In 1991,
I had already been a PCHS for 7 years, and watched 3 different principals leave
the building. Each of them had a
different leadership style and educational philosophy, and I had found a way to
adapt to each of them and work (I think) effectively within their
parameters. When Lou Bett took his (2nd)
retirement, I was in a very different position than I had been when I was first
hired. I had experience, a measure of
success in the classroom, and a decent amount of respect from students and
fellow teachers alike. Still, there was
a certain trepidation at the prospect of adapting to yet another new leader.
I had
some familiarity with Bob, considering that his daughter Angela was in the same
class as my Cheryl, and having had interactions with quite a few members of his
family. Ironically, one of the first was
with his nephew David, who challenged me early in my first year at PC. David had a hard attitude toward me from Day
1, and I decided one day to find out what was causing his problem. He looked me in the eye and said, “You’ll be
just like everyone else… as soon as you get a better offer, you’ll be out of
here.” I looked back at him and replied,
“David, I will be here long after you have graduated.” Little did I realize at the time, that my
tenure at PC would extend even longer than his lifetime, or his father’s. One of the things that I learned from the
encounter, though, was the extreme importance the Hattman family placed on a
Catholic education, a theme that definitely continued throughout Bob’s time
with us. (It took me awhile longer to
begin to grasp why the Hattman boys didn’t go by their given names!)
Since
the two of us had daughters who were of the same age, we had also had some
contact through school activities. From
Pre-School silliness through sleepovers to budding basketball careers, watching
the two of them grow up together made the pleasure of our association even more
enjoyable, as we had many thoughts to compare and discuss.
The
most important thing about the teacher-principal relationship, from my vantage
point, is to feel that the administrator supports your educational philosophy,
trusts you to deliver a useful education in a valuable way, supports you when
you are attacked by those outside the system who cannot realize what you are
doing, and is capable of correcting you when you make the inevitable
mistakes. I knew almost from the first
minute that Bob Hattman would fill all those roles for me perfectly. I immediately felt a sense of unity with him,
and that coherence remained strong until the end. (Despite our synergy, though, no one
could be fully prepared for one of his infamous “See Me” notes!)
One of
his first assignments for us, in the first Teachers’ meeting before school had
even started, was asking us to write down all the ways we thought school could
be improved that would NOT cost any money.
He admitted that he didn’t have much of a budget, but he immediately
wanted to improve PC in any possible way he could. Ironically, I didn’t think he stressed that
“school” only meant “PCHS”, so I gave him about 8 handwritten pages of
suggestions, including things that were far beyond his or my ability to ever
accomplish. I think he really
appreciated the effort though, mentioning that many of the things I had listed
were items he agreed with, even if they could not actually come about.
In that same meeting, he
established a precedent of asking the faculty to set a goal for improving the
school. It was a tradition he would
continue for many years, with results bearing out the wisdom of his strategy. Through it, he and I recognized another
philosophy we had in common: “You will always find more incidences of a
problem if you go looking for it.” We
often found that things we didn’t really see as big problems suddenly seemed
bigger once we started recording the incidences of it.
From
the time I was in grade school, the idea of a principal or other adult coming
into the classroom was terrifying, because it never happened unless something
bad was about to transpire. As a result,
most of my teachers, and I once I had my own classroom, became “closed door”
folks – let’s shut out the world and just be a class. Bob let us know early on that he wasn’t that
sort of principal. He intended to be
“out and about” on a daily basis and might drop in on a classroom at any time
for no reason whatsoever. It took a
little getting used to, but eventually I became an “open door” teacher. I guessed we would just see who fell into our
trap. Because of my teaching style,
every person in the room is fair game to be asked to comment on the issue at
hand. Because of his teaching
style, he was willing to offer up an opinion or thought on almost any
situation. After a while, I knew that
Bob was intentionally stopping into my room, sometimes just to get a little
break from the daily principal duties that he didn’t enjoy very much. I considered it a great tribute that he
always walked out of the room with a smile on his face. When he began his “Parents and Learning”
program, I was happy that I had discarded my closed-door policy. Literally every parent who spent a period in
my class with me and their student had something nice to say when they
left. The combination left me much less
fearful and far more welcoming of visitors to my classroom, no matter where
they came from.
