…my time at Mullen was filled with relationships that changed me and made me a better person and a better administrator.

And I had some victory that was just failure in deceit
Now the joke’s comin’ up through the soles of my feet – Lucky Town, Bruce Springsteen

When I arrived at Mullen High School – a Christian Brothers school and traditional rival of Regis Jesuit High School -, I knew I was joining a Lasallian institution with deep traditions. As a person who had spent almost my entire career up to that point in Ignatian education, I was nervous about what crossing the Rubicon to the Lasallian world might mean for me. I know that people at the school were equally worried about what it might mean for Mullen.

I was principal of Mullen High School for five years, five very good but sometimes very difficult years. That half decade was marked by hard work, a pandemic, catastrophic budgetary concerns, a year serving as both principal and acting president (my first year at the school!), gratifying successes, significant personal illness (nobody wants Shingles), profound emotional challenge, and acceptance that I could not always be the change I wanted to be in the world. Stepping away from Mullen was heart wrenching. Watching it thrive in the ensuing years has been terrific.

Over my years in Catholic secondary education, I have found that  leadership is equal parts vocation and privilege. I have been privileged, time-and-again, to have this work as my vocation. Rarely has that idea been more true for me than when I think back on those five years as Mullen High School in Denver. Reflecting now, I realize that while we tackled important institutional work together, the deepest gift of those years was, without question, the people with whom I served.

Naming names is often a risky enterprise as I tend to leave someone out when I begin listing people who have meant so much to me, but my time at Mullen was filled with relationships that changed me and made me a better person and a better administrator. Liz, a couple of Joes, Trish, Betsy, Lindsay, Christa, Katie, Duan, two Katies, Carrie, George, Rita, Doug, Frank, Leslie, and Raul: each of these people remain in my heart and my prayers.

Mullen also gifted me with a brother. 

I have mentioned in previous posts and in my blog And There Came a Day, The Magister, Jim Broderick King, who is closer to me than blood could bind. He and I were classmates at Regis Jesuit and worked there together for almost 20 years. Godfather to my children and speaker of intimate truths, Jim is my life-long companion. At the JSN, I was blessed to reconnect with the genius Tim Sassen whose wit and love carry me to this day. And at Mullen I met Michael McGuire. Were you to ask either of us how we became friends and at what point a friendship became brotherhood, I do not think we could give you a clear answer. What I do know is that my friendship with Michael has been the defining friendship of the last decade of my life. I am fairly certain that few people are gifted with friendships like this one, especially later in life. What a blessing Michael McGuire is to me.

One of the most unique and humbling aspects of my time at Mullen was working alongside my son, Matthew. To share a campus with your child is a joy few educators get to experience. While we did not see each other constantly, we did check in almost every morning. Both he and I were very early arrivals at the school – I like to think that he may have learned that particular trait from me – and we would chat before dawn and the start of the school day. There was something grounding about knowing he was just down the hall. Watching him grow in his own right, finding his place and voice in the school, filled me with pride. I tried not to hover (he would say I mostly succeeded), but being present for that chapter in his life was an extraordinary blessing. He decided to depart the school months before I did but his decision to do so left a hole that I did not fully comprehend at the time.

Another gift was working daily with my sister, Janna. We had been close throughout our lives, but to be at the school together brought a new layer to our bond. She is the sweetest person on the planet. This was something I knew long before I worked with her. Seeing her share her unique gifts of love and joy with the Mullen community – a community that may not have always grasped what she was offering – was amazing, just like her. No one gives as much as she does. No one.

Then there was Caroline. My wife and partner, who joined the Mullen staff with her own deep commitment to education. This was not an easy choice for her, but one she made so we could be together. We worked together as we had at other points in our lives, and as always, she made every space she entered better. Her warmth, insight, and fierce dedication to students and mission elevated everything we did. Caroline passed away soon after our time at Mullen, and I carry the memory of all of those years with her at Regis Jesuit and at Mullen as among the most cherished in my life. She transformed those places, and me

It was these people who got me through the hard days. It was these people who, in the end, made my Mullen journey worthwhile. The school will always be a place that lives in my heart. Not because of the job I held, but because of the people I held dear.

Next week, Lucky Town – KIPP Northeast Denver Leadership Academy

…during those years, I served alongside colleagues who were wholly committed to the mission of Jesuit education… 

And I don’t know just where I’m going tonight
Out where the sky’s been cleared by a good hard rain
There’s somebody callin’ my secret name – Lucky Town, Bruce Springsteen

After the clock chimed midnight on my time at Regis Jesuit, I reluctantly began to consider other career opportunities.

