I remember the day I disappointed an elder I respected like it was yesterday.
It was a cold, drab, ugly grey day, not unlike many here in the Northeast corridor, and a middle gym class was headed outside to engage in an activity many of them were eager to partake in, running.
Yes running. This was a special kind of running no adolescent teenager wants to do. The temperature couldn't have been more than 50 degrees, and we were all in shorts. I half expected Nelson Muntz to emerge from the back door of the gym just to point and laugh at us over how ridiculous we looked.
After we gathered on the near side of the soccer field, the purveyor of this punishment gave the instructions. He was a diminutive figure who was balding and had a voice equal parts gunpowder and helium. In other words, he was your typical middle school gym teacher minus the height.
He instructed us to run around the perimeter of the school, come back out the other side, and then walk in the back door into the gym. At no time were we allowed to use the soccer field as a cut through.
Of course me being the average middle school student, my head was in the clouds. I was probably thinking about how I could charm the cute girl in my homeroom into liking me, or how exciting it would be to watch the Sox that night because Pedro was pitching.
Suffice it to say, I wasn't listening to the instructions, and because I wasn't listening, I took off in the wrong direction and eventually cut through the soccer field.
He saw me. Of course he saw me. He saw everything.
"Pierini!" he barked, (he never could get my last name right) "Get over here!"
I knew I should have listened, but how could I convince him I didn't mean to cut across the soccer field? Maybe if I was just honest with him he'd forgive me and forget about it.
I sheepishly jogged over to where he was standing "Yes sir!" I said in my eager beaver brown nosing tone.
"Did you cut across that field?"
"If I did I didn't mean to." "I must have had my head down." "I'm sorry."
Sorry wasn't good enough. I defied an order and he was going to make me pay.
He instructed me to sprint all the way across the field as fast as I could. When I took off, he yelled at me to go faster. When I finished, I was as winded as a chain smoker. It was a valuable lesson in respect and humility.
That was Mr Reynolds Lilibridge in a nutshell. Tough, demanding, tenured, but fair.
Every town has the type of teacher who's career spans generations, your parents had them, and you had them. They were so legendary and old school, that you knew they didn't take crap from anyone, and if they hurt your feelings, too bad.
Mr. Lilibridge was that too.
But beneath that hard exterior, lied a soft interior. It was hard to penetrate but it existed.
Sure, he hated black socks, passivity, and showoffs on the basketball court, but also hated intolerance and would stand up for anyone who he perceived was being bullied.
A friend of mine who was also my neighbor had recently come to this country from Italy. Her name was Costanza, she didn't much English, and a group of boys in our gym class were bullying her over her name and her shyness.
Mr Lilibridge overheard them and made them run. He then went over to an obviously shaken Costanza and told her to never be ashamed of her identity and her name. After all. his first name was Reynolds, and they wouldn't dare bully him over his name.
It was one of the sweetest things I ever saw.
Another time we were playing a game that was a variation on soccer. One team would be on one side of the gym and elect an individual shooter to kick the ball past a wall of members from the other team. I am not very athletic and was usually the last member of a hastily formed gym class team to be picked. When it was my turn to shoot, I kicked the ball as hard as I could and hoped for the best. It went past the wall of goalkeepers. As I turned around to join my cheering teammates on the other side of the gym, I passed Mr. Lilibridge on the way by. He stuck his hand to high five me. "That a boy!" he said. "I knew you could do it."
To get a "that a boy/girl/way" from Mr. Lilibridge was the ultimate validation. It meant you had his respect and you tried your best in class, which was all he ever wanted from you.
He was also a wise sage. Once I got to know him, I learned he was a big baseball fan. In 1997, the then Cleveland Indians were playing the then Florida Marlins in the World Series.
I thought there was no way a young upstart Marlins team would ever beat a stacked veteran Indians team and shed their expansion label to win baseball's ultimate prize
"I think they will Pierini" a confident Mr. Lillibridge told me, "In fact I'll bet you an ice cream over it."
"You're on!" We shook hands. I never should have made the bet, but a bet is a bet. I had to pay up.
The day after the Marlins clinched, I passed by the gym entrance where I knew he'd be standing.
"Here" I said reaching into my pocket to hand over the dollar that represented his sweet victory. "Go buy yourself an ice cream, you deserve this."
He quickly swatted my hand away and told me he didn't want my money and asked me to come with him so we could talk privately.
He went on to explain to me that he couldn't accept the dollar because it would look like he was accepting a bribe and his job would be at risk. He wanted me to know that he was proud of me for paying up. I was a man of my word and that was going to go a long way in life. He then left me with one of the greatest pieces of advice I've ever gotten.
"Never gamble, it only causes misery." It sure sounded like he was speaking from experience.
It's hard to believe he was only my gym teacher for two years, but in those two years I learned so many lessons about respect, tolerance, and work ethic.
His recent death saddened me, and ironically I found out about it the same day I learned the magazine I wrote for was shutting down. It was not a red letter day in the least.
I hope he rests peacefully with the knowledge that he impacted the lives of so many students at Gallagher Middle School, and we're all better people for having known him and striving to live by the example he set.
I couldn't help but reflect on the last time I saw him over twenty years ago. I stopped into the high school gym to retrieve a couple of practice bats for the baseball team. I couldn't find them, so I went into the locker room to ask the gym teachers if they knew where they were.
There stood Mr. Lilibridge just shooting the breeze.
"Hey Dan!" he bellowed. "Good to see you." How've you've been?"
"Good" I said.
He asked if I was doing well in high school, and if they were treating me well there. When I replied in the affirmative, he responded the only way he possibly could have.
"That a boy!"
