Don Houpe loved this school; he loved its people; and he loved you its students. Most especially, he loved sharing with us all the languages he had cared so much about and had studied so carefully.

Never have we had a teacher more deeply committed to the teaching and learning process — a process Don thought about richly, carefully, and imaginatively. While his preparation and attention to detail were meticulous, he was willing to take enormous chances to create learning situations that were unique and eccentric and fanciful and very much his own.

He was in many ways the Mr. Rogers for high school. I don’t know that he ever changed into a sweater and sneakers; but he did often change into slippers, and like Mr. Rogers he created imaginary and safe places that were inviting and filled with wonder and learning. Such inhabitants of Don’s world as Roberto Planta and his drawings, the millions and gazillions of Planck’s constant points of extra credit (always approaching nothingness in value and always to be saved for later, more dire times), and of course the rats—these things have became part of our foreign language discipline’s lexicon as surely as “si” and “oui” and “non” are. But the magic of Don’s world did not depend on these sometimes ludicrous props.

I suspect for older hands here there is no fonder memory of Don than looking out of a window on a late May or early June afternoon and seeing Don administering the oral part of his final exam by walking about campus with an examinee in tow. It was always easy to imagine that one whose command of the language was slight and tentative would be terrified and ready to bolt as he or she all alone confronted one whose command of the language, of all languages, was legendarily inexhaustible. But the seeing always proved the imagining wrong, for the sight itself never seemed to be of an examination at all. The two figures were always deeply engaged in conversation about what they were seeing or about the meaning of the universe or about their hopes for the upcoming summer vacation. The flailing of their arms about to point or to emphasize suggested, not terror, but easy familiarity. Never did the two figures seem to hurry. They sauntered; they strolled; they appeared to savor each moment of their perambulation; in fact they actually seemed to be enjoying one another and their walk and their talk together.

Such sights for those of us who are teachers defined why Don was a measure, a gold standard of professional performance. He loved his students. Even after forty years in the classroom, he was still beside himself with excitement each August as he anticipated the first day of school and the myriad of possibilities offered by each day that followed.

He prepared endlessly, creating Roberto’s paintings during weekends and Rosetta Stone programs through the summers. He not only learned but also mastered all of our new technologies. He continued to grow academically, frequently spending his summers in Esperanto courses in New England. He taught an extraordinarily broad range of courses not just because he could but more importantly because teaching enabled him to maintain his mastery and to develop new knowledge. Scholarly and precise, Don was a true academic. In the 14th century, Geoffrey Chaucer gave consummate praise to a scholar, remarking “Gladly would he learn and gladly teach.” The phrase catches Don perfectly. His work was his joy; and everyday, he found gladness in it. So caring was he of his craft and so skillful in its practice that we his fellow teachers were glad to call him colleague. Thinking of his work, its quality, and its integrity makes us proud to be teachers ourselves.

I like to think that if my father had long ago allowed me to follow my sort-of-wishes by attending Hampden-Sydney, Don and I would have been schoolmates in the early 60’s, schoolmates, not classmates, for very few were in his class. Have I mentioned that he was Phi Beta Kappa?

Despite missing that first opportunity, I was fortunate enough more than 40 years after we had each graduated from college to drive through Hampden-Sydney’s idyllic campus with Don. Making this trip particularly celebratory was the fact that with us was our dear friend John Poe, a long time admissions officer here possessed of fabled memory. It delighted these two men that alums, even current students were totally unable to tell them apart. While both were tall, rangy men possessed of ready and real smiles and remarkable southern gentleness, they looked nothing alike. But neither ever disabused a mistaker who praised John, instead of Don, for teaching the best Russian class ever or Don, instead of John, for visiting PS 142 in east nowhere North Carolina and changing forever the thanker’s life by planting the NCSSM seed. Both men appreciated the appreciator for his or her appreciation; each joyed in the goodness and greatness of his friend. This is modesty; this is concern for others; this is kindness, that value that Mike Armstrong, our most recent convocation speaker, judged to be one of the four values central to the NCSSM experience.

This past week has been one of great sadness for the NCSSM community. Those of us who knew Don or who were taught by Don were devastated by last Wednesday’s news; but as we have comforted one another and shared our grief and our memories of this extraordinary man, we have also found much joy in our thoughts of him; for Don was a joyous man, whose well springs were often discovered in seemingly small places. How much joy he found in his ½ candy bar at lunch — more he thought — and the greater stimulation might adversely affect his afternoon’s teaching. How much joy he took in walking down to Barnes Supply after that lunch to buy pellets for those rats he loved. How much he joyed in telling very silly stories or in relating ridiculous and probably, hopefully, very fictional dreams. How much joy students who expressed an interest in linguistic problems gave to him. How much joy he found in his home town and what pleasure he took in own home and his own family. Don Houpe’s joys were in all the right places.

Would that we each had one of those Roberto Planta paintings now; for as students have regularly assured one another “they’re very valuable, you know.” Well, not so valuable to us as Roberto’s creator but most invaluable because they remind us so well of Don Houpe, our colleague, our teacher, and our friend.

>>Remembering Dr. Houpe