A Touching Ceremony and a Teacher to Remember

by Dr. Mike Davis, Ph.D.
Head of School

All week at CA, many of us have worn white lapel ribbons to remember our colleague, John Threlkeld, a well-known and long-time math educator in Colorado. Last weekend, CA hosted a celebration of John's life, with educators, former and current students, family, even his medical caregivers were present. There were touching and beautiful tributes to a man who had an impact on so many lives and inspired so many students.  Due to the many, many requests for copies of the tributes, I have included here a transcript of the remarks, and an audio file of the event. 

JOHN THRELKELD MEMORIAL CELEBRATION
SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 2015
 
Good morning. I’m Dr. Mike Davis, Head of School here at Colorado Academy.
 
I want to welcome all of you  - - faculty and staff from many schools, former students, friends from far and wide, doctors, nurses, and caregivers, John’s family members – Chris & Alex, Liz & Casey, Cindy, Laura, and many others who have traveled a great distance to join today in this celebration of life for John Threlkeld. We are so happy you have come to celebrate him  -- to be here where John was  -- where he pursued his life’s work.
 
After John’s passing in early June, we all wondered together about the most appropriate way and time to remember him, and it was his son Chris who said that a back-to-school celebration would be best, as it was John’s goal throughout his treatment that he would come back to school this fall. And so he has, in a way, and here we are…granted, without the physical presence of our friend, but our lives are enriched, our hearts our saddened, our resolve is strengthened, and no doubt, our teaching and our work will be inspired.
 
John taught math here at CA in our Upper School for the past five years. These over-sized slide rules were a fixture in his classrooms. He chaired our Math Department, sponsored math clubs, he sat on our Admissions Committee, on national committees to improve mathematics education and assessment, and for more than twenty years prior to that, he taught at Graland Country Day School. Math – which he loved and marveled at – was a vehicle for John  -- an entrée into a kid’s life to demonstrate to students how much he believed in their ability to do so much more than they thought they could. That ability to see possibility is a teacher’s gift.
 
I want to apologize in advance to my respected Graland colleagues.  John Threlkeld came into my field of focus pretty quickly upon my arrival to CA as his good friend Richard Kelly could not stop talking about him.  They had a deep love of teaching and shared a passion for mathematics and modeled the type of collaboration more independent school educators should have. When a position opened up at CA, John applied—again Graland, my apologies. But, as we all know, he was just too good to pass up.  It is so telling that a person of his experience and amazing reputation would make such a significant change in his life – to take on a new professional and personal challenge.
 
He came and immediately began to transform our program at CA.   I find that despite the efforts of many leaders in the independent school world to talk about innovation and promote innovative thinking – there are actually very few who really put this into practice.   One of the greatest tragedies of John’s passing is that all of us never really got to see him enact all that he wanted to do in the practice of his teaching.  We had so many conversations about how we could “reinvent the teaching of mathematics” – even upon my last visit to his hospital.  He was a visionary and so far ahead of where even the most innovative educational thinkers are in terms of being able to isolate what is most important about teaching and learning.  In our interactions, he was fascinated by how to create mathematical thinkers and how to use unorthodox means to get students’ minds to open to new possibilities.
 
He left a powerful legacy with his students.  A very interesting point of connection was a former Graland student of his named, Bryan Cantrill. Bryan is now a software engineer in San Francisco and, in 2005, was named one of the 35 Top Young Innovators by Technology ReviewMIT's magazine.  Bryan was also my younger brother’s best friend and roommate at Brown University. John, Bryan, and I quickly put together this connection.  When John came to CA, Bryan tracked me down to call me. For those at Graland who remember Bryan, he speaks in a very distinctive and excited way. He punctuated his praise for John: “the best teacher I have ever had.” This from a graduate of Brown and MIT!  Near the end of John’s life, Bryan wrote me an email to pass along to John. I thought I would share parts of it as it reminds all of us educators the power we have to shape students' lives and those moments—that we often forgot, but which nevertheless--our students remember forever.
 