One of
his major initiatives was the “Every Teacher is a Religion Teacher” project,
which had a decidedly significant impact on me and our faculty as a whole,
though I have to admit that it was another idea that filled me with dread. I once gave a talk to a group of prospective
parents on what it was like to be a non-Catholic in a Catholic school. (Since it only happened once, I must assume
that I failed miserably.) I said at that
time, “I am not Catholic, in fact I’m not of any religion; I am more a collection
of ideas.” All of a sudden, this
principal seemed to be saying, “Well, you’d better find a way to be religious,
or you can’t teach here.” Of course,
that would have been contrary to Bob’s very nature, but I didn’t fully
understand that yet. What he wanted us
to do was to share our personal faith with our students in whatever way we were
most capable of doing. We visited a
variety of churches and discussed our personal philosophies and became better
understanding of each other. He gave me
one of the best religious experiences of my life, when we all went with Stevie
Frank to visit her synagogue, and I later attended a service there. Bob was all about us exploring our thinking
and beliefs, striving to more fully understand our own place in the world.
Bob was
also interested in the things a person could learn from other countries and
cultures. He was always encouraging us
to expand our horizons, though I’m not sure that he ever experienced overseas
travel until after he had conspired to get me to take a trip to Russia. When PC applied for an AFS program to connect
schools in the U.S. with those in Russia, I’m don’t think anyone realized the
extreme odds that were against us being chosen.
The final list of 10 schools included 9 very selective specialized
academies, and us! Even more mysterious
is how the team that began the entire application process decided that I should
be the chaperone, but suddenly there I was on a plane to St. Petersburg (along
with his daughter, Kelly). When we
hosted 10 students from Russia, I think the full impact of the program was
suddenly clear to Bob. The value that
could be realized from such an experience was enormous, and in short order he
took the second group to Russia, then went on a Fulbright scholarship to Japan,
and then to Hungary (I think it was).
From each trip, he came back with important ideas about the similarities
and differences in the educational systems, which he shared willingly with all
of us. I still use many of the lessons
he learned from those trips in keeping my classroom focused on trying to be the
best for the students, instead of for the system. He knew that the creativity, critical
thinking, and problem-solving skills that our students were learning were the
main reasons we were able to remain ahead of the rest of the world in most
categories. Like me, he was quite
disappointed to see education become a political issue in which many of the
most important principles have been modified to fit a particular dogma rather
than remain focused on the needs of the students.
Bob was
also a forward-thinker in other areas.
He became very interested in the possibilities of the internet, and said
to me, “We need an internet presence”.
(I often wonder whether he made such statements just to see if someone would
pick them up and run with them.) We both
tinkered around with this new-fangled HTML stuff, but one summer, I bought a
book on how to program, and came back to school with a fledgling website. I plugged in my 3.5” floppy disk (be quiet,
whippersnappers) and showed him what I had made. He said, “Well, you’re far ahead of me on
this now, what do you need to go full-out?”
As usual, he gave me all the support I needed to get a website, hardware
(a million floppy disks and a digital camera that used them), and even student
assistants to get all the grunt work done.
Though it is all passé now, we were the first Catholic
school in the state, and one of the first schools statewide, to have a website
that not only spread our message, but connected us with alumni, friends, and
supporters all over the world.
One of
the tasks Bob hated about being principal was the fundraising aspect that went
along with it. Even though he was good
at making the connections, and could have been a great development director if that
was his only job, it is a difficult split to be the disciplinarian who
maintains a solid school structure, and having to ask many of those same
parents for money to support other projects.
