Ode to Mr. Nick

He was the first person I ever heard use the word ‘awesome’. He was the first adult to ever utter the word ‘fuck’ in front of me besides my father. When I took my parents to his classroom for 7th grade open house, I figured he was on my side. This was one teacher who really liked me. The first thing he said to my parents was that “Sometimes, I just want to shake the shit out of him”.

It was a sucker punch.

He was the first teacher to ever give me detention, or as he called it “The puddle of puke room”.

He threatened to “Pinch my head off and shit down my neck”.  He once called me to the back of the classroom during the absolute silence of a test to point at a car outside the window with a for sale sign. “Ugly sonafabitch ain’t it?” he said.

Not much later I figured out that car for sale was his.

If I am any good at anything at all today, he was the beginning of it.  Outside of my exasperated parents, he was the first person to convince me I was smart.  That I had something to offer.  To respect and believe in myself. That I could do anything I wanted.  He was rough but never mean.  Never awful.  He walked that line with an informed and intellectual compassion that often confused me but ultimately inspired me.

Everybody has that one teacher.

He was mine.

He taught me the beauty of language and how every word and every punctuation mark matters.  The difference between Hemingway’s austere economy of language and Capote’s rich and evocative prose.  Steinbeck’s pointed but artful technique as opposed to the flowery and loquacious verbiage of Edgar Allen Poe.  He made me see it. He showed me how to understand the similarities and differences.

He taught me about the art of literature and therefore about the art of everything.

I landed in his English class for 7th grade.  I signed up for various English classes instructed by him my freshman, sophomore and junior years in high school.  When I went to sign up for his class as a freshman he said to me, “They don’t fuck around here.  You’re not gonna get away with your bullshit.  Do your goddamn homework or I’m gonna have to spank your face with a brick”.

He got word through my sister that I’d mentioned him in the credits for the first record I produced recorded and mixed some ten years later.  I had every intention of doing so at the time but perhaps fittingly, didn’t get my updated label copy in on time.  I turned in my homework too late.  It wasn’t until the third record I made that I was able to give him a nod.  I regret it because all through the making of that first record, it was his assurance that I could do anything I put my mind to that kept me going through a wilderness of fear and doubt as much as anything else.

But because of this I was afforded the privilege of a kind of second relationship with Nick Tobey.  He reached out to me asking about it.  I wrote him emails and he responded with long, hand written letters in tiny script.  I tried to tell him about the difference he’d made in my life without sounding pious or obsequious and I can only imagine I failed.  He wasn’t having it.  He was clearly uncomfortable with what I was trying to tell him.  I was disappointed.

But it fit.

His humility was something I understood about him even as a teenager.

It’s why I loved him.

He saw being a catalyst for so many students as his job.

Nothing special and certainly not heroic.

He was wrong.

Tragically wrong.

I can still see him.  Leaning back against the front of his desk.  His left hand palm out down the back of his pants with a book in his right hand, looking at us individually and collectively through his 80’s style glasses, reading a passage and then laughing with amazement at the author’s prowess.  Putting the book down and turning to us again to explain the power of the words he’d just read.  I swear, at least half of us were enthralled.  In the midst of an epiphany.

And then he’d pull me into the hallway when no one was looking to remind me I was fucking up and ask me if maybe I was working too many hours at my after school job.

This when I was writing papers for my female employees at that job and getting them an A or at least a solid B in exchange for a delivered fast food breakfast to my bed.

Nicholas West Tobey was the rarest of human beings.  He gave a mad fuck absent hubris entirely. He told me later in life that he didn’t miss teaching and that he didn’t feel he’d made much of a contribution.  It really messed with me and not long after, he ceased all correspondence with me.

It occurs to me that he was a disappointment to himself for other reasons.  He was a reluctant artist and intellectual.  I can only guess at that.  All I can say is that for me, it doesn’t matter at all.  There is no way to measure the difference he made in my life.  It would not surprise me at all to find out that he was less than perfect to people closer to him.  It should not surprise them when I say it does not matter to me.

Rest in peace Mr. Nick.

February 21, 1939-February 25, 2016.

Drinks for my friends.

9 Responses to “Ode to Mr. Nick”

  • Andrew:

    Do you EVER not write something wonderful?

  • Joanne Giovenco:

    Wonderful tribute to a wonderful teacher. Maybe he was just being humble when you contacted him, or maybe he wanted you to know you were responsible for your success–with a little push from him. That sounds like something he might say. Or maybe he got tired of hearing how he and other teachers were leeches on the system. Maybe you saw the first-hand impact of what hurtful words can do. The words don’t disappear into the atmosphere. They have targets and when they hit the target it hurts.

    You know what he did for you. You told him. He knew what he did for you. There isn’t much more you could have done. Maybe you’re right and he wasn’t pleasant to be around. If so, he may have found himself alone in his later years. That can make a person bitter and forget all the good he did throughout his life. You’ll never know, but you did all the right things for him, as he did all the right things for you.

  • I love this. I know this. You touched me. Thank you.

  • I echo completely what Joanne Giovenco says. My deceased brother was a teacher. When he died, so many of his students expressed the impact he had in their lives. I think this is an awesome tribute, straight from the heart, I believe Mr. Nick knows what you thought of him. After reading your articles for quite some time now, I feel much gratitude for Mr. Nick as well and the impact he had on your life. From what I’ve observed, you are paying it forward. Great job, as usual. Thank you.

  • Karen Husted:

    A genuine human being there Michael; not as many around as we might suppose. He was sure, learned from mistakes, made something of himself, had dreams, was inspired, hopeful. And was probably like you in many ways when he was younger. I am thankful for the forces that put you two together. Good job Mr.Nick.

  • Kelli N:

    Wow Mike… I too loved Mr Tobey. What an amazing tribute to him. Actually everything you write is a huge tribute to the amazing teacher that he was. Thanks for sharing and walking me down memory lane with you! Love you ? Lellkers.

  • CH:

    Damn Mike, good stuff. Wish I had that guy, maybe I’d have had a bit of a different direction where the writing comes in. I was such a crappy speller, and not much of a reader, when going into 7th grade. I got McDowell (sp?- sorry bee-otch) My technical difficulties in the aforementioned area caused me to be placed in the retard class after her. A partial semester later, they bumped me back into the regular curriculum, into History and away from the fringe disfunctionals… Not saying I’m not retarded, but I trust you see the point… Everyone has ‘that teacher’, she was not it. Couldn’t see the creative nut-job through the grammatical errors… Anyway, your writing makes me sick, in the best way…
    Drinks for you

  • Teresa:

    Whew…that was powerful, not sure what to say other than thank you for sharing how Mr. Tobey instilled so many wonderful attributes into your life.

    Drinks to you my friend.

    T.

  • Teresa:

    Hmmmm…I wrote something but it didn’t post, but it went something like this…er uh,

    Oh yes…

    Whew, that was powerful. It’s so nice reading from your past and seeing how much respect you had for Mr. Tobey. It’s also fascinating to see how much he attributed to your life. Easy to see why you’re so amazing, as he meant that much to you.

    And then something like, oh yes, drinks back to my long forever friend.

    Teresa

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