Bryan writes:
“For any of us -- even those blessed with many great teachers -- there are only a handful of teachers that one can look back on as being truly special: the right teacher at the right time for the right kid.  For me (and, I dare say, for my sister, Libby), you were one of those teachers:  your enthusiasm for math was pure and contagious -- and you had a great capacity to convey that through teaching.  For me personally, it also helped that you had an algorithmic focus and that you often used the computer (the Kaypro!) as a teaching tool; when I discovered several years later that my life's work was to be in computer science, it felt natural in part because of the foundation that you had given me in eighth grade.

Beyond the academics, I have many fond memories of your class (the eighth grade math honors class at Graland in 1988), but a story that I have retold several times over the years: that year you took several of us to a Mathcounts math competition.  The highlight of the competition was a game of bizz-buzz-bop-clang that was played with all of the attendees.  If I recall correctly, the rules in this particular contest were that you had to say bizz if divisible by 3, buzz if by 5, bop if by 7 -- and clang if prime.  (If the number fell into none of these categories, you just said the number.) When it was my turn, I had the number 169.  You had just drilled us on the perfect squares up to and including 225, so this was easy:  169 is (obviously!) composite and not divisible by 3, 5 or 7, so I just said "169".  At this, the judge said, "No, I'm sorry -- 169 is prime." There has presumably never been a bench-clear at a math competition before or since, but at this injustice our entire team stood up and started shouting at once "169 is 13 squared! 169 is 13 squared!"  It was absolute bedlam, with the judge furiously doing it longhand.  Ultimately, justice prevailed and I was permitted to stand.  Anyway, you had taught us well -- and I know that we were proud to represent your enthusiasm for perfect squares!

This is but one small way in which your excitement for math created a lasting legacy in us, your students.  I feel deeply blessed to have had you as a teacher -- and only hope that my own children (ages 10, 7 and 3) will be so lucky as to have a teacher that similarly inspires them!”
 
That, folks, is the power of teaching.
 
As many of you know, John passed after a bone marrow transplant and nearly a year in the hospital – a fight that was remarkable, sometimes hopeful, often frustrating, but throughout, John was unwavering in his choice to battle on.
 
Nearly two thousand times, John’s acquaintances visited his website to read updates on his progress and to leave him messages of support. Equally remarkable were the friends, students, family members, and medical professionals who supported him daily at the hospital. You’re going to hear from a few of them today. And after you do, in tribute to John, I hope we can join together in a collective resolve to carry on, just as he did.
 
 
Di Nestel – (former colleague)
Citation for John Threlkeld                                                       
 
I knew John for 25 years.  He was an admired colleague, someone we all aspire to emulate.  He was a curious academic who had an unwavering belief that every student had the potential to do great things.  John was a life-long learner who contributed to his profession by attending workshops, serving on committees, writing articles, consuming books and mentoring colleagues.  He was intimately involved with the students he taught and took their successes and challenges to heart.  John arrived at school each day, long before most.  He found a way to say yes to whatever was asked of him -- team leader, department chair, trip coordinator, ninth grade dean, assistant upper school head, communications director, head of education committee.  You name it, he did it – and did it well.  This was a guy who personified the phrase "if you want something done, ask a busy man to do it".  For many years, he and I shared a wall, so our mere proximity gave us daily opportunities to chat, commiserate, laugh, and sometimes cry together.  Like many of you, I even slept on the church basement floor in DC with John on more than one 9th grade trip.  John left Graland 5 years ago and headed to CA, but we made a point of getting together for iced tea and good conversation on a regular basis.  So I felt like I knew this guy.  
 
