pt at large

"Everything he needs to know, he learned in 4T" story in Those Who Teach

February 25, 2013, as published at Those Who Teach
Everything he needs to know, he learned in 4T.

It’s been more than two months since my last post! To help make up for that gap, here’s a story so good, I think it’s movie material…

Almost 40 years later, Jeff Kelly Lowenstein still remembers the feeling of community in “4T,” Paul Tamburello’s fourth grade class at Pierce School in Brookline, Massachusetts. “He knew all of us, and had high expectations for us,” Jeff says. “He was really good about letting us know that he saw what we were doing, whether it was doing well or misbehaving.”


Jeff (right) learns to use chopsticks in 4T.
photo credit: Paul Tamburello

Though he graduated from 4T in 1974, Jeff kept coming back to visit his old teacher, even throughout high school and college.  During these visits, Jeff recalls, “He would always say, ‘What do you remember from 4T?’ Then he would use that information to think about how to approach the class.” This commitment to continual improvement inspired Jeff, who began working at Pierce – first as a recess aide, and then, after graduation from Stanford, as an apprentice teacher to Tamburello for two years, beginning in 1987.

Jeff as Mr. Tamburello's apprentice teacher Photo courtesy of Jeff Kelly Lowenstein
Photo courtesy of Jeff Kelly Lowenstein

On the experience of having Jeff back in his classroom as an aspiring teacher, Paul Tamburello writes:

I was used to training student teachers but none with whom I had this kind of history. I hesitated. Was my work good enough, rigorous enough, to keep him engaged? I knew Jeff held me in high regard, maybe even considered me a role model. It’s a long fall from a pedestal to the solid, hard earth. Finally, I took the advice I gave my students. Don’t be afraid to try, maybe even fail.

(…)

There were days I shook my head and grinned in wonder. Jeff’s initiative was taking our relationship into rich uncharted territory. This was giving the term “student teacher” a whole new dimension. It would give us things to talk about for years to come.

By our second year of co-teaching, it was, “Jeff and I expect you to…” or “Mr. Tamburello and I expect you to…” as we ran the classroom. Jeff may be the only kid in America who got a post-graduate degree in fourth grade. It was the richest experience of my 34-year career.

In 1992, Jeff finally had his own classroom: he began teaching Social Studies and English at Brown Elementary School in Newton, Massachusetts — only five miles away from Pierce School. Mr. Tamburello continued to guide his student of now 18 years:

“I would emulate a lot of the things I learned from his classroom, including his sense of discipline, and the positive environment he established.” Jeff adds, “Now, when I would go back to visit, he would still be trying new things, and this would give me more homework to do as a teacher.”

Jeff’s memoir about these experiences, On My Teacher’s Shoulders, was published in 2012.  On his decision to write a book about Mr. Tamburello, Jeff says, “A big motivation was to honor the different, but related types of impact he played on me over the course of 30 years. It was not a static relationship: each time [I came back] there was something different that I had to learn and he had to teach me. I feel very fortunate that he had the strength and humility to let me know what he was gaining each of those different times. That helped me understand the reciprocity of shared important experiences.”

Paul (left) and Jeff (right) at a NYC fund raiser for the Dart Society, an organization of journalists that works to tell stories about trauma and violence with sensitivity and compassion, and that also works to help journalists deal with the impact of doing that work. It is now named the Ochberg Society.
photo courtesy of Jeff Kelly Lowenstein

Many of us are fortunate to have had teachers who’ve shaped us for the better, including what kind of teachers we are and aspire to be. I also love how this story highlights the lifelong learning and cameraderie that can grow between teacher and student — and how the distinctions between these roles can blur in exciting, unexpected ways.

Have you kept in touch with a teacher long after leaving his or her class? Have you returned to teach at a school you attended?

