dedalus_1947 | Thanks, Two Stories, and Goodbye (Reply)

Who is the man who led us at our schools?

Who is the man who can keep his cool?

Who is the man who’ll shave his head for you?

He’s Tony Delgado…. that is who!

Tony Delgado, Tony Delgado

He just might break a rule or two.

Tony Delgado, Tony Delgado

He might just put on a dress for you.

Tony is a man with lots of skills,

He’s a man who may not follow the drill.

He’ll get on stage and dance for you.

He’s Tony Delgado… that is who!

(Tony Delgado… That is Who! Written by Blue & Marty: 2009)

“No one can set sail and expect to forget the wind.

First you stand in the open air,

feel the wind touch your face,

and take note of its direction and force.

Then you set your sail to carry your boat toward your goal.

And you continue to recheck the wind

because it is ever changing.

We might wish we could nail down our achievements

when we finally reach them, stop the march of time,

or keep our loved ones safe where they are.

Just when we think we have everything together,

something changes.

Like a sailor, we must continuously fine-tune our life bearings.

Whether a change is welcome or not, we must respond.

Our main choice is not what will change,

but how we respond.

If we hold too tightly to willful thinking,

we are not attuned.

But if we make peace with change, we grow.

We will be transformed into more than we can ever imagine”.

(Quote from “Tony’s Retirement Blog” - May 30, 2009: Sue)

I attended my “Retirement Celebration” on Saturday, May 30, 2009. It was the culmination of 4 months of work by a dedicated and tireless committee that first met at the Odyssey Restaurant on February 5^th to plan and organize the event. The program was a perfect match of music, art, fine dining, and personal reflections by invited speakers; all guided by Marty, a friend and counselor at Shangri-la Middle School. After listening to a mixture of stories, memories, and anecdotes of my 32 years in the school district by friends and colleagues (David, a district director, Neal, principal of Hubble Middle School, Sue, retired assistant principal of Shangri-la Middle School, and Blue, a counselor at MASH Middle School), I spoke. Below is the speech I gave on that day:

“First of all, I want to thank the band. Nothing sets the tone and mood of a celebration better than live music from a great band, and Shades of Blue was excellent. Marty introduced me to the blues in 1995, and that’s the music that got me through the rough times that followed – especially with a beer or two.

I especially want to thank Kandy and the Retirement Committee for all their work and efforts – Kandy, Marty, Bluestone, Connie, Kevin, Blanca, Maria, Piedad, Leticia, and Jeannine.

I also want to thank my family for braving the rituals and ceremonies of a District retirement luncheon. These are “civilians” who are not prepared for the eccentricities and humor of educational personnel. They are my wife and children, Kathy, Tony, and Teresa, and their fiancés, Jonaya and Joe. My sisters Estela and Gracie. My Uncle Charlie, and his daughter Karla. My brother-in-law Doctor Greg . My sisters-in-law Beth, Tere, Meg, and her husband, Doctor Luis, Patti, and her husband Dick, and Dierdre (Tootie), and her husband John, and their daughter Maria.

I need to confess that I’ve come to despise making speeches. When speaking as THE principal, THE father, or THE eldest brother of the family, there is an assumption that I have something wise to say - I really don’t. As I’ve grown older, I’ve discovered that the less said the better. So, why am I speaking today? What is the purpose of this speech? Is it to thank, to reflect, to inform, to confess, or to ask forgiveness? I suppose I’d really like to tell you two stories:

I was drafted right after graduation from UCLA in 1970. I wasn’t really surprised – the Vietnam War was escalating at that time, and my lottery number wasn’t high enough to keep me out - once my college deferment expired. Suddenly my life froze in time, with few options open for me. The Peace Corp wouldn’t defer my induction; I didn’t want to get married or file as a Conscientious Objector; and I wasn’t interested in fleeing the country. I could go ahead with my induction for 2 years or I could enlist for 4. While standing naked in a long, uneven line of boys and young men at the Army Induction Center waiting for a rectal examination, I made up my mind to enlist. The chill of frigid, tile floors, the depressingly sterile walls, and the barking orders from army sergeants in campaign hats, convinced me that the infantry was not for me, and I joined the United States Air Force. A recently discharged veteran whom I worked with told me that basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, was simply a longer and louder version of high school football. He was right. The training and physical exercises weren’t hard; what proved difficult was the disorientation of a new locale, strange people, different rules, and loneliness. Most of the young airmen I met were just out of high school, and this was the first time they were away from home for an extended period of time. Six weeks in Texas seemed like an eternity in Purgatory. The situation became worse for me when I was chosen Flight Leader.

