A True Teacher and Friend

 Ten years ago, the world lost Jerry DeFina. I often give thanks to my mentors, those people who made me “me”. All of you have heard me talk about Mr. De or Uncle Jerry, and many of you were lucky to know him. Perhaps you remember his laugh, or his bellow, or his passion.

A decade is both a long time and a mere moment. Just as I still talk to Grandma-in-my-head each day, I am forever connected to Jerry. It may be a stretch or an act of hubris, but I feel like his protégée. Nobody besides Amin and I had him
as a teacher for five years— Talent Pool 2nd through 5th and a full day classroom teacher in 6th. He and his partner Frank taught me to direct and music direct. He taught me to teach children to question… all while teaching me to believe in myself.

Many people have special teachers but most people don’t know what it is and was to have a Jerry. From him, I learned the art of eavesdropping: he and my mother would talk together til the wee hours of the night, and I remember sitting on the top of the stairs when everyone thought I was asleep. Sometimes I would fall asleep leaning against the railing! I could never make out the words, but I always understood the laughter. Mom was always happy with her bonus big brother.

I didn’t always listen to what Jerry taught me. For example, he was adamant that I would be miserable as a teacher. “Do something where you can feel more empowered,” he would say. He loved teaching, but he hated some of the nonsense that came along with any bureaucracy. Half a lifetime later, I understand this lesson. I’m still glad I ignored it… and I’m even more glad that he ignored his own advice.

My friend David Munro gave me a business card with a quote on the back of it: “You only move the horizon by moving yourself”, it said. I love the quote, and I understand it based on Jerry’s lessons. For example, I was a concrete thinker for much longer than one would have expected, and I really preferred writing non-fiction. Though that might be a dream of some teachers in this test-driven society, Jerry wanted me to be more well-rounded. In notebook after notebook, I see his purple writing: “Time to try some creative writing?”

Similarly, he didn’t want his students to judge their self-worth or their academic success on external factors. We learned to score our own work, make our own learning contracts, and allow one answer to lead to a new question. These skills don’t make me fit in to society all the time, but they definitely add to my internal success and joy!

One day, I told Jerry that I felt overrated. Everyone saw me as creative because I compose music and say outlandish things, I commented, but I had been going through a writers’ block and a quiet spell at the start of college. What if I’m not creative anymore, I worried. Jerry told me something I would have never believed. He told me that by my definition, he wasn’t creative either. He said that his creativity lay in knowing good ideas and mixing them together into lessons and performances. I learned from him that even in our definition of creativity, we can be creative.

You might never believe this (haha) but there were times when I was a Wild Child. This was especially true in fourth grade. Miss Neifeld was my teacher that year and she was very traditional. She was just the teacher my big sister needed, but for me, she was a nightmare. Luckily, I had a full day with “Mr. D” every Wednesday. Kate came in from the local parochial school and it was the one day a week when I was in pure heaven. That doesn’t mean I was on my best behavior. I remember hiding in the cubby closets and in the air vent, going wild creating a “Weirdo Machine” and being far louder than would have been prudent. What I *Don’t* remember, however, is the story Mom most enjoys retelling: he let her know that I was found jumping off the teacher’s desk shouting “Geronimo!” when he stepping in from the hallways. I don’t remember it, mind you, but I *do* believe it. The best part was that Jerry didn’t mind. He knew that I needed to let loose after being in a much more rigid environment all week!

Another strong memory comes from years and years after my schooldays. My parents were in Europe for their first vacation without kids. Melinda was in the throes of adolescence and ended up hospitalized with serious issues. I didn’t know how to contact my parents; this was before the cell phone age. I called Jerry for comfort and advice. (The high school principal met me in the hospital to support Mel, too; that was the beginning of another important friendship in my life.) Jerry made it clear that even if I thought of myself as a grownup, this was above my big-sister pay grade. Together, we figured out a way to get in touch with my much-deservingly awol parents. (Note: you can send a message through someone’s American Express card if you know the number.)

Sure, Jerry teased me a lot. When I went to college, he said “You can take the girl out of Garden City, but you can’t take the Garden City out of the girl.” When I finished college, he said the same thing replacing “Garden City” with “Bryn Mawr.” He always criticized any outfits that had logos on them (why would you pay a company to do their advertising?) and was none to fond of any theater directors that were not him. (“I have standards!”) I’m not good at taking criticism (my teacher even wrote that in my fifth grade report card, haha!) but I always laughed along with his critiques.

There are many moments when I feel Jerry’s ethics, wisdom, and personality blasting through my core. I’d love to say that it happens most when I am gentle, or when I turn pages with a thimble, or when I read Egyptian hieroglyphics. None of those are part of my skill set. Instead, I would say that my loud voice and ever-too-comfortable (but loving) bellow comes from him. So too does my constant aspiration to learn, to create, and to share. Above all, my desire to instill self-love and confidence in my students passes through me to him.

Jerry always kept his middle initial, L., and used it in his press releases and return address stamps. The L was for Lewis, and my nephew Louie was born 7 years ago, three years to the day after Jerry’s death. Louie was officially named for our grandfather, but both men would have loved his critical thinking and wild humor. I see a bit of both of them in him.

Louie is now the age I was when I first worked with Jerry. (I knew him before he was my teacher because my big sister was in his Mod Quad and thanks to the theater connection.) It is my greatest hope that Louie will have someone in his school world to support his ebullience the way I had both of the Des and so many others. I know my nieces and nephews have the influence of their honorary great uncles thanks to their influence on my family and me. But it is important to have teachers who nurture that spark within. I was so lucky.

Finally, I’ll reiterate that Frank and Jerry directed and/or performed in so many of the shows of my childhood. I developed a sense of how theater can be by watching them on and below stage. I developed a joy for theater by performing with them in school plays (Abadan and Fiddler). I developed my ethics and growth mindset as a director from the adult mentoring they gave me, and the belief they always had from me.

My love for the theater goes beyond putting on plays. It extends to knowing how to treat other people, and how to treat myself. It extends to an openness that would have otherwise been hard for a naturally shy person. And, most surprisingly, it extends to my sense of the world. I learned history and vocabulary and “love” through the theater. True, the real world doesn’t have a violin glissando when love jumps in— but I learned about how friendships can endure through the stage. True, there are historically marginalized people in theater— but I also learned from La Cage and South Pacific and, yes, Fiddler, about groups who were left out of the official curriculum. True, a show must end, and there will be tears. But I learned from Jerry that there will always be a new show, a new challenge, a new adventure.

Even without him, I continue those adventures. I’m so doing, he is always there. I learned the word “Paradox” from theater… this is the ultimate paradox. There is a mix of an eternal hello and an eternal goodbye when someone has an impact like Jerry had on me.