Giants. Titans. Teachers.

By David Ulloa

I attended Columbus at a unique time. I first walked through these hallowed halls at freshman orientation in August of 2001. If Columbus had a voice, then it would have sounded something like Jules in Pulp Fiction, saying, “I’m in a transitional period.” Sandwiched between the wild, wild west of the 1990s and the modernization of the 2010s, this time at Columbus was filled with change and experimentation. It is also one of the only times in Columbus history that Dr. Carter Burrus wasn’t on campus. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.

Photo by David Ulloa.

From the time I sat down in my first period, Br. Ed Breslin’s Algebra I class in D-16, Carter’s presence was everywhere. Teachers would speak about him and how he had shaped them as students and mentored them as fresh-out-of-college educators. So to say that Dr. Burrus wasn’t on campus is a little more than a little misleading.

When I returned as a faculty member in 2014, Carter had already made his return. I knew him before he was introduced to me. Only this man could be the subject of the stories I had heard all those years ago. And right away, I understood why a veritable fleet of Explorers had decided to come back and call Columbus home.

On career day a few years ago, I found myself looking at a room full of students minus the guest speaker. Both Burrus and Lynskey had made their way to my room to be with the guest speaker. After a few minutes, we three looked at each other and decided that since it was career day, we’d talk about our experiences as educators. Answering question after question, one thing became clear: the three of us had nearly identical philosophies. The students picked up on this immediately. When asked how we all came to think so similarly about education, the answer was simple: the Marist Brothers taught Burrus, Burrus taught Lynskey, and Lynskey taught me.

I used to joke with Fred Panzer every year when it came time to teach The Great Gatsby that he was going to be teaching it again to my students. I had annotated my copy of Fitzgerald’s magnum opus with Mr. Panzer’s commentary and still used that copy (still do, in fact) to teach it year after year. I felt it kept Fred teaching me a bit longer. So in this roundabout way, Carter’s praxis is still the one used to teach our current Columbus students.

A few weeks ago, Javi Hermida, our esteemed History Department Chair, asked me if I thought Columbus would be the same today if Carter had not returned to teach. Initially, I rationalized that he embodied much of what the Marist Brothers of his time represented in the classroom and that eventually we’d end up where we are today. But I quickly realized that this was wrong. We decided that although the above was true and that Carter did, in fact, embody the old Marist spirit, his particular brand of Marist Charism was informed by his life experiences, making his a unique philosophy distinct from that of the Brothers’. Indeed, even his return marked a milestone in sparking similar plans to return in other Explorers. OB, Foyo, Lynskey, Scholer…they owe it all to Carter.

Photo by David Ulloa.

Adam Scholer is another presence that was inescapable in my years as a burgeoning Explorer. Because of my lifelong need to express myself artistically, I came to know Scholer first as the director of drama. His 2005 May Production is still talked about - sure, that’s done mostly by him and me, but I can assure you that it was a hit. My then girlfriend, now wife, who was many times the actor I was, helped us out on this production. Anyway, one day in class after a very long night of rehearsal, Scholer turned to me and asked, “Dave, how did you convince a girl like Stephanie to go out with you?!” Despite how that might sound, I knew it was a compliment. I smiled and said something to the effect of I had no idea, but was happy it had worked. I’ll never forget his response to me. He said “You do whatever it takes to hang on to that girl. She’s golden, man.” He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But whatever Scholer said was law in my book. I continue to do whatever it takes to hang on to that girl.

While I was never fortunate enough to have Mr. Scholer as an English teacher, his influence as my speech and debate teacher is integral to where I ended up in life. His ability to teach the lessons both in and outside of the curriculum was paramount to me and countless other Explorers becoming the men we are today. He was real, he was raw, and throughout it all, we felt loved and respected. There are many teachers who I take with me into my classroom every day, teachers who helped shape me into the Marist educator I am today. Panzer, Chacon, Morrisey, Foyo, Lynskey, and Scholer chief among them.

But it’s possible that no single person is as responsible for today’s Columbus as Br. Kevin.

