Diary of a Retiring Teacher

Keith Kester   I'm pretty sure Keith Kester turned 12 when he started teaching at Central Catholic. I still remember, in 1981, a skinny boy in a too-big tie proudly carting a brand new briefcase. The shiny briefcase is an emblem of professionalism, and Kester - just a tiny bit intimidated by the hundreds of sweaty, hormonal adolescents pouring into his classroom - holds his students to strict accountability. "If I hear any of you talking," he announces that first day in a quaking voice, "you will write one hundred sentences after school." Poor kid, I remember thinking. I am only three years his senior but already feel eons older. I give him a semester. Tops. Before the end of the year, however, Mr. Kester is noticeably relaxed. He ditches the briefcase along with the tie, and by Christmas he's enthralling kids with stories of the most fascinating hometown in America - Cambridge, Nebraska. Population 1038. Cambridge, according to Kester, boasts the most talen...

The boys in senior English class, top row from left: Jack Steenson, Gabe Guerrero, Victor Castellanos, Jack Hulinsky, Sam Mueller, Angel Sotelo, Zenon Sack, Hunter Borges. Bottom row from left: Florian Leicht, Damian Glass, Nico Kiewald I looked up from taking roll the other day and noticed Zenon Sack and Jack Hulinsky. I can't say what it was about those boys that suddenly filled me with happiness.  Maybe it was the way they laughed and talked easily as old friends do. Or maybe it was simply the way they enjoyed each other so much. I only know that on a cold, dreary morning with biting March winds, those two boys made me happy.  John and I are always amazed at the way our Central Catholic kids form such enduring friendships. Many of them remain friends the rest of their days. They consistently call, text, message, take trips and nurture each other through divorce, sickness and death. It's when we meet again at, God forbid, funerals of parents or classmates, that we see h...

Almost three weeks ago, our son's spouse Savanna lost a young sibling to suicide.  John and I drove immediately to Denver to be with Kenny and Savanna. This last weekend I drove back again for the funeral service. To make matters even more complicated, Savanna's sibling Blake was a young trans person. In spite of enormous support, Blake fought depression and finally succumbed to it.  I won't say it's easy for an old Catholic like me to wrap my mind around the issue of transgenderism. My good son Kenny, who is so tender and attentive to Savanna, reminded me again and again to use the proper pronouns - an exercise at which I failed miserably. Not only am I old, but I'm an English teacher. Switching pronouns doesn't come easily, but I'm trying. What was abundantly clear, however, was that Blake was a sweet and compassionate young genius who renovated school busses and even large vans into spaces of residential beauty. Blake was mourned by family and friends ali...

  Schumann Gym, Grand Island Central Catholic Last Thursday morning I was sitting at school Mass in the old gym staring at painted cinderblocks and feeling tearful - because, naturally, a good cinderblock always makes you emotional. The old gym is now Schumann Gym and named after our former and beloved athletic director, Howard Schumann. In the last decade or so, everything in that old gym has been renovated or replaced - new bleachers, new doors, new windows, new stage curtains. The floor was repaired many times due to a water issue that kept creeping up back in the 80's. Every once in a while the floor would buckle and swell into a gently rolling hill right under the east end basket. Our basketball players were used to it and became adept at running up one side of the hill to score a quick layup.  But it only bewildered opposing teams who tripped and fell together in a confused muddle. It was a definite advantage for our Crusaders.  When they finally repaired the water ...

Dee and GH Hanssen  On two different occasions in two different houses, a bat has entered our home through the fireplace. By God, I know it was the same bat.  With the help of one small black kitty - who instantly became a maniacal predator - my husband John caught both bats and set them free outside so that, once again, they could make a bee-line for the chimney to map out future break-ins. I've been terrified ever since and pray regularly that I will die before John does. I wouldn't even know how to catch a bat. If John's deceased, I'll just sell the house. I should pray instead to be as brave as Dee Hanssen. With her beautiful, bright smile, Dee is much more than our guitar-playing, golf-coaching religion teacher. The lady's got guts. Not long ago as she and her husband GH were sleeping, Dee heard a frightening "whoosh" above her head. She was instantly awake. "GH!" she shook her husband. "There's a bat!" GH turned over and murmu...

  Cindy and Kevin Willey Cindy Ryan could have graduated from Central Catholic and gone straight to Hollywood to become a magazine cover girl. Tall, slender and beautiful, she was also sweet and gentle - as gorgeous on the inside as she was on the outside. She did not race to Hollywood to become a  cover girl model. Instead, right after she graduated in 1981, she married Kevin Willey, another GICC graduate, who one day broke up a fight in my classroom and still remains one of the nicest kids I've ever taught. They say you should never marry young, but Cindy and Kevin were as devoted to each other as any couple I've ever seen. They raised their three children - Jason, Giann and Katie - and sent them to Central Catholic to continue the family tradition. It wasn't long before they became young and vital grandparents to their growing brood. Cindy was in her element and as happy as she'd ever been. Then she was diagnosed with cancer.  We were stunned to hear the news. Surely...

Back in the early days of Central Catholic, we wore uniforms. No, not the easy pull-on-a-polo-shirt-and-shorts uniform. Not on your life. The boys got off easy, but we girls were required to wear pleated skirts and navy blue blazers with knee socks. Once a month when the rank odor of well-worn blazers permeated the halls, we were allowed to dress up in civilian clothes and send our uniforms to the dry cleaner. Most of us, though, threw our skirts into the washing machine then tried to iron those polka-dotted pleats. Your eyes would swim staring down at those dots very long. From left: Hunter, Anna, Sam Fifty years ago, none of us gave a thought to the future. Heck, I was having so much fun in high school, I hoped we'd never graduate. Sauntering down the hallways in our pleated skirts and blazers with our friends in the early days of the 70's, none of us was looking too far ahead. The VietNam War was drawing to a close, and we were only happy that none of our brothers or classma...