Ten years ago this month, I lost a friend, and our school lost a dear colleague and beloved figure.
John was a custodian at my school.
We both started working at Wolcott Elementary School in 1999. More than a custodian, John was an important person in the lives of many children. He offered high fives to students as they headed off to their buses. He was on duty during concerts, Boy Scout meetings, after-school daycare, school plays, and more.
He knew the names of more students in our school than many of our teachers, myself included.
Almost every memory of every event at my school for more than 17 years had John standing somewhere in the background, watching and waiting to help whenever possible.
- He made sure that the dunk tank was filled with warm water before I climbed aboard the hot seat.
- He cleaned up after my students’ overly ambitious science fair projects.
- He stood in the doorway to my classroom, watching my students perform in their annual Shakespearean production.
- He often arrived at work early on Friday to watch our students read, sing, and act in our weekly Town Meeting.
John was a good man. The best of men.
John was in a car accident on his way to work in May of 2016. He died in the accident. No surprise that John was on his way to school. For his career, he had perfect attendance.
I have many stories about John from over the years.
Here is one of my favorites:
In my second year of teaching, when I was still dumb as a rock, a colleague and I thought it would be amusing to empty the thousands — if not millions — of tiny paper punch-outs from the binding machine into the classroom of one of our teammates. By the time we were finished, it looked as though it had snowed in the classroom. Tiny paper rectangles were everywhere.
It was a stupid and thoughtless prank. While our colleague was shocked by the state of her classroom, I gave no thought to who would ultimately clean up the mess. This was especially egregious because I was just a year away from managing a McDonald’s restaurant, and I was all too aware of how thoughtless people are who assume that service workers are available to clean up their mess at all times.
In my mind, these millions of tiny rectangles were someone else’s mess
John’s mess.
John was upset by the enormous amount of work that we had created, but he didn’t say a word to anyone. He simply took out his vacuum and cleaned up the mess. Another colleague, much wiser and better than me, took me aside and pointed out my thoughtlessness.
I felt like such a fool.
The next day, I came to work with my vacuum and told John that I would clean the rugs in my wing of the school for a week. I apologized and told him how awful I felt.
John refused my offer.
I refused his refusal.
In the end, I spent a week vacuuming the classrooms in my wing with John, side by side. I got to know John well during that week, and I developed a newfound appreciation for his job.
John instantly forgave me for my thoughtlessness. He never made me feel stupid or insensitive for what was stupid and insensitive. He never brought up the incident again.
He was a much better man than me.
My heart broke upon hearing about his death. John was a fixture in my life for almost two decades. He was often the last person I spoke to before leaving work each day. We often parted company laughing about something that we found mutually amusing.
Our last conversation was about Elysha’s job search. She was considering returning to teaching after taking years off to raise the kids, and I told John how much I wished she would return to our school to teach in her old classroom again.
I remember telling John how much I still miss her during the school day.
Little did I know how much I would soon miss John, too.
His name was John Emsholff, and I still can’t believe he is gone. He was loved by many. He made a difference in the lives of children.
Today, there is a bench on our school’s playground dedicated to him. It’s a buddy bench, meant for children to sit when they are looking for a friend.
So fitting for a man who was a friend to so many.
As I finish my 27-year career of teaching at Wolcott School, I find myself thinking of the many teachers who have passed through the hallways and classrooms of my school.
John is one of many people who made an enormous difference in the lives of children and families who should never be forgotten.