I was housed with a “flight” of 50 airmen from two states, California and Michigan. Our ages ranged from 17 to 23. I was a college grad and the oldest man in the company. I’m sure that was the reason our Training Instructor, a burly, African-American Tech sergeant, called me into his office during the first week of Basic to tell me that he wanted me to be Flight Leader. The promotion made me the ranking airman-in-charge. I would get a badge, lead marches, give orders, eat and sleep in segregated areas of the mess hall and barracks, and be responsible for 49 young men. At the time, I was young, arrogant, and convinced that as a college grad I could do anything. I was wrong. I knew I was in trouble when airman after airman came to me complaining, arguing, and asking for advice; and I couldn’t help. I felt as lost, unhappy, and homesick as they did, but I wore a badge that said I was in charge. I struggled through two weeks in this isolated position of leadership, becoming lonelier and lonelier. My only companions were other Flight Leaders who sat together in the Mess Hall, complaining of their men. They were all graduates of some type of JROTC (Junior Reserved Officer Training Course) programs in high school or college, and were pleased with their rank. I was miserable. After two weeks, I returned to the Tech Sergeant’s office and resigned. He accepted it without berating me, and I floated out of his office, unshackled by the chains of isolation, authority and responsibility. The final three weeks of Basic were dramatically different than the first. Other airmen suddenly talked with me, joked with me, and explored the mysteries of military life with me. I learned their stories, their fears, and their worries; and, remarkably, I was able to help. I helped them master the routines of barrack life; how to fold clothes, make beds, and study for tests. I was finally a member of the special brotherhood of soldiers who shared a unique military experience.

My father died later that year and I was discharged in December of 1971. My first civilian job was replacing a U.S. History teacher at St. Bernard High School who was going on maternity leave. Even though I had never taught before, I wasn’t intimidated at the prospect. I had experienced so many incredibly boring teachers in high school, that I was convinced I could do a better job. Also, being a teacher seemed more “professional” than returning to my college-years occupation as a silent burglar alarm technician. Working in a Catholic high school, with young, intelligent, and idealistic colleagues, felt safe and comfortable. I liked being a teacher and I enjoyed U.S. History. I stayed one or two chapters ahead of my students and never had a serious confrontation until covering the Stock Market Crash of 1929. I had one student in class, Paul Marchessini, who said very little, except for a caustic remark here and there that teetered between sarcasm and rudeness. While struggling one day with a student’s question about the stock market, Paul loudly proclaimed that my answer was wrong. There was instant silence in the classroom, as all heads turned to watch my reaction. It was a pivotal moment because Paul was challenging my knowledge in front of everyone, and only I knew that he was correct. Instead of admitting my inability to answer the question, I had guessed. I don’t know what guided me at that moment, but instead of feeling threatened or insulted by this teenager, I asked him, “Can you explain it?”

“Yes” he replied smugly, sitting back in his desk.

“Then come up here and explain it for us” I urged, offering him the chalk in my hand. He looked around for a moment, and then sheepishly came up to the front of the class. Paul took the proffered chalk, and did a great job. He clarified stocks, margins, and brokers, and their interconnectedness better than I ever could. That moment was illuminating for me on three levels: First, by giving Paul a chance to speak, he found his voice and became an active and constructive participant in all future class discussions; Second, it was foolish to bluff when I didn’t know the answer to a student’s question; and Third, there are always smarter and more experienced people, so it is better to have them working with me than against me.

Since graduating from college, I’ve been a teacher for 35 years, an administrator for 24 years, and a principal for 18 years. I’m struck by the irony of how I fled leadership as a young airman in Texas, but embraced it as a teacher and administrator in Los Angeles. Those years have been filled with moments of great happiness, high drama, and deep sorrows. The only constant joys have been the people I’ve worked with and grown to love in different schools and offices: the students, teachers, administrators, advisors, counselors, coordinators, deans, psychologists, clerks, custodians, cafeteria workers, aides, and assistants (yes, even some parents). I like to believe that I have learned many things from these people along the way, beginning with my Tech sergeant and Paul Marchessini. The most recent lesson was from the farewell mass of Father Alden Sison, when he left Our Lady of the Valley Church last year. He had been the pastor of our parish for 11 years and his last homily was very powerful and insightful. It occurred to me, as I listened to him, that WHO I BELIEVE I AM as a person, a father, a teacher, and a principal, is not always WHAT I DO in these roles. That despite my best intentions and highest hopes, WHAT I SAY, WHAT I DO, or WHAT I FAIL TO DO OR SAY, can have very negative effects on the lives and relations of the people I work with, and am responsible for. I promised myself that if I ever had the chance, I would practice what Father Alden modeled that evening. Therefore, I want to take this opportunity to ASK THREE THINGS OF YOU.

For the actions I’ve taken, and the decisions I’ve made in my career, which frustrated, hurt, or disappointed you, I ask your forgiveness.
For things I’ve said, and the words I’ve chosen, when explaining, directing, and speaking, which angered, offended, or embarrassed you, I ask your forgiveness.
For not listening, not understanding, or not seeing correctly, and failing to act or speak when I should have, I ask your forgiveness.

GOODBYE:

So let me conclude with the question I asked at the beginning. Why am I speaking today? Honestly, it is to thank you: THANK YOU for coming today; THANK YOU for putting up with me through the years, and THANK YOU for being a part of a family and a school community that has supported one another through joys, trials, and emergencies. YOU were the job I had, and YOU made it work WITH ME. I am humbled and appreciative for your presence here today. Thank you and goodbye.