An Apple For My Teacher

In 1995, my 6th grade social studies teacher at the private Catholic school in town fell ill early in the first semester of the school year. Enter Mr. H, now Father Gale. Gale Hammerschmidt came into my life as a substitute teacher in the midst of a crisis. He filled educational shoes no one could think to fill, while also inspiring positive disruption in my hometown and countless members of my community for the last two decades.

The teacher he replaced never returned to Luckey Junior High, where I would spend the rest of my middle school life. So, Mr. H became a prominent male role model. In addition to teaching social studies, he supported the school through other means: coaching almost every sport, acting as referee in debates during the daily religious classes, substituting for other teachers, and more.

By 1996, I was turning 13 years old and preparing for confirmation in the faith — a decision often made during the preteen and teenage years. After less than a year of his tutelage, I asked Mr. H to be my confirmation sponsor, and he agreed. Shortly after that, I landed the position of president at the local parish’s Catholic Youth Organization. 

My religious story would halt there for some time — faith in a higher power replaced by almost any other option for belief.

A wedding to attend — and an old friend

Fast forward to July of 2015. I was to be the best man at my brother’s wedding in Tennessee, while working in Los Angeles as an intern. Two days before the wedding, I flew to Nashville, where I was picked up by my mother and driven to the party in Knoxville. My brother and my new sister did it well, admittedly, even if as best man I am required to say this.

By 2015, however, Mr. H made a significant transition from the middle school teacher who ended the last day of every school year with a viewing of “Footloose” to a full-fledged Catholic priest; he would be presiding over the wedding ceremony. I could not recall when last I had spoken to my former teacher and confirmation sponsor, but it had been a long time since my lapse in the Catholic faith began. Best man or not, I was not a practicing Catholic at that time. H is gonna H, however, and the day before the wedding, Mr. H, my brother Brad, and I were part of a 4-man, shotgun-start, golf scramble.

My lack of experience in golf was rivaled only by my lack of practice in Catholicism. Mr. H did not waste a breath on religion with me. We were playing golf, H was not in his collar, and pride was on the line. H brought a long game like a young Tiger, or at least played as if he did. The two others kept our four-man-scramble together, and I shot well in my short game over the first 9 holes. At the end, my father asked for help picking up supplies for tomorrow’s wedding reception.

TJ, a punk who had been hanging around for years, offered to help dad with the pick up. I stepped up as best man, however, handed TJ my clubs, and told him ‘to bring his short game’. TJ listened to my orders, our team won the scramble, and my dad and I completed our pick up successfully. 

The rumors around Knoxville that night, throughout the bar neighborhoods, were of the Catholic priest from Kansas who had come to town for a wedding and set some kind of distance record at a local course just that afternoon. H is gonna H.

The next day, the wedding went off without a hitch, Father Gale (no longer H in this role) being as gracious as ever a person can be, and my brother and his new wife enjoying every opportunity to celebrate with family and friends that evening. I myself enjoyed everything Knoxville could provide. My confidence fluttered early in the night, however, after the standard celebratory dances. Before I could think of anything else, though, I was caught speechless, a feat only a positive disruptor can accomplish. There was Father Gale-turned-H, busting out a move on the reception dance floor — he was doing the worm.

There I was, my life relatively calm and stable to most any other time, surrounded by family and friends from across the country, best man to my little brother, and my 6th grade substitute teacher-turned-priest was performing the worm before an audience breathtaken as much or more so than myself. As a person who has been committed, I have never seen fuller commitment to the task at hand than Father Gale Hammerschmidt at task, even if only to show everyone else on the dance floor how it is to be done.

It comes full circle

Now, in my neighborhood near the campus of my alma mater,  I can walk up to the parish where my confirmation sponsor is a priest. Even if I were not now actively practicing Catholicism again, I would take a heavy dose of comfort just knowing Mr. H is still out there showing others by example how full and joyous life should be.