How a Teacher
Changed My Life
He changed it with nine words. The year was 1963, and I was a sophomore music major at Akron University hoping to craft a career with my trumpet playing jazz and classical music. Having twice won the top ratings in the Ohio high school competitions, I imagined one day taking Doc Severinsen’s place as leader of NBC’s Tonight Show orchestra.
That same year, three friends and I occasionally spent an evening with our former high school history teacher Ron Snider, a studious young man with a quick sense of humor who was also a university adjunct. Snider was a vibrant teacher quick to laugh and just as quick to gently point out the errors of our mental ways. Evenings at his apartment were classic college bull sessions with a knowledgeable mentor. One evening, talk drifted to the Western Civilization course we were all taking and to why I was the only one among my friends who enjoyed it.
Western Civ was a required two-semester course taught by Dr. Henry Vyverberg, a master teacher who, in a packed lecture hall, introduced us to the glories of Greek and Roman art, architecture, and literature then strolled with us through the European Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Age of Reason, the Enlightenment, Romanticism, and on to modern times. He paced to and fro in front of projected images of temples, cathedrals, and paintings while telling a story with wit and wonder, weaving social, intellectual, and artistic threads into a meaningful tapestry of history.
It was a revelation. Vyverberg spoke of ideas and how people responded to them to shape the evolution of civilization. We learned that history is not a record of what happened; it’s a record of what informed historians think happened based on evidence and its meaning in the long run. Big difference. Interpreting history made it more interesting, more challenging, and the work of historians more important.
Back at Snider’s apartment, our discussion is now lost to me, but as we were leaving, he stopped me at the door and asked if I ever thought about changing my major from music to history. Then he said the nine words that changed my life: “Do you really think the world needs more entertainers?” The question stopped me in my tracks. It was the early Sixties, the world was troubled, and the answer, clearly, was “No.”
I reconsidered my future. A musical career could be insecure. Teaching history, while it didn’t pay well, offered security and the opportunity to do something so important it was required of all students. It seemed a way to help make the world better. I changed my major to history education.
Two years later, I graduated with a teaching certificate in history and, thanks to ROTC, became a 2nd Lieutenant in the Air Force with orders to report for four years of service. After nearly a year at an Air Force base in West Germany, I was assigned to the base in Topeka, a half-hour drive from KU where I began night and weekend classes toward a master’s degree paid for by the GI Bill.
Finishing the degree and Air Force service in 1969, I moved to the Kansas City area to stay close to KU and taught history in a 3,000-student high school for four years, including night and summer schools, while earning a doctorate in history education (specializing in Medieval Europe) and school administration using the remainder of my GI Bill benefits. Next came jobs as high school assistant principal, junior high principal (for nearly 20 years), and district administrator. Missing teaching, I had begun working nights as an adjunct professor for several local universities. When one offered me a job as director of a master’s degree program for teachers, I retired from the public schools and began a university career. A dozen years later, I retired again with a total of nearly fifty satisfying years as an educator.
Henry Adams, historian, novelist, and grandson and great-grandson of presidents, was right when he wrote in 1907, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” Nine words from my old teacher influence me still.