That led me to a role that was both familiar and brand new: Vice President of the Jesuit Secondary Education Association, the organization that would become the JSN. It had been a constant presence throughout my career. I had attended every Colloquium they offered, graduated from and taught in their Seminars in Ignatian Leadership, and presented at numerous gatherings. When the opportunity to join the JSN and succeed Dr. Bernie Bouilette whom no one could (in my estimation) ever replace – a man who would become my mentor and on whom I still rely today arose, I was lucky and so deeply blessed to get the position.

The JSN, part of the Jesuit Conference of North America, supported more than eighty secondary and pre-secondary schools. Our offices were in Washington, D.C. – just four blocks from the White House – but I was able to remain in Denver, traveling regularly to lead programs and support leaders around the country.

It was an incredibly exciting next chapter. I loved every minute of it.

But sometimes, when you least expect it, God speaks one word—and everything changes.

That word still echoes in my mind: “Authentic.”

When Father Arturo Sosa, SJ, the Superior General of the Society of Jesus, said that word during a homily at an international gathering of Jesuit educators in Rio de Janeiro, I was seated in the front row of the chapel and was close enough to feel the conviction in his voice. He was talking about leadership in Catholic schools and the responsibility we bear to lead with honesty and deep self-awareness. His challenge was clear: to lead others, we must be in touch with who we are. We must be authentic.

Authentic.

At that moment, I realized something I had not yet admitted or understood. I was doing meaningful work, but I had not yet answered the deepest call of my vocation: my first, best destiny some would say. I had not yet served as a Catholic high school principal. Not as an acting principal, that I had done at Regis Jesuit. I had not been: A. Principal. 

I felt at that moment that there was something more for me to give and something else to do.

That moment in Rio changed everything.

But let me rewind.

I was in the fourth of four wonderful years working for the JSN and, during those years, I served alongside colleagues who were wholly committed to the mission of Jesuit education. We logged thousands of miles together, traveling thousands of miles. I met hundreds of educators and school leaders who helped shape my thinking, challenge my assumptions, and expand my heart. 

I was transformed by the experience. 

Many of the people I worked with remain dear friends—some of the most important relationships of my personal and professional life. 

One of them, Dr. Tim Sassen, is more than a friend. For a person who has sisters but no biological brothers I have been blessed in three men who are as close to me as if we were biologically related. Tim is one of them. We still text and talk, and a casual “two minutes?” message often turns into a holy hour of laughter. 

All of the people I encountered in my time at JSN made me who I am. I am better because of them.

In the fall of that fourth year with the JSN, the entire professional staff received an invitation to attend an international conference of Jesuit educators in Rio. Truthfully, “invitation” does not quite capture it—it was an honor. Leaders in Jesuit education from all over the world were coming together to reflect, pray, and discern how best to lead our schools. I did not belong in the room with such folks. This is a fact. It is also a fact that that is not why I wanted to say “no thank you” to this invitation. 

International travel has never been my comfort zone, and when I looked at my already-packed calendar that fall, I realized I would be home in Denver for fewer than six days during that October. I tried to decline.

Thankfully, Father Bill Muller, my colleague at the JSJN (he would not like for me to call him “boss”) had a better perspective. “We’re blessed to be invited,” he said. “You’re going.”

Roger that.

And so, I boarded a plane in Denver, connected through Houston, and landed in Rio de Janeiro, completely unaware that I was about to experience the most profound spiritual moment of my professional life. That homily. That word.

Authentic.

It shifted something in me. I came home with clarity and conviction. I told my wife what I had heard in my heart and, frankly, what I believed I heard from the Voice of God, and without hesitation, she supported me fully. Her faith in me made my next step possible. Without a job lined up or applications submitted, I walked into Bill Muller’s office at the JSN and let him know that I would be leaving at the end of the school year.

“It’s time for you to run your own show,” he said. What a gift Bill Muller is.

Not long after that, my wife asked, “What’s your dream job? If you could wave a magic wand, what would it be?”

That was easy: a principalship at a co-ed Catholic high school in Denver.

At the time, no such job existed. So we started to look at schools that would mean a move and require a leap of faith (more on that in a few weeks)..

Two weeks later, that exact position opened.

Funny how religious experiences work.

Next week, Lucky Town – Mullen High School

It is nearly impossible to overstate how much (Regis Jesuit High School) meant to me, and, over a decade following my departure, it still does. 

And I had some victory that was just failure in deceit/ Now the joke’s comin’ up through the soles of my feet/ I been a long time walking on fortune’s cane/ Tonight I’m steppin’ lightly and I’m feelin’ no pain

To say I loved my 20 years at Regis Jesuit High School would be a significant understatement. It is nearly impossible to overstate how much that place meant to me, and, over a decade following my departure, it still does. 

I graduated the school in 1988 and was determined to return four years later. 

