Thank You, Mr. Schwing
Mr. Schwing was an unlikely candidate to become my favorite
teacher of all time. First of all, he taught advanced math; and
although I enjoyed geometry, other, more theoretical forms had
never inspired me. Second, I favored teachers with boisterous,
theatrical, song-and-dance personalities, while Mr. Schwing was,
at least on the surface, well…serious. He radiated a pragmatism
that did not invite light conversation. His direct gaze from behind his glasses was intimidating.
I don’t remember the day when I became aware of his genius as
a teacher. It is likely that it accumulated, like the knowledge he
instilled, bit by bit and day by day. That, come to think of it, was
his great gift: his ability to methodically design, and patiently
execute, a series of many small lessons that built one upon the
other, culminating in a lightning bolt of clear and complete
understanding. For a student who could never be described as a
“mathlete,” his style was a godsend, and in retrospect, a measure
of his tremendous empathy for anyone in the process of learning. I walked into Room 101 each morning with a sense of joyful
anticipation, not because of my trust in my own mathematical
abilities, but because of my trust in Mr. Schwing.
I am grateful to Mr. Schwing for instilling in me an inherent
respect for the work of learning. I am grateful to Mr. Schwing
for teaching me to reduce the number of keystrokes I make on
a calculator. I am grateful to Mr. Schwing for showing me that
math can provide elegant solutions to seemingly impossible
problems. I am grateful to him for treating me like someone who
could master, if not excel in, a subject that did not come naturally
to me. I am grateful for his candor and pragmatism, his humor
and compassion. From him I learned that great teachers come in
By Gwyn Gordon ’85
different packages, with diverse personalities, but they share one
passion: the expansion of their students’ minds. Thank you, Mr.
Schwing, for all you taught us.
My father, Robert Gordon, taught at St. Francis before I was a
student, and returned to teach for many years after I graduated.
(Mercifully, he taught elsewhere during my student years.) One of his
favorite stories – and he had many – was of Mr. Schwing’s hiring:
Apparently, back in the misty reaches of history, there was a head
of the math department before Mr. Schwing. When the time
came for that person to move on, the principal did what one
ordinarily does when hiring: she prayed. Well, of course she also
advertised, called colleagues, and pursued all the normal avenues
for finding a replacement. As the weeks passed, and she couldn’t
even find a suitable applicant, and the teachers and staff became
increasingly nervous, asking, “What are we going to do?” To this,
she always serenely replied, “I’m praying.” Day after day, week
after week: “I’m praying.”
Finally, the outgoing head of the math department worked her
last day, and after a farewell party, everyone said their good byes.
As she was walking toward the door of the front office, a young
man opened it, and held it for her. She went out. He came in.
He looked around, and said to the group, “I’m a math teacher. Is
there someone here I can talk to about a job?”
That man was Charles Schwing.
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