Tribute to Fred Coverdale: You Were Much More Than a Teacher

The following was written by Minx Rebman McCloud, BBPHS Class of 1968, and was posted by Judy Mottl.

Mr. Frederick Coverdale made me believe in myself.

 Sometimes I thought of myself as only one insignificant student in the tapestry of his life, but I realize now that was not true. As the years passed, I realized that in the world of "Mr. C," nobody was insignificant. He held the hope that with patience and guidance, his students could reach their full potential.

You had to earn praise from Mr. C. It was not handed out lightly. And yet, one thing he would not hold from you was encouragement. He always urged you to do your best and was lavish with his praise with each baby step you took.

I had quite a reputation among the teachers. I used to try to con them all the time as far as unfinished homework and assignments were concerned. I was disruptive in class -- even voted the "class clown" in my senior year, a title I hated. I had wanted to be voted the class comedian, but that honor went to another classmate. No, I was destined to be the clown, and people laugh at clowns, don't they?

Mr. Coverdale did not laugh at me; he laughed with me. But he didn’t tolerate my antics if they were inappropriate.  He used a firm hand (and even detention) to keep me in line, and I was a better person for it.

I had him as a social studies teacher for the first time in 1964 (eighth grade) and at the end of the year, he wrote: "Minx, I believe this has been a very good year for both of us. Why? We both have learned something of value. What? Me, I have learned that impressions don't always show the true thought behind that impression with students. You, you've learned that there will be teachers in the future on whom "soft-soaping" will not work. I know you have potential; you should really develop in senior high. Mr. Coverdale, teacher and friend."

Never had a teacher referred to himself as my friend, and that truly defines Mr. Coverdale. He WAS a friend, though we knew better than to sass him or get too familiar with him. He always maintained the dignity of teacher and mentor. And he had taken the time to write a long entry in my yearbook, something I had never seen before.

In 1966, he wrote: "Minx, you still possess that wonderful personality. Mr. C."

I glowed after reading that because an admired teacher had noticed me and had seen my good assets. He looked beneath my surface and saw a student who was exploring her own character traits and didn't particularly like what she saw. He saw something within me that I had not seen in myself, and in doing so, gave me confidence and perspective.

 I'm thankful to Mr. Coverdale for helping to make me the person I have become -- confident, but not arrogant; kind and friendly to all, but not a sycophant.    

When I graduated from high school, his inscription was short and succinct: "Minx, do not go gentle into that good night." I knew he was referring to the poem by Dylan Thomas, which urges people to fight death with every ounce of their strength. It continues, "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

I thought it was rather peculiar for him to quote from a poem about old age and dying when my life was really just starting, but then I had an “Aha moment.” He did not see those lines as referring only to death, but to the struggles in life that we all endure, and he was telling me to persevere, to never give up, to kick and scream and fight to the very last moment whatever adversity I faced in life.

 When he showed up at our 30th class reunion in 1998, he was older, but heck, so were we. And somehow, he had lost none of his charm and ability to make each person seem special. He was still the ultimate showman, and I say that with the deepest respect.

There were so many former students he had to greet that I only had a moment or so with him, but amazingly, he had Googled me online and found some of my feature stories and columns I had done as a professional journalist. I don't even know how he knew my married name.

"I'm very proud of you," he said. "I always knew you'd make a mark in the world."

Oh my, if my dress had had buttons, I would have burst them. Mr. C was proud of me and that mattered so very much.

Because of Fred Coverdale, I also learned the evils of racism. He had been the target of discrimination and knew how it could destroy lives. If he had had his way, he would have changed the course of history, and in some ways, he did. At least he changed Bayport's history.

I recall only two African-American teachers and one African-American student (plus an exchange student from Africa) in our high school in the 1960s. When it came to buying a house in Bayport, Mr. C was locked out for many years. Apparently, he was acceptable as a teacher, but not as a neighbor.

You would think he would be bitter about this. Instead, he ended up devoting his life to our community. Perhaps deep inside, he thought the whole situation was ironic, but he never said it to his students. Instead, he used his experiences to educate us on how NOT to treat others.

It was the age of civil rights. Our parents' belief systems were being challenged. They were confused; not all of them, but many. They were having a hard time embracing racial equality, but somehow Mr. C's friendly and tolerant attitude finally made an impression on them.

As I write this, another poem, "Invictus," comes to mind, one which I am sure he lived by. Written by William Ernest Henley, the last two lines are "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."

Those lines epitomize Mr. C.

Farewell, dear teacher, but oh, you were so much more.

 Minx Rebman McCloud