Monday, January 03, 2005
My Writing Teacher
This week I found out that my beloved teacher, Klaus Scherler, died of brain cancer. I cannot take another step without writing about him. By association, I send all the love I held for him to spread a wide field to include all those suffering in Southeast Asia. (Klaus wouldn't have it any other way. In life, I know this tragedy would have hit him deeply.)
Klaus arrived at Spokane Falls Community College in the spring of my freshman year, way back a million years ago in 1983 or so. I was a raw nineteen years old and when I wasn�t in school, I was checking groceries at Yoke�s Supermarket. Those were lean times for me. I was so broke that I couldn�t afford a state college, and had to go to the community college instead. Rather than being grateful for any education, I was actually ashamed to be stuck in a community college. Most the energy I should have used for study, I put into the goal of getting out of SFCC as fast as possible. See, I wasn�t wise enough to understand that life is what happens while you are making grand plans but what do you expect of someone who had her hair hard wired into poodle curls with an apple pectin perm?
As soon as Klaus showed up, I stopped thinking about the future and was completely present. I guess you could say that he was the kind of man who caught your attention. He hailed from Michigan and was in his forties, which seemed ancient to me. At the same time, there was something horribly romantic about him. He was tall with dark hair and a body so thin, a good breeze would probably knock him to the ground. Maybe it was his frailty that caught my heart or the quick way that his mind worked. Maybe it was how he was always so happy and had this way of making people feel comfortable with his good humor. Or maybe it was his love of words that caught my attention, which was his reason for being at Spokane Falls Community College. He was appointed as the director of the journalism department and oversaw the production of the student newspaper.
At that time, I was beginning my journey into words. A couple years earlier, a high school English teacher said I was good at writing. At that time, I didn�t think I was good at anything. In fact, the world that I lived in was filled with endless complaints. My aunt once told me that I even breathed too loud. Can you imagine? �You breathe too loud, shut up.�
I had myself figured for a complete idiot. When my English teacher suggested that I had some kind of talent, I decided right then to be a writer. Klaus was the next teacher who showed up on my path.
Over the next eighteen months of my college career, I grew under the grow light of his praise and encouragement and also learned all about his life before SFCC. Klaus was of the generation that navigated through the tumultuous American history of the late sixties and early seventies. He was full of stories about student sit-in�s, peace rallies, rebellion over the Vietnam war, rampant drug use and the sexual revolution. He�d also play music from his office, from Marvin Gaye�s, Heard it through the Grapevine and The Stones, Satisfaction, I was steeped like a tea bag, in the waters of his past.
When I was with Klaus, I was happy beyond words. My hands were stained with newsprint, I had wax from the gluing machine in my hair and was inhaling fumes that I am sure were carcinogenic but I was delirious. I spent most of my time in his office or in the big room where we assembled the student paper, basting in happiness.
For the record, Klaus was a perfect gentleman. He took on a Jimmy Stewart-kind of innocence about my crush and steered me in direction of writing instead, nurturing me with discussions about the classics and articles that he�d pull from the New York Times. He patiently taught me how to be impartial and diligent, encouraged me to ground myself enough to envision a career in journalism and even wrote many letters of recommendation that would help smooth the path when I left SFCC for that state education and eventually, a writing job in TV news.
Over the years, Klaus was a rock that I could come home to. From TV news jobs in Montana, Spokane and eventually Portland, I wrote him many times and he was always supportive and encouraging. When I published my first book, he came to my book signing and sat right up front, his chest puffed with pride and that quirky grin on his thin face.
A couple years ago, he had the grace to invite me back to SFCC to talk about writing with some of his students. I went, of course, and had the good fortune to spend a couple hours with him. We sat in the cafeteria, eating some pretty nasty salads but once again, I was as happy as I had been when I was a freshman. We laughed over the past, talked about his family and he literally beamed when he showed me photos of his son, daughter and wife.
Klaus was a good man and I am sure, a good father, but he wasn�t the kind of man to say those kinds of things about himself. I remember he did say that he did his best and sometimes made terrible mistakes. Klaus said his wife put up with a lot and that he wasn�t the easiest man to be married to. His humility was touching. At the end of our time together, Klaus insisted on escorting me to my car. We were walking and talking about writing when he admitted that he had a novel tucked away. I begged to see it.
�No, no,� he said, �it�s a hobby.�
�That�s just silly,� I said, �I bet it�s great. Let me see something, a chapter, a page, a word?�
Klaus he�d send something but didn�t. He wasn�t that way.
This week, his wife sent word of his death. He had melanoma and it spread to his brain.
Death, it�s always there ahead of us but when it comes and steals someone, it�s such a shock. I�ve been in a kind of autopilot all week. Numb isn�t the word, it�s more like being an airplane forced into one of those holding patterns. I just don�t know how to feel. I wish I would have known he was sick. I wish we kept in better touch. I wish I could have had one more conversation with him, thanking him and listening to him laugh.
Instead, I am here, at the keyboard wondering where he is right now? Where is that brilliant essence of his? Is he afraid? Has he already moved on to the next life? Or has he jumped ship to ride the white comet tail to enlightenment? I read somewhere that he became a Christian recently, which makes me wonder if he�s hooked up with God yet?
Back here on earth, I�m also wondering about all the students he inspired from his little office at SFCC? How many lives did he change? Last, I wonder if he ever realized how many lives he changed? Let�s see, three hundred kids a year for 20 years, that�s 6000, at least. Wow! That�s a lot of people, Klaus.
I am one of them and must say thank you.
Thank you, Klaus, thank you for helping me become a real writer. You were my friend and I will miss you.
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What I Read Daily:
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2 Comments:
Last week I found out Klaus had passed away, I only wish I had known he was ill. Jennifer�s description of Klaus (minus the crush) matches my memories of him precisely. I was still in high school when I attended SFCC as a Running Start Student in 1992. Klaus was a great mentor and friend. I spent three years at the Falls, in that time I took more journalism credits than necessary and got involved in student government. Klaus is one of the people who advised me to get my four year degree in Journalism and Political Science. I am currently working for the County of Spokane. Thanks to Klaus, I found something I really enjoy doing for a living.
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