But it was this past year when I learned who John really was.  John was a planner, and several years ago he knew he would be facing the possibility of a procedure like a bone marrow transplant.  He found the best doctor in Mark Brunvand, researched all he could and then bravely proceeded with the knowledge that if he wanted to live another twenty years, the transplant gave him the best chance of doing that.  To say that John was an optimist is the equivalent of saying Einstein knew a little something about math.  John’s cup wasn't half full - it was overflowing.  Even in the face of setbacks, pain, confusion and complications, his unwavering positive attitude prevailed.  John was kind and nice to every single person who came in and out of his hospital room - whether they were there to clean his room, deliver lunch, bring him the very meds that would cause unbearable side effects, discuss next steps and new direction in treatment or a friend there for a visit.  It didn't matter; John showed gratitude and appreciation in that moment, at that time, every single time.  This is a man with great pride and dignity who learned to ask for help.  A man who even in the face of death, worried how others would cope.  A man who never lost his sense of humor when the rest of us found little to laugh about.  
 
What I learned most about my friend John was how proud he was of his son Chris and daughter Liz.  The most important thing for him was their happiness.  He shared with me that when he got "out of this place", he wanted to take a road trip to Seattle to see the farm Liz and Casey bought.  He proudly told me "I can't imagine she knows anything about farming but I am so proud she is not afraid to try".  He joked that Chris still hadn't forgiven him for selling his 1988 Montero and that they had promised one another that they would buy another and rebuild it together.  In his last weeks he realized he would not be able to do that with Chris but he also knew that he had provided something more powerful and long lasting - he had prepared Chris to do it himself.  I honestly believe that knowing his kids are happy and will be fine, allowed John to relax and internalize something he often said to me -  "what will be will be".  
 
If ever there was a life well lived, it was John's.  May we all continue to hold his spirit in our hearts, and approach our daily lives with his same purpose, courage, dignity, kindness and humility.  Well done, dear friend.  Rest in peace. 
 
David McMurtry (former student)
The Story of a Student and a Teacher
 
John had a great sense of humor and one of the things he did as a teacher was read a joke each day before he started class.  I loved these jokes and I remember one of them vividly, and I would like to share it with you now.  “What do you call 50 bunny rabbits jumping backwards?  --- A receding hare line.”
 
Simply put.  John Threlkeld was the best teacher I have ever had.
 
Our first classroom was in a school.  I a student and he my teacher.  To be honest…my first impression of Mr. Thelkeld was that he was the biggest dork I had ever met in my life.  But as it turns out, he was the best kind of dork, and even better, he owned it.  To me at that time he was really, really tall, he had that famous low voice, had a pocket protector and had his signature leg up on the desk while he taught.
 
But his dorkiness was based out of passion.  When you walked into his classroom you could not help but feel how alive math was for him.  Not just a subject...math was a religion to him.  His room, like his teaching, was three-dimensional.  Monster slide rules, geometric cubes and the number pie lined the walls of his class.  My sister, who also had John as a teacher, said it best, “He is the one that helped me see the beauty in math.”  As it turns out, my sister now teaches, of all things…math.
 
When I look back to those early years, I don’t so much remember the math I learned, but rather how he made me feel.  One such memory occurred in 1992.  I was a young awkward middle school kid that walked right into the middle of Mr. Threlkeld’s math class.   As soon as I walked in the other kids begin to whisper and snicker about me.  What I had foolishly done was let my mother convince me into thinking that getting a perm as an 8th grade boy was a good idea.  The rest of the period was torture as kids constantly made fun of me.  Finally, the class ended and Mr. T asked me to stay back.  He in a kind and loving manner asked if I was okay.  I complained about what a stupid idea this was and how mean the other kids were being.  Then John in a laughing tone told me it was going to be okay and that I should be grateful…because even if he wanted to get a perm he didn’t have enough hair to do so.  Like always he was right.
 
Our second classroom was the golf course.  We made it a tradition over the years to play a round of golf, catch up and chat about life.  And without fail, no matter what topic we talked about, at the end of the day our words and thoughts always returned to the simple things in life.  When I missed a putt or hit an errant shot, he was the first to remind me to keep my “failures” in perspective.  His attitude was always positive and was quick to celebrate the joy of simply playing golf with a friend.
 
