Tom Finneran: Just in Time for Christmas, Part Three

Tom Finneran, GoLocalProv MINDSETTER™

Tom Finneran: Just in Time for Christmas, Part Three

We all remember those special teachers— the ones who changed our lives.
Frank—the teacher’s teacher.

His name was Frank. His nickname was “Mad Frank”. As with all teachers everywhere he had a nickname. That’s one of the first things that students do with their teachers, give them nicknames. Some are affectionate, some are not. Mad Frank was a great teacher. He taught eighth grade English at Boston Latin School. And by the end of the school year, Frank had his eleven, twelve, and thirteen year old students ready for the College Board exams. Any of Frank’s students who made the effort that he demanded would easily crack 600, often breaking 700 on their College Board English scores. As eighth graders! And this was a long time ago when a 700 plus College Board score was something to talk about. Unlike the rampaging grade inflation we find afoot today at Harvard…………

Frank’s students absolutely mastered grammar and punctuation. They also truly excelled, at a national level, at vocabulary, built steadily from the text “Word Wealth”. I’m convinced that every single year his students would surpass all other schools’ juniors and seniors on such achievement tests. He was utterly obsessed about the English language and its proper use. That obsession helped launch hundreds of Boston Latin School students into the stratospheres of business, law, medicine, architecture, engineering, and finance.

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I mentioned that some teachers are thought of affectionately. That was certainly the case with Mad Frank but only after you had moved on to the higher grades. It was then that you realized that he had blasted and shaped you with hard love, much like a Marine Corps drill sergeant preparing green troops for the frightful hardships of combat. Frank’s boot camp was a year-long endurance course of exams, quizzes, and blistering commentary to those who were not prepared. It should come as no surprise then that his reputation preceded him and that those students who entered his class were frightened to death by the legend of “Mad Frank”. But every year he made men out of boys.

His story is curiously mixed, for the many happy endings of his students were marred by a great bureaucratic example of the maxim that “no good deed goes unpunished”. Having taught so superbly for many years, Frank had a chance to become a head of department, a desirable job which carried with it higher compensation and benefits. Sadly for Frank, it required him to take the available position at a city trade school, where the course work was geared to automotive repair. Talk about a mismatch, a fish out of water……….it was like hitching Secretariat to a plow.

Frank loved the Boston Latin School and the school loved him back. He was one of many teaching legends at the school. The memories those teachers created for those of us who were lucky enough to endure the rigor of a BLS education have lasted a lifetime. As have the mental and intellectual foundations they built under their students. Many thanks to Frank, to his fellow teachers, and to the generations of taxpayers who understood the scholastic significance of the flagship school of America.

Walter—the cop’s cop.

I’m not aware of any nickname that Walter had but what a prince of a guy was he. He was a big, burly, affable guy who knew everybody. Walter was an Irish charmer. He could out talk God himself. He loved people—all colors, all characters, and all their stories. He knew the streets and neighborhoods of his precincts better than all the mailmen, all the priests and ministers, and all the utility meter readers put together. He was like a walking encyclopedia with a heart of pure gold. There’s many a fine citizen today who benefitted from Walter’s gentle touch. Perhaps it was his intimidating size, his strong ham-like hands which made young men more respectful and more thoughtful than they otherwise would be. I think that it was his kind and gentle soul, his love for his fellow man that made a dent in so many kids’ lives---kids at the crossroads which we all must navigate, choosing the right path or stumbling down the wrong path with the wrong companions.

Walter’s story had a similar twist but a different and happier ending than Frank’s. After many years of diligent service as a patrolman, Walter had a chance to move up to a superior officer’s position as a detective. The job has higher prestige, compensation, and benefits than that of a patrolman and so Walter thought he’d give it a try. He lasted a week!

As with anything else he did, Walter would have been a blazing success as a detective had he stayed at the job. But the daily engagement with his people, the people of the streets and neighborhoods of the city, was Walter’s oxygen. He knew instantly that the “prestige” job was a mismatch for him, so back he went to the squad car, breaking in rookies and reassuring the neighbors that all was right in the world. This was not Secretariat hitched to a plow. Rather this was Secretariat running the race he was born to run. Walter was the proverbial cop’s cop, but even better, he was the people’s cop too.

Two men, two destinies, two legends. You have your own. Give thanks.


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