Mr. Underbrink
From the grapevine I hear that my high school world history teacher is hospitalized with pancreatic cancer. I need to confirm this. A real Indiana Jones. He's an anthropologist, archaeologist, professional photographer, teacher. His other job is a photojournalist for UNESCO & NATO. He travels the world photographing ancient ruins as part of the UN's preservation efforts. He is well loved for his stories, his camel call, his love of food ("If it comes out of the sea, I'll eat it"), his self-absorbed cat, his loathing of camels, his humor, his energy, his involvement in the local community. Someone needs to record his story.

The most memorable story was his climbing in the Himalayas(?) for a better view, only to fall down the mountains and have a rock pierce through his right forearm because he did what "any photographer would do–protect my camera." He was taken care of by indigenous people who wrapped his arm in a caste and rowed him down a river to civilization. The caste form was thought long gone to the endless fascination of the physicians who examined him. The muscles of his right arm had to be rearranged and attached. He learned to write with his left hand while his right healed (which it did).

It's hard to imagine him not living life grandly and sharing a bit of that with us students, but now he may be stricken with a terminal illness. I've never gotten tired of his stories. Because he's a part of so many of our pasts a bit of our own history is maligned. (But more so I suspect mortality calls each of us and we don't want to be reminded.)

Wow, teachers can impact so many people. They definitely need more respect in this society.