One particular lesson on the golf course occurred on the 18th fairway of Wellshire in 2010 with Pat Waters, Peter Eklund and myself.  He said, “I think we teachers often forget that every kid we work with is a work in progress and sometimes the lessons we are trying to instill take many years to take hold.  Seeing my students as productive members in their communities as adults is truly rewarding.”  The lesson that day ended with hugs as we all felt we had made him proud.
 
Our final lesson was May 27, 2015 and it took place in his hospital room. The sun was setting and the room was flooded with beautiful light.  It was the perfect setting for our final goodbye.  The topic was not math or how to hit a golf ball straight… the topic was what matters most in life.   
 
He shared with me the importance of family and children.  Chris and Liz, he loved you deeply.  A truly proud papa.  He shared the importance of being passionate about what you do and to give your very best towards this endeavor.  Lastly, he talked about making a difference in the world and his hope that he was successful in this.  Even while his body was failing him his mind was clear, and he was a teacher to the last.  This lesson ended with us holding hands.
 
I would like to leave you all with one more story.  As part of my job and the work I do I send out emails and blogs that are intended to inspire and motivate.  One such posting was about John, and thanks to analytics, I can see that this post about our relationship remains the highest ranking of all time.  These words are an excerpt from the posting and are his own words.  I invite you all to close your eyes while I read this so that you can truly hear the voice of the greatest teacher I have ever known.
 
I had a conversation this afternoon with a very bright 9th grader who has not yet figured out how to profit best from his gifts of intelligence. I told him what I have told you — that I want to see him in 15 years. I predict he’ll be a PhD physicist — he doesn’t yet see this in himself but I do.  Our conversation today may have been a breakthrough moment for him. I hope the message got through. There are days when I wonder if I am reaching my students. But when I read tributes like yours and have real conversations as I did with this young man, I know that somehow it’s all worth it…I know I have done my job well”
 
Henry Adams once said, “A teacher affects eternity, he can never tell where his influence stops.”  Well, John, you are one in a million.  The ripple of positivity you had and have on this earth has no end.  Thank you, your student, David.
 
 
Tony Catanese  (former colleague)
Like A Brother
 
I need to begin by saying I have a sister.  She’s six years older than I.  I love her and we’re very close.  Secretly, however, I always wished I also had a brother.  My wish came true when I moved to Colorado.  From the beginning of our friendship twenty-seven years ago and throughout its development, John filled that void for me.  I feel blessed to have had him in my life for so many years.  He was, and is, like the brother I always wanted.
 
John mentored me when I first arrived at Graland Country Day School.  Although we were in different departments, through conversations about teaching and through watching John in action, I developed my teaching style.  He taught me to respect the learner and to have patience; to focus on the “you” rather than the “I”.  The empathy he felt for his students was matched by his refusal give up on them.  Until he observed the “Aha!” moment from each one, he persevered.  The more he challenged himself, the more he encouraged his students to do the same.
 
Whether sitting in meetings together on various teams and task forces or collaborating about school trips to Washington, DC and Taos, New Mexico or driving to and from Graland or just unwinding and relaxing at Starbucks, John respected our similarities and joked about our differences.  However, it was this last year, as he confronted his illness with dignity, humor and determination, that our brotherhood was solidified.  Our conversations began to transcend the usual everyday topics and evolved into something deeper and more immediate.  John allowed himself to be vulnerable and he encouraged me to do the same.  Lizzie and Chris, I will reiterate once more how proud your dad was of you and how comforting it was for him to know that Casey and Alex are in your lives.     
 
