Teaching a Life Lesson Even After You're Gone
“It's an act of love to teach someone to be a better person. And the simple act of saying thank you — whether it's to a server, a salesman or a spouse — makes us all better people.”
By Jimmy Greenfield
Saying thank you is something most of us are taught to do as soon as we begin to speak, and then reminded to do until it finally becomes part of who we are.
As with so many things we learn at a young age, it's an act of love to teach someone to be a better person. And the simple act of saying thank you — whether it's to a server, a salesman or a spouse — makes us all better people.
My Aunt Marianne was a teacher for her entire adult life. She devoted herself to being an educator and it was one of the things her children and grandchildren focused on as they beautifully eulogized her after her recent passing at the age of 93. Before the service, my cousins Caren, David and Matthew put together her obituary and, after discussing some options for where to send donations, settled on something they all agreed was perfect. Here's how it read:
"In lieu of flowers, please consider honoring the memory of this very special teacher by saying "thank you" or giving a gift to a special teacher in your life."
It could not have been any better aligned with who Marianne was as a person. And what better way to honor a teacher than to give a homework assignment at her funeral?
Following the service, my siblings and I began a conversation about the most memorable teachers in our lives. It took us down memory lane, of course, and we all shared a few names. By the end I'd settled on the one teacher whom I'd never forgotten: Don Klipowicz. Or as we called him at Edgwood Jr. High School, "Klip."
Mr. Klipowicz was our physical education teacher — I'm pretty sure back then we just called him our gym teacher — and he was intense and fit and seemed to love his job. But the most important thing he did was create Edgewood's After School Sports program. There was a flag football season, a floor hockey season, and a softball season. One right after another, and I loved them all.
Klip would pick students to be the captains and let them draft their own team. It wasn't mandatory to participate in After School Sports, so it wasn't some evil process where the last kid was made to feel like crap. As far as I can remember, it wasn't a public draft and nobody knew who went first or last.
When he made me the captain of a softball team in sixth grade, I took it very seriously. I drafted kids who I knew were good players, but I also remember taking kids who I didn't know very well yet but thought I might want to hang out with. It was a fun team, we won a lot, and every day before school I'd stop outside the gym and study the standings and the stats.
Yes, the stats. Mr. Klipowicz kept stats for every team. How he did this in the days before computers and smartphones is beyond me, but he did it and I was hooked on them. I'm not even sure what I was hoping to gain out of studying the stats, but Klip made me coach of the Phillies and by God I was going to do the job right.
Did we win the championship? I honestly don't remember, but one thing I do remember about that season is why I am still talking about Mr. Klipowicz 45 years later.
At the end of the school year, Mr. Klipowicz held an assembly to give out individual awards and honor the champions. I'm not being modest when I say I wasn't the best softball player that season. I simply wasn't. I didn't have Gregg Menaker's power or John Malveaux's speed or Josh Wexler's overall athletic ability. When Klip got up to announce the softball MVP, it didn't dawn on me or anyone that he'd say my name.
And at first he didn't. He began by saying that every morning he'd come out to the gym and find this person studying the stats. That's when I knew he'd announce my name, and I will never forget the feeling of shock and pride as I walked up to receive the award. But the biggest surprise of all was that Mr. Klipowicz had recognized something I had done and made me feel incredible about myself. I'm sure I thanked him at the time, but I was probably more focused on not tripping in front of the entire sixth grade.
Let me move the story now to a place where I've been spending a lot of time this summer: behind home plate. As a newly-created empty nester with a wife who works evenings, I began umpiring youth baseball games to fill my time and make a few extra bucks. I try to stay close to home but occasionally I'll be asked to ump a game kind of far from where I live.
So it came to be, three days after my Aunt Marianne's funeral and with a homework assignment yet to be completed, that I was preparing to umpire a 14U game at Deerfield High School. Not every player has a name on the back of their jersey, but the kids on this team from Palatine did, and I homed in on the leadoff hitter's last name: Klipowicz.
Could it be?
I quickly confirmed that his grandfather and my Mr. Klipowicz were one and the same person, and it turned out that the boy's father, Scott Klipowicz, was there coaching his son's baseball team. Call it what you want — coincidence, fate, bashert, whatever — I knew what I had to do to meet the moment. I asked Scott for his Dad's phone number, and the following day sent off this text:
Mr. Klipowicz, you probably don’t remember me. This is Jimmy Greenfield, I was a student of yours at Edgewood from 1978-81. Last night, I was umpiring a baseball game in Deerfield and noticed the name “Klipowicz” on the back of a jersey and was thrilled to meet your grandson and son! We had a wonderful conversation and Scott was kind enough to share your cell with me. I wanted to tell you how much I loved having you as my PE teacher, and especially how much I loved your after school sports program. I’ve competed in many sports leagues over my life and there were none better. If you are open to it, I would love to call at your convenience to say hello and share some of my memories and hear some of yours. Hope to speak with you soon. All the best to you! – Jimmy
He did remember me. Not 15 seconds after sending the text, my phone buzzed.
Mr. Klipowicz and I spoke for well over an hour during the course of two phone calls, and I was able to learn a bit about his life before, during and after he had retired from Edgewood. Sadly, the After School Sports program we both loved ended sometime in the '90s for a variety of reasons. It wasn't until near the end of the second call that I shared the story of my aunt, and the full chain of events that led me to thank him for being a very special teacher who had an impact on my life. It was quite a moment.
Thanks again, Klip.
May my Aunt Marianne's memory be for a blessing.
And if you're interested in doing a little homework, track down a special teacher in your life and tell them thank you. I promise you’ll be glad you did.
JIMMY GREENFIELD was a reporter and editor at the Chicago Tribune for 25 years and is the author of "100 Things Cubs Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die." He still plays softball.
