We lost Dad 2 years ago today. I didnt really lose him, (I know where he is) but the relationship has become a lot more one-sided. He was a funny, taciturn, hard-working, sports-loving, wood-working hands-on Dad. I miss him everyday and struggle with the concept that I am now the familys patriarch. In tribute I have included the remarks I made at his funeral. Remembering M Keith Hauge A Eulogy written and delivered by Keith M Hauge (Kem) June 11, 2012 10:30 AM While preparing for this moment, I was initially tempted to give you a detailed bio of Dad, filling you with facts about his life from day first to day last. Trying to cram as many of the events of Dad’s life into the limited time we have this morning. But reducing those events to a manageable size diminished what was really important about Dad. And I realized that it’s probably better to just remind you of the essence of the man and consign the timeline to the universe. It is common knowledge that my Dad was a husband, a father, a community member, a baseball fan, more to the point a CUBS fan. But first and foremost he was a teacher. By profession he was a teacher and by example he was a teacher. Contrary to the popular saying, Dad was one of “those who can…do” who chose to teach. It was the right job for the right man. Dad was a teacher. He was proud of the institution in which he taught. He thought that Rich East High School was a place of value and he was proud to be a part of the organization that was Rich. He believed that they hired well, assembling a Cracker Jack team of professionals. Pride of affiliation is a large part of what makes all of us happy as individuals, and he had that in spades. Dad taught professionally for 37 years. As the child of a teacher, we enter the parent’s institution and become very aware of the parent’s schedule. Because, while we always want to know where we can reach them if we need them, we also want to know how to avoid them when we don’t want them. My observations are based on my time in school with Dad (40 years ago) so over time some of the details may have changed, but the essence of Dad was constant. My Dad’s day started with his classes teaching architectural and pre-engineering drawing. Those classes were filled with the best and the brightest boys from the school. (Yes, when I was in high school Dad taught exclusively boys. Over time that changed and girls joined many of his classes, but that was a long, slow process.) He enjoyed drafting; he was very good at it himself. It required absolute precision, just the right amount of pressure on a good, sharp pencil, to create just the correct width and intensity of every line or tiny letter printed. He had the discipline to be able to produce examples of the kind of work he was attempting to inspire in his boys. But he also had a natural calm and patient demeanor that was encouraging to the twitchy hands of impatient youth. It is important to note that one of the hallmarks of Dad’s personality was how much he liked teenagers. He saw the potential they represented and was not put off by the posing and posturing. He was interested in his students without getting caught up in the gossipy, milieu of teen-age angst. As the day progressed Dad taught a series of wood working and metal working classes, filled with all kinds of interesting and practical projects that gave kids the opportunity for a “Win” in school when general academics was not their strong suit. He felt it was important that a broad spectrum of the student population should be able to feel good about their accomplishments, not just the most academically gifted of the group. It’s not that he was one of those people who believed that every kid who competes deserves a trophy; he simply sought to help every student find something to celebrate about himself. All teachers are human and they bring human frailty into the classroom. One of those frailties that most of us possess, is the tendency to quickly jump to a conclusion based upon appearance or posture, or dress or language choices, or with whom we affiliate, or even rumor and gossip. Most teachers can stand in front of a classroom on the first day of school and think they know who are the A’s, the B’s, the C’s and so on. That was not my father’s method, his teaching philosophy was that each day was separate and each student started that day with an A for that day. So, for example, a student comes to class on time, works on his project for the 50 minutes he’s in the shop, cleans up his space and completes his assigned clean-up of the shop, whether it is sweeping the floor or making sure that every tool is in it’s assigned spot, then that student has maintained an A for that day. There may be tests and projects to be graded, but they will be balanced against the every day accomplishment of each student. If on the other hand, a student didn’t show up for class it was an automatic F. But even in that situation he was generous in how he offered the student the opportunity to repair damage they may have done to that A. He offered time in the shop every Tuesday and Thursday after school for the kids to come in and do or repair work that hadn’t met the standard of an A. He had high expectations but gave every opportunity to hit the established targets. It is at this point that I want to remind you of the fact that I am and have always been proud of my Dad. No part of his school day inspires more of that pride than the way he taught the last class of the day. His last class, 7th hour, was always auto shop. Nowadays, cars are no longer designed with the idea that we can repair them ourselves. But, back in the day, (a phrase I hate, by the way) they could be and many teenage boys wanted to have the opportunity to repair their car and perhaps along the way soup it up. So for those boys, auto shop was the class they most looked forward to. And often those boys, who wanted to learn how to fix cars, didn’t