The reality was that during his tenure enrollment reached its highest
numbers in the high-tuition era. The
school tallied about 100 additional students during his term there, which gave
us opportunities in academics, sports, and extra programs that we had
previously only dreamed of. Ironically,
he and I also shared a wistful feeling about that, for as our numbers grew, the
internal cohesion weakened. It was
definitely good for the school to be so large, but the connection between our
classes of students became harder and harder to maintain. Both of us knew that “closeness” is an
important element of a Catholic school and were slightly saddened that some of
that had diminished.
When
John Smith suddenly passed away, Bob thought it would be a fitting tribute to
construct a book describing the characteristics that had made John a great (and
greatly-loved) teacher. I was happy to
contribute a portion to that but was also touched that Bob thought enough of
one of his teachers to do that. Bob was
in his “book-writing phase” at that point (anyone else still have their copy of
“Stickers”?), so I guess it seemed a natural thing to do, but it was still a
touching thought. (You can see that
entry HERE if you like.)
One of
the best compliments I ever got as a teacher came from Bob. The irony was that the story took come courage
to tell, but Bob had that sort of courage.
It is a very difficult thing for teachers to acknowledge the excellence
of others in their profession. For
whatever reason, complimenting another teacher often seems to be a tacit
admission of weakness, so it is a very rare thing to hear someone say, “You are
really good at this.” Bob related to me
one time that he and the family were sitting around the dinner table having a
discussion that somehow turned to educational philosophy. Any teacher-parent hopes that their child
sees them as the ultimate example of what an educator should be, but in this
instance, Bob had forgotten that his children had known him more as an
administrator than classroom teacher. As
the discussion progressed, he slowly tried to draw out of his children what
qualities they thought made an exceptional instructor. He admitted to me later that he was hoping at
some moment that his kids would mention his name, when Kelly blurted out,
“Someone like Mr. Woody!” I can still hear his hearty laughter over the
punchline, tinged with just that tiny bit of envy that we all would have. I considered it a great compliment that he
would tell me the story, and courageous that he could still laugh at the ending. It was also a compliment knowing that
children he raised to be considerate thinkers who could explore ideas deeply
held me in high regard.
After
his retirement from Catholic, I kept fairly good contact with him, though not
as close as I would have liked. He had
several adventures (principal at Belpre, on-line instructor) and I had one of
my own (leaving PC after 29 years for PHS), but every meeting was like we had
seen each other yesterday. We had
several walks in the City Park together, because I always enjoyed our
discussions. Dave Cooper and I always
like to joke that we are “solving the problems of the world” in our monthly
breakfasts together, and I always felt the same intellectual challenge in my
discussions with Bob. He was always
willing to let me have my opinion, but to the end he wanted to know, “Why do
you see it that way?”
In our last encounter, just a few
days before his passing, I saw him at Kroger’s.
He was there to capitalize on some “special deals” and I was there to
stock up on pop (which you can never get a good price on in a vacation
spot.) He was happy that I was getting
to spend a relaxing week with my whole family and related some recent visits he
had had with his, as well as some future plans.
As was his custom, he reminded me to embrace and treasure the experience,
as he always did.
There
is no doubt that my life was much better for having had Bob Hattman in it. I carry with me every day lessons that I
learned from him, as well as knowing that my files hold reams of thoughts he
made me generate. In my portfolio is an
envelope that Bob gave to each of us. It
was labeled, “For One of Those Days”. He
said it was to be opened when we felt so beaten down by the kids, the problems,
or the system that we just didn’t know if we wanted to go on teaching anymore. Up until now, I considered it a point of pride
that I have NEVER opened that envelope.
I kind of feel like, in honor of him, that maybe I should open it now
just to see what he said.
One of
my favorite Bible verses is from Proverbs: “Where there is no vision, the
people perish.” I like having people in
my life who have vision, and Michael Robert Hattman was definitely one of those
people.