He was the teacher that I most remember as a 4 year girl at Salem Academy.
He was the teacher, Dr. East as we called him, that invoked a love of reading and writing that remains bright nearly thirty years later.
He was the teacher that called me by my last name as he did most every other girl. Harrold, I can still hear him say, the booming voice in sharp contrast to his slight frame.
He was the teacher that met the lot of us at a diner where he guided the studying for mid-terms and overlooked our copious smoking.
He was the teacher who spoke of his personal life, especially his wife, her lifelong illness never a secret and that offer of transparency was life changing, at least for one of us.
He was the teacher that left his students certain it must be him that inspired the well-played role of professor in Dead Poets Society.
He was the teacher that accepted my gift of a small brass sailboat that had belonged to my brother; I was both a newly grieving sister and Salem girl.
He was the teacher yesterday evening, that after years of silence, sent me a photo of that sailboat resting upon his mantle.
He was the teacher that always sent us off into the world as we left English class, with the words, "Go forth and do great things!"
Thank you, Dr. East. We did, you know.