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The Robinson Chronicles
Thank you, Mr.
Stith
By Bob Robinson
I don’t remember much about my grade school years, except for a 100
percent on a math final when I was in the fifth grade in
Washingtonville, New York. I was – and am – proud of that
accomplishment.
Two years later I found myself in Lincoln, Nebr., where I finally had
an opportunity to settle into a routine that didn’t involve the Air
Force transferring dad from one part of the country to another,
sometimes every six months… new school, new attempt at friends… then
off again to another assignment. Pretty much a blur.
I went to junior high and high school in Lincoln. I had decided I was a
teenage entrepreneur (among other things). I was writing and
distributing a neighborhood newsletter. Subscribers paid a nickel a
month for their weekly local news.
Even in 1957 twenty-five cents a month didn’t buy much. My journalistic
attempt lasted two months. Those two quarters, however, opened up
another opportunity. They allowed me to buy cinnamon oil and a package
of toothpicks at the local drug store. I soaked the toothpicks in the
cinnamon, sealed them tight in an empty tube, and whenever I wanted a
‘cinnamon burn’ I pulled one out and started sucking on it.
It didn’t take long for other students to notice (yes, the smell was
that strong), and ask to try one… then they began offering to buy them.
I was wrapping up seventh grade and I’d finally achieved my goal of
being an entrepreneur. Eventually I was making a nickel a pop and
netting a couple bucks a week. I expanded my business to include
peppermint and spearmint sticks. They weren’t quite as popular as the
cinnamon but offered a nice variety in which to expand and continue
growing my ‘market.’
Five or six dollars a week was pretty good money for a kid in the late
fifties.
I survived seventh grade and returned that fall ready to coast through
my eighth grade classes and start making money again. I didn’t know it
then but I was about to have a life-changing experience…
You might not believe this but despite having lived in many parts of
the country, I had never met a black man. My civics teacher was black.
His name was Mr. Stith. I remember thinking this might be an
interesting experience. It turned out to be a powerful one, but I
didn’t realize it until nearly two decades later. I do know his was the
only class I never skipped (excuse me… forgot to attend); his was the
only class in which I never – not even once – fell asleep; and without
me realizing it, he planted a seed that lay dormant for years. But it
was there. It was in the back of my mind somewhere as I saw what was
happening in California during my 25-year-sojourn there.
Real estate tax increases disguised as “user fees” were the latest
attempt by our “representatives” to raise money to offset their
spending sprees… it wasn’t right. Someone (me) who had never been
politically involved in his life ended up leading a revolution against
another tax increase that would have put hundreds of retired senior
citizens in our community out of their homes. It cost me my job and my
family our home, but we survived. Our coalition, however, won and that
effort was probably the most important thing I’d ever done in my life.
I realized then the powerful tool Mr. Stith had given me. He’d taught
me the role of government. I’d never really thought about it in the
ensuing years, but seeing that role being abused in California changed
me. The 50s was not a political time. Mr. Stith was not a political
activist. He was simply a teacher who taught his students about the
Constitution and government’s role as it was defined…
It was a powerful message.
Today my message is communication. While the Constitution and
government – as taught by a civics teacher in 1958 – remain valued
components of my concept of our country, that isn’t my field. At the
same time, knowledge of our history and current events, plus the
ability to understand and communicate well, are probably the most powerful tools
today’s students will ever have. In my attempts to get that message
across to my students I try to emulate my eighth grade civics teacher…
the man who used powerful tools to teach a powerful message.
I learned much from him. He changed my life. If just one student can
say – at some point in his or her life – the same of what was learned
in one of my classes, I will feel my career has been successful.
Thank you, Mr. Stith. I will always remember you. With gratitude.
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