Mr. Levens was my elementary school principal throughout my six years at Lincoln. I have no idea who the principal of Clara Barton Junior High was. We never met and that worked well for me. I had two principals during my four years at George A. Dondero High School, but again, we never met. I believe their names were Schaffer and Feigner.
Whomever was in charge dismissed school for the day shortly after 1:00 on November 22, 1963, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. He delivered the news through the public address system. The only other thing I recall about the two leaders is one wore red socks to our pep rallies on game days. Red socks you remember. Names, not so much.
I think you recall people and places that had an impact on your life. My single meeting with Mr. Levens was all I needed to avoid future trips “to the principal”. I kept my nose clean and never had the occasion to get sent “down to the office” again. Boring but true.
I never dreamt I would one day become a member of that esteemed group. I didn’t set out on that career path but found myself there at age thirty. I earned my degree to become a principal because “I thought I could do better” than those who led me.
The first fall of my first year in the position I had the opportunity to attend my first “principal’s” conference. It was 1977. The conference was held at the then Pantlind Hotel in Grand Rapids.
The first night of the conference I was invited to a reception by one of the book companies. That’s when I ran into my old sixth grade teacher, Mr. Cromar. I had been a sixth-grade student of his in 1959 and eighteen years later we became colleagues. This picture was taken during our sixth-grade graduation celebration. Of the two of us, I think I changed more over the eighteen years, but he recognized me as “Robbie” just the same.
We caught one another up on how the eighteen years had changed our lives. After teaching sixth grade, he became an elementary school principal in Royal Oak before moving on to Berkley. That’s where he worked when we met that evening. His three girls were grown, and Ruth and I were just starting our family. David was two and a half, and Elizabeth was six months.
I spent an entire year in his classroom and can’t recall one thing. I spent ten minutes with him sharing a beer and remember the encounter like it happened yesterday.
It’s funny how things work out. Two-and-a-half-year-old, David, became a principal himself twenty-eight years after my last conversation with Mr. Cromar. He, too, was thirty years old.