards for performance were clear, known, and demanding.  It might take some time for students to realize, but his multifaceted interests meant that more often than not, he shared a common interest with many boys. Perhaps Richard’s best teaching traits, however, were his ability to accommodate some opposition and to find ways to make the learning process work for a boy when the traditional methods were failing. In other words, he took as well as he gave which every teenage boy appreciates and respects. And in going above and beyond what happened during class, he showed that he cared more about the boy than the grade. Today we have a name based on research for that. It is called relational teaching. And as the research suggests, the boys responded to it.

 

Most will not know that Richard also taught teachers, administrators, and anyone else who was paying attention to what he might say. Knowing that Richard had handled discipline duties during his days at Collegiate, I was never shy about asking Richard if he had come across a similar situation to one I might be dealing with. In most cases, Richard would not give a direct answer, but he would carefully suggest what the most important issues were and let me figure it out.

 

I know more than one colleague who can recall Richard sitting down next to them in the dining hall or in the faculty room and just begin talking, maybe about an experience in his own life, maybe with his own family. Only later did the person realize that the story related to something happening in their own life or family and that Richard had subtly imparted a important message or piece of advice. Like a good teacher or mentor, he led you to the answer but he didn’t give it to you. He saved that joy for you.

 

The first time I traveled with Richard and a group of students I found that joy numerous times. Upon leaving de Gaulle airport outside Paris, Richard handed Metro tokens and a map to about eight trip “captains” each in charge of 5 or 6 other students and told them that he would see them at the hostel. I did not feel the joy at that moment as every administrator hair on my head stood on end. 44 teenagers, most on their first trip abroad and most never having been on a subway, were being let loose with all their baggage for the trip in a city of over 2 million people speaking a different language. What could go wrong?!

 

But the teacher had prepared his students. He knew that almost 50 people with multiple bags could not stay together on a busy subway line or even get on the same train car. He trusted that they were smart enough and savvy enough to do what needed to be done. He expected that they would rise to the occasion. And of course they did.

 

During that same trip, I watched as Richard fussed at one of the girls for the size of the bag she had brought. A tremendous scholar and athlete at St. Catherine’s, she was not a wilting flower by any means. But she was fairly short in stature and the bag was very large, especially in relation to her size. Richard knew the difficulties ahead with getting the bag through turnstiles, across boulevards, and up flights of stairs. After fussing and without telling her, I watched him pull aside one of the larger boys on the trip and tell him that he was to follow her anytime we traveled and help if and when the need arose. She was to pull her own weight, but a helping hand would be available when needed—just the way Richard taught in the classroom.

 

That example from the classroom, the meeting room, the faculty room, as well as the airport, hostel, and metro inspired more than one faculty member, but none more than Rich Hudepohl who wanted nothing more than to continue Richard’s legacy and add to it. When he built on his knowledge and experience with Richard and created a one of a kind experience in Normandy, he stood on the shoulders of a giant and became one himself.

 

To honor Richard, I would challenge each and every one of us to do one thing beyond coming here for this hour. Be a giant. There is a person on the fringe somewhere in your world who needs someone to look out for him or her, to reach out to them, to bring them in, to be their giant. Our patron saint, Christopher the original giant, did this in carrying the Christ child across the turbulent waters. He bore the Christ child and the weight and suffering of the world on his back. And his reward was Christ revealing himself to Christopher. Richard, we thank you for revealing the Christ in us, the best in us, every day through your example. You have led us to the lesson. May we be good enough and strong enough to learn from it and do that for others.