It took me six.

I arrived as a professional at age 24, newly married and childless, and left at 44, remarried with three children. That stretch of time – personally and professionally – was filled with what I thought would be the most profound changes of my life. They certainly were at the time. 

20 years. 

I grew up at Regis Jesuit in more ways than one. I grew up not just in age, but in spirit, leadership, and calling. And I did so in my professional hometown, a place where over two decades I became very well known, for better and for worse.

As anyone who stays in a place long enough knows, your story starts to come into a room before you make the door. The way people know you is shaped not just by their personal experiences of you, but by what they hear, assume, or remember whether they remember accurately or not. Over 20 years, I worked hard, I made mistakes, I led boldly and sometimes stupidly. I learned constantly. Most of my efforts were well-intentioned, I wish I could say “all,” but that would be a lie. Some of my intentions landed beautifully. Others, less so. But they are all part of my Regis Jesuit story.

That story changed unexpectedly the year I became Acting Principal of the Boys Division. After 7 years as an administrator in the Girls Division, I was asked one late May to step into the role for the Boys Division. I agreed to do so readily.

The ten months I served as Acting Principal were some of the most demanding and rewarding of my career. I worked hard – truly hard – to serve students, faculty, and staff with integrity and energy. I believed I was making a positive impact. I believed I was on a path toward attaining the permanent position. And I was told, repeatedly and clearly, that I was.

But when the time came to make a final decision, I was not hired.

That moment was among the most painful of my professional life. I want to believe that I did not feel that I was entitled to the position. I struggle with that though in my heart of hearts. I want to believe it was so hard because I had poured myself into the work for over a decade, because I believed in the mission, and had been led to believe I was the right person for the job. 

When I did not get it, I was heartbroken. And I was angry.

To be candid, I did not handle the next moments of my career particularly well. In the immediate aftermath, I was emotionally raw. In moments of frustration, I said things to colleagues I regretted the seconds they left my mouth. I was devastated and had months left in the position, trying to hold myself and others together in a year that suddenly felt like it had unraveled.

One of the more surreal and almost comic moments came when the president and I planned how to tell the faculty and staff that I was not getting the job. We decided to do so at a faculty meeting and determined that he would take the first 15 minutes of that meeting to make the announcement, and I would walk in after to lead the rest of the meeting. Reading that now, I still cannot believe we thought this was a good idea.

When I entered the back of the library where the meeting was being held, 150 backs were turned toward me. The room was quiet and tense. I moved quietly, hoping for a calm, composed entrance. But as I passed through the library’s security gates, an alarm blared, damn loudly. I had nothing on me that should have triggered it, but there it was. The perfect metaphor: unexpected, awkward, and unforgettable. Everyone turned. All I could do was laugh. And, thankfully, they did, too.

That might have been the last time I laughed that year.

Following this rejection, I returned to the Girls Division as Assistant Principal, a role I had once loved. But I was not the same. The school was changing, and so was I. I found myself increasingly at odds with decisions being made. Though still in leadership, I was no longer a principal, and I felt – whether accurately or not – that my voice no longer carried the same weight. That perception wore on me.

Eventually, it became clear that it was time for me to go. I did not leave this place I loved with bitterness – though I had felt plenty of it along the way. I left with gratitude, even if it was complicated.

I believed, for a long time, that I would retire from Regis Jesuit. But life had other plans. 

Regis Jesuit will always hold a special place in my story. It is the place where I grew up, professionally and personally. It was the place where I was known, where I was really known. And it was the place where I had to learn, sometimes painfully, that being known can be both a blessing and a burden.

I am a better teacher, a better administrator, and a better person because of those 20 years. What more could anyone ask?

The day I left as a profesional was not the last time I have been at the school, but more on that later…

Next week, Lucky Town – The Jesuit Schools Network

(Bishop McNamara) will always remain in my heart as the place that confirmed for me that I had chosen the right path for my life …

When it comes to luck, you make your own/ Tonight I got dirt on my hands, but I’m building me a new home/ Baby, down in Lucky Town

When I chose my major in college. No, sorry. Far before that. I knew what I wanted to do far before I selected a major or a college.

When I was in high school and asked what I wanted to do with my life, I always offered the same answer: “I want to teach high school English and direct plays.” So, the major I chose at The Catholic University of America was, in fact, the double major of English and Secondary Education. 

That I did not pay enough attention to my credits (nor did my academic counselor, by-the-way) that my achievement of that major was imperiled just before my graduation in May of 1992 is a fun footnote to the idea that I have spent my life doing what I wanted to do. While I have not directed high school plays, I have taught at least one high school English course in 25 of the 27 years I have been in direct service to secondary schools and there is still time for me to realize the other part of that goal. I will, someday, direct plays.