seem to have much interest in the rest of what was being offered academically at school. In fact, it was common for a young man to skip every class from first through 6th period but show up for 7th hour auto shop. My Dad had painted numbered squares on the floor of the shop and when class started each student was standing on their assigned number. If a space was empty, that was an F for the day. That numbers on the floor thing smacks of WWII military process, but in that environment it worked. It was completely fair and there was never any time wasted with a court of appeals kind of pleading for leniency, if you were on the number… A, if you were not on the number …F. I want to restate, because it is significant, the make up of the auto shop class roster. These boys were not members of student council or tenors and baritones in the Singing Rockets. No, many if not most of these were boys that most of the faculty would assess to be hoods, juvenile delinquents, reprobates or wastes of space. Here is where my Pride comes from; my Dad did not see that. He saw a funny, street smart, curious, itchy, boisterous but eager to learn group of young men. Just as deserving of his respect and attention as the school leaders in his drafting classes. He knew high school was just one way station on the road to maturity, so he was willing to give them the knowledge they craved without judging the future they may or may not achieve. They were a tough group of guys, no doubt about that. If there was mischief in town over the week end, as sure as not, on Monday afternoon, the village juvenile officer would show up at Mr. Hauge’s 7th hour class to get a handle on who was where when. I know that one of those juvenile officers had been one of those very boys in 7th hour auto shop just a few years before. They were a crude bunch of boys and while the atmosphere in the classroom was pretty loose, Dad would not tolerate cursing. But that may eliminate as much as 50 percent of a given boys vocabulary. So he assigned numbers to the various curse words that they were drawn to. 17 meant “you son of a …” and 46 meant, “go to …” etc. So in their minds they were enjoying a rousing and filthy afternoon of fun in the shop, while to the outside observer it was some kind of math class. Yes, it’s kind of silly, but it is true and it is reflective of a kinder, gentler time that these big, tough boys were willing to accept this method without resistance. Of course, most of these boys went on to lives filled with varying degrees of accomplishment and fulfillment. And I have to believe that the confidence that my Dad had in them allowed them to see the good in themselves. We should all be so lucky to have a teacher that helps us feel that way. Since both my parents were teachers, you would think teaching would be the family business. But of my parents 4 surviving children, only one of us chose to pursue teaching as a career. No, most of us went in different directions. My sister, Marjorie, did choose to become a certified teacher and taught first grade. Did she inherit Dad’s positive approach? Well, she has students from thirty years ago, who are still in contact with her and still let her know that what she taught them was the perfect push off for an academic and civic life. Kevin didn’t want to be a teacher like mom and dad. No, he went into show business and became a gifted director and choreographer. But isn’t that a form of teaching? He is the artistic director of a Children’s theater company and has hundreds of children in whom his lessons have filled them with confidence and inspiration. I have watched Kevin, run an audition where most of the people were not going to get the job, but no one left after the turn down with anger or hurt feelings. Even in the no, he finds a way to build self-esteem in a person. That is a direct correlation to my Dad’s own talent. Karter, didn’t choose to be a teacher, he went into business. But his hobby, baseball, became his passion as he started to become a hugely winning little league coach. I watched him interact with the various teams always treating each boy with respect, helping them to develop their own talents and along the way learning about sportsmanship and grace in both victory and defeat. My Dad felt that Karter was the finest coach he had ever observed and his pride in Karter was more about the positive, life affirming way he had of dealing with the athletes, which was most reflective of both Karter and Dad’s own personal style. So I guess we did go into the family business. Our family’s life seemed to operate around the school calendar and it was always hard for me to get used to the idea that the year started in January, when obviously, it started in September and ended in June. Usually the first week of June. So, I love the fact that Dad’s life comes to a close on the same week as commencement. The teachers looked forward to and enjoyed commencement, a parade in cap and gown of the students but also the teacher’s accomplishments. When I was in school the commencement was held in the gym and the graduates would march down the center aisle. The bleachers were filled with the families of the grads, and on gym floor sat the graduating class and behind them the faculty. My Dad often snagged an aisle seat so he could get a good look at the kids as they marched back after picking up their diplomas. And the most pride I feel about Dad as a teacher is that it was those 7th hour boys, most of whom were simply being let out of school, that would march down the aisle with swelled chests and as they would reach Dad they would all say “17, 46, 55...thanks Mr. Hauge” He made a difference in their lives. Well he certainly made a difference in my life so I guess I have to say 17,46,55… Thanks Mr. Hauge, I love you.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Jun 2014 20:18:50 +0000
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