4 Years, 20 Weeks.
My childhood principal passed away this past week.
I hadn't seen him much, if at all, over the past 20 years, considering that I had seen him almost everyday from 5th grade through my sophomore year in high school. Nevertheless, when I found out early Friday morning of his passing, I was deeply saddened and overcome with emotion.
It was devastating news.
It wasn't because Mr. Farmer was the principal of Walker Memorial Academy; that was just his official title. It was because he did so much more than the required job description that accompanied his office.
In all my life, even up until now, I could never imagine a Walker Memorial Academy without Mr. Farmer. He was an ever constant presence in every facet of his school. He was involved in everything, not to micromanage things, but because he wanted to be there. He loved his kids, and we loved him.
I was in the same class as his son, so I became close to Mr. Farmer because I hung out and played sports with him and David. He was my 8th grade class sponsor, and I remember he and I trying to plan out fundraisers and coordinating a fun class trip that would fit our disconcerting budget. He taught my first American History class in high school, and gave me a new appreciation for our young country, with all the sacrifices and tribulations we had to endure to make our nation what we are today. He was my basketball coach when I finally made it on the varsity team in 9th grade, and I could never figure out how he consistently made those 15 footers at practice.
There was this one April Fool's Day that a classmate and I decided to play a prank on our math teacher, Mr. Roche, by placing a whoopee cushion on his chair in hopes that he wouldn't see it before he sat down. He did catch it though, and proceeded to take both of us to Mr. Farmer's office. We were made to wait outside while they "discussed" proper discipline; I was sweating bullets fearing what my father would do with me when he was told of my inappropriate conduct. We were told to come in; the panicked look on our faces was enough to scare the angel of death away. And then...Mr. Roche and Mr. Farmer both burst out laughing. They had turned the prank back on us, and used the suspense in the thought of getting into trouble, be our punishment. Payback was swift and just. He was such a class act.
Mr. Farmer will always be more than just a principal to me. He was a leader that loved to serve others. He was a teacher that loved to learn from his students. He loved music and supported the music program, even though he wasn't musically inclined. He loved sports and developed my love and understanding of football and basketball. He taught intramurals and was a referee at all of our games. He was always encouraging us, and showed the love of Christ through his actions and words. He epitomized his last name perfectly: sowing seeds of love in his students, so that his harvest would be rich and full of that same love.
He was selfless beyond measure.
He was kind. He was fair. He listened. He was a friend. He gave us his time. He made us feel important, and made us a part of his extended family. In essence, we are all Farmers.
Good night sir. We will see you soon.
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William E. Farmer
1947-2014 |
Photo Credit: Daniel Bedell