During the spring of 1992, knowing that my fiancée and I were going to stay in the Washington, DC area after our graduation, I was wrapping up my coursework, planning for my marriage, and looking for jobs. I mailed a resume to every school at which I wanted to teach in the Washington, DC area. I received two interviews at Catholic high schools (I very much wanted to be in Catholic education even then): one teaching English at Gonzaga College High School (a Jesuit school) and one teaching theology at Archbishop Carroll High School, both in DC. I was not offered the position at Gonzaga. I was offered the position at Archbishop Carroll. For reasons I cannot remember, I turned that position down. Most likely it was because I felt nervous about my first teaching position and I did not want to combine that nervousness with teaching out of my subject matter. 

Regardless, I found a job at the National Conference of Catechetical Leadership as an Executive Secretary and settled in until the next job cycle rolled around.

It rolled around more quickly than I anticipated. 

In October 1992, Bishop McNamara High School reached out to me. Mr. Al Odierno – a man to whom I still owe much of who I am as an educator – called and asked me if I would come in on a Saturday to interview for an English teacher position that had just come open. I readily agreed. 

I do not remember much of the interview but I do remember (I think) that Al called me and left a message on the answering machine offering me the job while I was driving home from the school. I was offered the job on a Friday and they asked if I could start that Monday.

I did. 

Looking back over three plus decades, I know that I romanticize the two years I spent at Bishop McNamara High School. I remember my first classroom as my favorite ever. I remember serving as Student Council Moderator for the first time in my career (not the last) and loving it. I remember my colleagues as becoming my community very quickly. I remember learning much of what I would come to believe as what it means to be a good teacher. 

I remember those days so very, very fondly.

• The school had just merged an all boys school and an all girls school the year I came. That experience would mean a lot years later in my career.
• On my very first day, a student passed out during one of my classes. Unbelievably to me now, I had a bigger student carry her to the Main Office.
• A parent punched a student during my first Parent/Teacher Conference the second week I was at the school. I had no idea what to do.
• I taught with a nun who championed bringing the novel A Prayer for Owen Meany into the curriculum. My God, how influential those conversations were!
• I played stand up bass with the student band.
• I forgot my graduation robes for the first graduation I was part of as a teacher and my then wife rushed them to me. Thank you, Amy.
• I got to serve as acting department chair, which I thought was a big deal.
• I remember (and I may be making this up) a full five-day sequence of missing school following a brutal northeast ice storm.
• I won “Teacher of the Year” – an award voted on by the senior class – following my second year at the school. Do not ever let me tell you that I do not think this was a big deal. It was.
• I got a ham for my first ever Christmas Bonus. A. Ham. And I had to pick it up from the walk-in freezer myself!
• My best friend at the time came to teach at the school the year I left. I believe he replaced me! 

I loved my two years at McNamara and I have often – very often – thought of going back. The draw is very strong.

It is a very different school now, and it should be after over 30 years, but it will always remain in my heart as the place that confirmed for me that I had chosen the right path for my life – the right vocation had chosen me.

I still have a “McNamara Faculty” v-neck sweater, though I suspect it no longer fits!

 My love for the place will always fit.

Thank you, Bishop McNamara. I was lucky to be there.

Next week: Lucky Town – Regis Jesuit High School

…here’s to your good looks, baby, now here’s to my health.

If you have been a faithful reader of this volume of Teach and Serve, you know that, in the tenth year of this blog, I find myself in a very reflective mood. Seeing the counter running down on this volume of the blog, I have decided to do a series of posts entitled “Lucky Town.”

I have been lucky enough to serve five high schools and one national network over the course of these 30 plus years. Each experience has left its marks. Each experience has left its gifts. Each experience has left me changed. 

Over the next six posts, I plan to share a story or two that typified my time at the institution and explains a bit about what I learned on my leadership journey. 

I would not be the educator I am without the stops in these six places. 

• Bishop McNamara High School, Forestville, MD
• Regis Jesuit High School, Aurora, CO
• The Jesuit Schools Network, Washington, DC
• Mullen High School, Denver, CO
• KIPP Northeast Denver Leadership Academy, Denver, CO
• Xavier College Preparatory High School, Palm Desert, CA

For me, each has been its own lucky town. Bruce Springsteen’s song Lucky Town (from the album of the same name), speaks to how I feel about the stops along the road for me:

Well, here’s to your good looks, baby, now here’s to my health

Here’s to the loaded places that we take ourselves

When it comes to luck, you make your own

Tonight I got dirt on my hands, but I’m building me a new home

Baby, down in Lucky Town

I hope you will take the journey with me.

Next week, Lucky Town – Bishop McNamara High School.