Posted in Goodnews, teachingelementary, teachingenglish, teachingsocialstudies
Tagged brookline, inspiration, jeff kelly lowenstein, paul tamburello, pierce school, teaching
1 Comment

Other stories from Jeff or Paul

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2012/05/jeff-kelly-lowenstein-my-walking-talking-lifetime-achievement-award.html

Craning toward the heavens: The Cape Codder Newspaper

July 10, 2002

Craning toward the heavens

By PAUL TAMBURELLO

We’ve always looked to the firmament with awe, wonder, or fear. It wasn't long ago that we spent months looking at smoke ascending to the sky as a smoldering monument to our lost innocence, our shattered sense of security. On the evening of July Fourth in Falmouth, thousands of spectators on land and sea craned their necks toward the heavens in anticipation of a reassuring annual ritual.

Dusk had settled in leisurely measure over Falmouth Harbor, the orb’s last golden rays lazily giving over to the transparent slate blues of early evening. Then, imperceptibly but absolutely, it was dark. We spectators on a deck in Falmouth Harbor for our annual holiday picnic, busy with our chatter, hardly noticed the graduation.

The food and company were the main ingredients but the grand finale, a point of reference for the rest of the summer, was going to be the display of firepower soon to be rocketed into the sky from the barge floating placidly offshore.

This evening was actually one of the only times our lives would all intersect until the next Fourth. The subject of our past shared experiences of fireworks fair and foul came up just as often as the whereabouts and whatabouts of our children, our jobs, and the precarious times in which we’ve been plunged since last September.

The fallout from that late summer day, the indelible image of two fireballs of inconceivable dimension, comes to mind now every time we look up into the sky for anything.

At about 9:10 p.m., the fireworks announced themselves with a single airborne explosive shell and a sky opening explosion of color. We didn’t know it yet but we were in for a treat.

On a night with the gentle onshore breeze blowing away the heat of the day, we witnessed the most imaginative display of fireworks wizardry in memory. God, (sorry, the name just slipped out) we needed that. It may not have surfaced to a conscious level of thought, but I needed to experience the comfort of an annual tradition. I felt reassurance as I listened to the universal ooohs and ahhhhs which reflexively burst out of our mouths as the dazzling pyrotechnics lit up the sky. I needed to see wonder in the firmament.

The smoky wisps of dissipated fireworks drifting lazily over the beach to slowly melt into the night were stealthily thawing the sense of self preservation I had built up since last September.

New blasts of color blooming and booming overhead performed unexpected and crowd pleasing dances and sky walking jigs. Primary, decorator, and patriotic colors artfully segued one after another, often punctuated by a few staccato bangs followed by a basso profundo bone shivering KaBoom.

Some fireworks exploded in surreal slow motion, arching upward then cascading to earth with unbelievable grace in huge, lingering, slowly fading golden trails. I felt mysteriously sheltered, as if under the branches of some heavenly willow tree.

With creative celestial choreography, many of these gentle tokens were succeeded by volcanically propelled bursts that reminded me of the stars blurring by in a Star Wars movie. " Hyperspace speed, Chewy! "

At one point, I found myself sitting back and surveying our crowd of 14 people, Gen X-ers to 70-somethings. I felt a sense of kinship with this disparate group of friends. Our differing opinions about politics, religion, and race were blown away like the smoke from the incendiary display overhead.

If there’s one thing the world is in need of it’s kinship, a sense that we all belong here together, and, stripped to the core, have the same basic aspirations. Do life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness ring a bell?

The enveloping darkness made me aware of my puny size in the grand scheme of things. My synonymous responses with those of the crowd made me feel safe and secure within it. It occurred to me that I don’t feel that way any more with unquestioning acceptance. The simple routine of watching the fireworks together was not so simple this year.

When I saw that incandescent willow tree gracefully cascading over Falmouth Heights, I knew it was offering us all celestial shade for that night, a temporary respite from the hateful gleam which may yet cascade upon us on another day.

Paul Tamburello is a writer and teacher who lives in Watertown.