#MannyCaulk

[coffeewithmrthornton]

A Tribute to A Champion for Kids

He was holding the door open for all of us who were new hires as we arrived for employee orientation. “Hello! Glad you’re here!” he said with an infectious laugh. “Thank you! I’m glad I’m here, too!” I responded.

I had no idea who he was.

I assumed he was a teacher from that school where the district had scheduled the orientation. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan, “It’s About Kids.”

The slogan, I knew well. I had decided a year earlier to investigate a career change from journalist, to teacher. Encouraged by my family members at a Christmas dinner, I had applied to substitute in the Fayette County Public Schools in Lexington, Ky., just to “test the waters” and “see how well I liked it.” When I logged onto the district’s web site to apply, I read the job description carefully and was struck by a plea for substitutes with special education students. There was a shortage, not only for subs, but also for those willing to work in special ed. The district was adding extra to the daily sub rate if you were willing to do that. “We need people who are willing to work with our most vulnerable children,” it said.

If it’s possible for words to pull at heartstrings, this sentence did that for me. “Most vulnerable,” I whispered to myself. “Most. Vulnerable,” I repeated. At the bottom of the job description, I saw the phrase, “It’s about kids.” I submitted my application, even though my B.A. was in journalism, and was shocked when I received an offer to start immediately within a week. That first day that I subbed, I chose an elementary school and a job to work with special education children. One third grader who had autism only wanted to hold my hand and walk in circles around the perimeter of the playground during recess. I was hooked. I knew at that moment that I wanted to change careers, even after spending 30 years in my former profession.

Fast forward one year later, and I had taken a job as a paraeducator at a middle school. This job would involve doing nothing but assisting special education teachers by working one-on-one with students like the child I’d met that first day. I had not decided yet whether to teach full-time, and I was using this job as a springboard before I bit the bullet to go back to grad school for my certification.

And that’s when I saw him at the front door that hot August day for orientation, grinning and greeting everyone with that, “Glad you’re here!”  As I walked through the door, I thought, “I hope everyone I work with is as nice as you are.”

A few minutes later, I was seated with dozens of other new support staff in a dark auditorium. And I was shocked when the man who had greeted me so effusively walked to the microphone ... and introduced himself as the district superintendent.

“We are so grateful for all of you, because you are going to be working with our most vulnerable kids,” he said.

There it was again ... that phrase that had broken my heart in the original job listing.

“Most vulnerable,” I whispered again to myself. “Most. Vulnerable.”

He shared his own story with us ... how he had been vulnerable as a child and how he was himself acquainted with poverty ... and how so many of our “vulnerable” kids were coming from places of need. 

His name was “Manny” Caulk. 

I only saw him in person two other times after that. Once was when I returned to a job fair two years later to apply for a regular special education teaching position, having completed two years of grad school. Again, he was greeting people at the door and introducing himself as “Manny.” Again, he was wearing jeans and that “It’s about kids” T-shirt. 

The other time I saw him in person was during my new teacher orientation later that summer after receiving a job at my son’s high school. Brimming with hope and excitement, I felt I had come full circle as “Manny” walked to the front of the auditorium ... and again talked to us about the “most vulnerable” kids.

Throughout my short career in education in Fayette County, Manny Caulk has defined my teaching approach. He set the standard for me way back on that day in my home office when I first read the job description to substitute. Then as I saw him in person later, he set another standard -- one of humility, kindness, and gentle greatness. I was always inspired each time Manny emailed teachers to encourage us, whether it was as a new employee or as a teacher facing the daunting challenge of teaching during a pandemic.

Last week, Manny Caulk passed away at age 49.

I’m still processing it. As I walked out of my high school on Friday afternoon after a week of solitary online teaching in my empty classroom, the weight of the pandemic was resting on my heart. I looked at the flag that had been lowered to half mast in Manny’s memory and at the words our principal had placed on the school sign: “Farewell, Partner.”

In that moment, I realized how much two words spoken by Manny had propelled a life changing decision for me -- one that has resulted in a rich life steeped with love and an abundance of joy that my students give me.

“Most vulnerable,” I whispered to myself as I looked at the high school sign. “Most. Vulnerable. Thank you, Manny. I’m carrying your words forward in my heart.”