4 | MAY 26 • 2022
for openers
Our Last Class with Mr. Leuchtenberg
A
nticipating a high
school reunion
can evoke varied
reactions. Most folks look
forward to seeing old friends.
Some dread the return of
high school angst. For some,
it’s the push
to really start
following that
diet. Everyone
who attends
tries to look
their best. And,
of course, some
skip the whole
darn thing.
Every 10 years since my
graduation, I’ve gone to my
Mumford High School (class
of 1966) reunions. In 2016,
before any of us had heard of
COVID, I decided to attend
our 50th to catch up with
some old friends.
My childhood friend Eddie
(now Ed) emailed me in the
summer of 2016 to say that
he had managed to contact
our favorite teacher from
Post Junior High, Mr. Dennis
Leuchtenberg. It turns out
that Mr. L. was only in his
late 20s when he taught us
English and journalism. That
meant that Mr. L. was now
in his mid-80s. Ed suggested
we set up a meeting for lunch
with Mr. L. and our junior
high classmates who were
coming to the Mumford
reunion that fall. That
sounded like a good idea. Mr.
L readily agreed to meet with
us for lunch.
We weren’t sure how
many folks would show
up for lunch with Mr. L.
at Ginopolis. I got there
early and found my old pal
Steve waiting in a private
room with a big table. We
reassured each other how
great we both looked (wink,
wink). Steve had towered
over me and our friends in
his teens, but his 5’9’’ stature
looked different at 13 than
at 68! We hugged and caught
up with each other as we
waited for other classmates
to trickle in. As folks arrived,
we mostly recognized each
other’s younger selves hidden
by 50 years of living. And,
of course, we all lit up when
Mr. Leuchtenberg walked
in, looking every bit his age
(though not that much older
than we all must have looked
to him).
About 12 of us took seats
around the table. Ed agreed
to emcee the event and
suggested we all order lunch
and then go around the
table telling each other what
we were up to and sharing
any memories we had of
Post Junior High and our
teacher, who looked pleased
but perhaps slightly shell-
shocked.
Post Junior High, in
northwest Detroit, included
kids from various elementary
schools in the area. Classes
were set up at that time
based on test scores. We were
often told that our group,
which stayed together from
seventh through ninth grades
was composed of the kids
with the highest scores. In
addition to teaching English,
many of us also worked
with Mr. L. intensively on
our school paper, the Post
Script, and our yearbook. His
teaching style was serious,
caring and supportive,
encouraging us to work hard
and follow the rules (which
most of us were prone to
do). He especially focused
on helping us to learn to
become better writers. His
youthfulness and enthusiasm
were wonderful assets for our
cohort. We tried to please
him and felt that he expected
us to do our best.
Most of us felt proud of
our intellect, but we were also
aware that we were perceived
by others as fairly nerdy. We
all felt socially awkward (I
know I did!) during puberty,
an awkward time of life.
We clung to our smartness
as a buffer against feeling
uncertain about ourselves in
so many other ways.
THANKING ‘MR. L.’
Twelve people having lunch
around a table in a room
with their former teacher
… it sounds so ordinary.
But, ask anyone who was
there, something wonderful
happened that afternoon.
All of these professionals,
including teachers,
professors, doctors, lawyers
and writers, now nearing the
end of their careers, were
able to tell their teacher how
much he had meant to us in
our formative years.
Each of us thanked Mr. L.
for the special way he had
taught us to better express
ourselves in our writing. The
teachers and professors in
the group were particularly
elegant, letting their teacher
know how much they had
borrowed from him and
continued to use in educating
their own students.
We laughed about Mr. L.’s
strong encouragement for
the use of the semi-colon.
Many gave specific examples
of how often they used what
they had learned from him in
their daily work. And we also
talked about how his caring
and concern for us at this
important time in our lives
had helped us to believe in
ourselves.
I sang a song I had written
for the occasion to the tune
of “Yesterday” (which I
Mr. Leuchtenberg
PURELY COMMENTARY
Jeff London
continued on page 7