We knew who he was before we even stepped foot on campus. The Shark, they called him. He raised money like no one else. He took lip from no one. And if the Yankees had a bad night, beware the next morning. All these stories did him a great disservice, because when first laying eyes upon him, it was immediately apparent that he was so much more imposing, and more important, than all that. When he called “GIVE ME A C…” you felt as if he’d somehow know if you did anything less than give him all the C you could possibly muster. He seemed empowered with all the might of a Greek god. Some of this was mystique that had been built around him, and I’m pretty sure he enjoyed, and still does enjoy, the clout.

Photo by David Ulloa.

But something incredible happened during my junior year. On that first day of class in the fall of 2004, I received my course schedule and was shocked to see the name Handibode next to the class Algebra II. Somehow, in all the hubbub of those first two years, it had escaped me that as a Marist Brother, his primary vow was to educate as St. Marcellin Champagnat had. A further shock occurred, again something that shouldn’t have taken me by surprise, when I discovered that Br. Kevin was an outstanding math teacher. I had always floundered in my math classes. At least I had before I started at Columbus. But Br. Kevin had a way of teaching math that felt at once dangerous and rewarding. We didn’t want to disappoint him and we craved his praise. His class felt uniquely important, an incredible feat when you consider that my schedule saw me moving from Mr. Panzer’s class to Br. Kevin’s.

I’ll never forget the months leading up to the World Series that year. As a Red Sox fan, I was used to disappointment, but not that year. Br. Kevin and I had enjoyed a banter that teetered somewhere between playful and antagonistic. And the day after the Sox came back from a 3-0 deficit to beat the Yankees in that series, securing their spot in the World Series, I sat at my desk and waited for him to arrive. I still didn’t know how I wanted to play it. Was the teeter-totter of banter leaning towards playful or antagonistic today? Br. Kevin didn’t give me a chance. He walked in, looked right at me, pointed an index finger at me and said, “Dave, not a word out of your mouth today.” Even in that, he was teaching me a lesson; he was teaching me how to win gracefully. And I think no other phrase quite so nicely sums up Br. Kevin and Columbus as an institution, as “winning gracefully.”

This year marks a historic one for Columbus for many reasons. There are lots of wins to celebrate. But the losses for me are the reasons this monumental year will stick with me. With the retirement of Carter Burrus, Adam Scholer and Kevin Handibode, so much of what has made Columbus the school it is today leaves our campus. Giants. Titans. Teachers. How does Columbus move forward from here? We will continue to win, of course. It’s what we do, after all. We win in all aspects of the formation of young men. But how will we continue to win? How do we continue without Carter? Without Adam? Without Kevin?

I’ve given a lot of thought to this question since discovering that all three would retire at the conclusion of this academic year. But I’ve known the answer all along. And it’s so clear. Because it all goes back to something I realized my freshman year at Columbus. If I, as a freshman, could feel Carter’s presence at the school without him physically on campus, why would it not be possible to carry it on after this?

But it puts the onus on us to keep this legacy going. We say it all the time: Adelante! Of course, it means forward, onward to bigger and better places. Never stagnant, ever forging towards the great unknown. We are Explorers after all. But the thing about moving forward is that directionality begins somewhere. And where that journey begins informs how those intrepid adventurers arrive at their final destination. So it is up to us, the remaining Explorers, to keep Carter, Adam, and Kevin in our school. Find for me a person who says that Cunningham, McCullagh, Foyo, Culmo, Signore, Pardo, Panzer, Irvine and company don’t still live on in our halls, our classrooms, our spirit and you’ll have found a liar.

It’s not for the benefit of the faculty or the innumerable alumni that this task falls upon us. It is for all our current and future Explorers. Columbus is greater today than it was when I graduated. Carter has intimated this much as well, and I’m certain Adam and Br. Kevin would agree. So it is that we must remember where we came from, who got us here, and fuel our charge ever forward to greatness with that spirit.

To Dr. Burrus, Mr. Scholar, and Br. Kevin, I owe everything to you. Thank you. Adelante.