In my junior year, I was taking a lot of AP Classes. In part because I wanted to take a lot of classes from one teacher. Recently this teacher wrote a book. I read this book twice because I got to read it before it was published. I read it before it was published because in my first year of teaching I felt lost and I reached out to my teacher Gorge Stimson III for advice. I needed advice on how to teach a class that I felt he taught.
Over the course of several meetings where we alternated making coffee, sitting in the comfortable shade of his Cardiff by the Sea home, we discussed my fears, my worries, our memories, teaching philosophy and his greatest project: the school that I attended. The school he created was the San Dieguito Academy and its success would spawn off many copies throughout San Diego and beyond. None of them in my opinion could truly replicate the experience.
Today the school is still a stark contrast to other schools. There are no gates. Kids can come and go as they please. They can learn as they please. Most are from upper middle class and so most go on to four-year colleges an Universities. However, they do so with far less stress and I would guess much of the rigor of other schools. They also do so with a lot of community. When I signed his sign-in book to get the book, (he prefers the autographs of others), I said thank you for creating a community. Because that’s what he did.
During our chat when I got the book we discussed the attitude of kids that I hung out with. The attitude of “I will take your class but I don’t need it, I am just trying to get out of here to do the real learning.” He looked dismayed when I said this. What I realized as I read his book that I didn’t say was that his class was the exception.
How? Think to your favorite teachers. I’m sure you liked them because they were nice. Or they were charismatic or funny. However, how many of you remember what they taught you? How many of you 24 years later remember how they taught you? The specific stories, tests, the movies and books? I do. I still have the copy of Machiavelli’s the prince. I remember the bridge I made. I remember how I was taught to remember the formulas for distance, velocity and acceleration. (Arthur, Dicky and Vicky). I remember our trip to Pasadena and the watermellon drop. I remember the circuits packet and falling in love with optics. I remember watching Burnt by The Sun and being shocked by it, even as I was the one who was born in Ukraine and had family who were burned by that very sun. I remember the way we learned history, through art and how it made me love art and made me look at art in art museums in a completely different way. He didn’t teach, he preached. We didn’t hear facts, we heard stories. Stories not just in history, of the Napoleanic wars and failures of Nigerian government, but even Physics problems were stories of projectiles in motion. I remember pushing a golf cart to learn about force and calculating the time for a potato to land after being launched form potato cannon. The only class I don’t remember much of is Senior Project, where there wasn’t much teaching.
He created an Exhibition Day that allowed me to see the talent of my school, including seeing Ravi Shankar perform with his daughter Anoushka in our library. I goto wrestle with my friends and show the school my favorite sport, before we had a chance to have a home wrestling match.
He created an Our Book, which was a page for every student who wished to submit one. Some made collages, I wrote an essay. That essay is still a window in time into someone I was. I read that book cover to cover every few years, seeing something new in my friends, some of whom I don’t see much but the memories of our high school come back into vivid color when I read that book.
I remember not just the projects and classes, but life lessons. Life lessons on never leaving the room, as that room will make decisions that concern you, but without your input. To always ask, because the worst you’ll have is a no, but if you ask, there’s a chance of a yes. I remember how he signed our yearbook, telling us to dream big and go after those dreams.
At our 22nd reunion (due to Covid) he was there, along with the one other teacher who created that school, Blaze Newman. She was one of the few other teachers who didn’t just make me work, made me suffer. Whose books I still remember, the final project portfolio that I incorporated into my own class.
I was lucky to have a few teachers who were not just great, but phenomenal.
So why Not Rushin? Because that’s what my friend Sparsh said when I casually walked into the study session on a Saturday for our AP exam and the room burst out laughing. Because I am Russian and I am from Ukraine.
And what of my review of the book? Well, if you see what kind of a a teacher Stimson was, imagine the school he created. Now imagine you get to find out just how he did it and what he and Blaze and our Principal Fenical created. That’s what the book is. If you want to learn how he did it, how he did it, so that you might create something as unique and good and long lasting, then you should read the book, and then review it for him.
not-rushin 