Several years ago, I received an offer to direct a production of Proof for the Evergreen Players.  It’s a play about a brilliant mathematician.  As soon as John found out, he made time in his hectic schedule to go through the script with me.  In detail and in language that even I could understand, he explained the mathematical concepts, theories and terminology mentioned in the play.  At his suggestion, he attended one of the rehearsals to talk to the cast and to answer any questions they might have.  His planned one-hour visit turned into more than three hours.  The cast was spellbound by his enthusiasm, by his observations and by his answers to their questions.  As with his students, John captivated and inspired this group of actors with his knowledge and his passion for sharing it.  He excited them about the theme of the play and he established a solid foundation for them to develop their characters.  Once again I watched with admiration as John “did his thing.”
 
In his book, The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran writes the following about Friendship.  “In friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared with joy that is unacclaimed.  And, remember, when you part from your friend, you grieve not.  For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.”
 
Thank you, John, for your friendship and for allowing me to accompany you on your final journey.  My wish is that I gave you in return at least a small portion of all the love, respect and friendship that emanated from you.  I will miss you, John, but I know that you will always be a part of me, just like you will always be a part of anyone who had the good fortune to know you.
 
Rest in Peace, my brother.
 
This Coke’s for you!
 
 
LAURA THRELKELD ANELLO (sister)
Thank you for the opportunity to be part of this special celebration of John’s life.  It is wonderful to be with so many people whose lives were impacted by him. 
 
A friend of mine sent me a sympathy card which truly touched me.  It said “everyone who knew your brother liked him.  He was the type of guy who treated others with kindness and respect…with time, hope the legacy of his life will bring you comfort and peace”.  I know his personal and professional legacy will live on through all of you.
 
Being so far away as John went through this ordeal was very difficult but knowing that he had such a strong support system made it easier for me and my family.  Thank you for all your love and caring, not just for John but for his family as well.
 
This is not the outcome we had all hoped for a year ago, but as usual John put his all into trying to recover and resume his life as before.  Unfortunately, it was not enough, but I find comfort in knowing he is now at peace and not suffering any more.
 
Again thank you all for being a part of John’s life. 
 
 
RONNI MCCAFFREY (former colleague)
 
Since John was so conscientious, and so devoted to his students, I thought of a short poem, by Mary Lee Hall (a math teacher and chair of the department at LaSalle Seminary in Boston in the 1880s)
 
Turn Again to Life
If I should die and leave you here awhile, 
Be not like others sore undone, who keep
Long vigil by the silent dust and weep. 
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
Something to comfort weaker hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine,
And I, perchance, may therein comfort you!

 
MIKE DAVIS
Re-dedication
Di, Tony, David, Mark, Ronni – thank you for all that you have shared. George Younger – a mathematics student of John’s, thank you for the musical tribute to John.
 
Though saddened by the hopes removed and by the tasks undone, our memories do provide us with a measure of comfort.  These memories are the immortality that comes when we remember John.  To that end, I hope you’ll join me.
 
As I enter the classroom this week at the start of this new school year, I will think of John, and as a reminder, I will wear this white lapel ribbon.  Here is what I will think of each time I am teaching and remember that I have it on.
 
  • I will recall John’s respect and admiration for children—his own and others.
  • I will recall that no matter how different we might be, we can always learn from one another and care for each other.
  • I will recall the earnestness and honesty with which John endeavored to reach students – all students.
  • and I will remember tenacity, grace in the face of adversity, and always, always, the gratitude that John displayed.
 
As you leave this morning, I hope you’ll join me in putting on a ribbon.. Wear it this coming week. When your students or colleagues ask about it, tell them you are remembering a teacher, a role model, and a friend.
 
Surely, our only answer to death is to choose life; life and teaching, and that is what John would have each of us do.  If he could speak to us now, I believe he might share something along the lines of this hopeful summons written by author and educator, Bill Ayers, who said:
 
“This is the fundamental message of the teacher: You can change your life. Wherever you’ve been, whatever you’ve done, the teacher invites you to build on all that you are, and to begin again. There is always something more to do, more to learn and know, more to experience and accomplish. You must change your life, and if you will, you can change your world."
 
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