Being primarily a sports blog, the RIP series on Dubsism tends to live along those lines…eulogies for those who impacted me from their various playing fields. But, there are exceptions; welcome to the latest one.

Something that’s been said plenty on this blog is some of the best people in the world come from North Dakota. While John “Mike” McCormack (it seems weird not to call him “Mister”) wasn’t born in the Peace Garden State, earning his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from our common alma mater (the University of North Dakota), followed by 50 years of being a respected educator in the land of Lawrence Welk means he knew the secret “NoDak” handshake. He probably even taught it. Mr. McCormack left us on August 28^th, 2024…but not before he left a bunch of dopey college kids like me in a better place for having known him. It’s the safest of assumptions to say if one does something for a half-century, chances are they were pretty good. The assumptions harden into concrete fact when one’s obituary contains this.

“It’s impossible to sum up the impact of a human being as curious and animated as Mike. He proved that a life of the mind was one of endless possibilities. So marked was Mike’s influence as an educator, almost every place he traveled, a former student would approach him to share how he’d pointed the way toward a rewarding life and career.”

~Obituary, Eastgate Funeral Home

In all the tributes I’ve seen, I’ve been waiting for one thing. In all the mentions of Mr. McCormack’s influence, I would love to see it said that he had the charisma-based ability to teach those who didn’t want to be taught…like me.

I strolled into his History of Western Civilization class not giving a frog’s watertight butt about it. At the time, I was a Pre-Med major (yeah…that obviously changed) and HIST 103 was just a means to an end for fulfilling my Humanities requirement. Before Mr. McCormack, I couldn’t have told you a thing about the Thirty Years War; now all I can hear is his saying it “was like an NFL pre-season game for the modern ‘world wars’ of the 20^th century.”

That was exactly the sort of spice Mr. McCormack put into what I thought was the mother of all bland subjects. Not only did he change my perspective in one sentence, I had no idea eventually how much of a transformative moment this would become.

After graduation, I entered the Marine Corps. Once it was time to return to the civilian world, I found myself unsure of a post-military career path. Coming from a family juiced in with the Archdiocese of Philadelphia meant trips back to the original roots invariably involved seeing the priest who baptized me and my father, and married my grandparents.

Known affectionately as “Ace,” special events in our family only earned that designation if Monsignor Galleo would be in attendance. Anytime my father and/or I showed our faces in Philadelphia was guaranteed an appearance by “Ace.”

In that regard, this particular trip was no different. The twist came over generous portions of fettucine washed down with an amount of Dewar’s White Label sufficient for floating the impressive liver of a middle-aged monsignor who could have been a bishop of the Bottle and Glass Cathedral. It was the amount of fermented chemistry involved that had me in a dismissive stance toward the offer made by “Ace.”

That was until my phone rang the next day with his reiteration. Frankly, it was a masterful bit of recruiting. It was almost as if he had an inside source…knowing I’m rapidly becoming mired in a job which wasn’t in my long-term plans coupled with a nearly flat-lined social life. That’s when he dropped an opportunity to become a high-school teacher on me.

This was something that never touched the farthest reaches of my radar, but given where my station in life was at the time, even after the Dewar’s wore off, I was firmly in the “Why not?” camp. In case you were wondering, the requirements for being a teacher in a Catholic high school in Philadelphia some three-plus decades ago were simple.

1. Be a college graduate.
2. Get the “Holy Okie-Dokie” from the Archbishop.

I had #1 in my pocket, and #2 was a matter of two phone calls. See, “Ace” attended seminary with the head of the archdiocese…they were ordained together and were Dewar’s-floating buddies for the better part of four decades.

The rush of a new opportunity completely blinded me to the fact I was considering accepting a teaching job having absolutely no freaking idea how to be a teacher. Just as I’m really starting to sweat that, the realization bomb drops tht I never bothered to ask what subject I would be teaching. Since I majored in physics with a minor in biology, my assumption was the subject would be something science-related. A return call to “Ace” netted the revelation there were no science spots to be had. Instead, I was on my way to being a history teacher; specifically of all things…Western Civilization.

That was just the first bomb. As my mind starting to swing back toward pulling the plug, I couldn’t get around the fact I really wanted a change. But I was less than comfortable with the idea of embarking on an undertaking which I would enter completely blind. That’s when a prime-cut “McCormack-ism” cruised under my radar into the forefront of my consciousness like a stealth bomber approaching it’s target…and bringing the second bomb directly on target.

One thing he said that always stuck with me was “more history has been made by those who never saw their fates coming rather than those who set out to make it.”

Boom. Guess who just found himself living those words?

Getting those bombs on target as only Mr. McCormack could meant being as much of a master story-teller as he was. That’s how he brought the aforementioned spice, and it’s the exact approach I intended to steal completely borrow. The fact I’m scrawling this on a blog rather than passing it on to yet another generation of likewise dopey kids should tell you how well I fared.

There’s an old saw about impression being the sincerest form of flattery. This case proves there’s tons of truth in that. But it also demonstrates something much less apparent. A tremendous measure of impact isn’t in it’s immediacy; rather when it sneaks to the surface as a solution in a moment of near panic.

Like his obituary noted, Mr. McCormack was often approached by former students and credited for the impact he had on their lives. Circumstances didn’t allow me to be in that group, which is a shame. I would have loved to have told him how he a) transformed a kid who found history boring into b) a man who could fake his way through being a history teacher by c) doing his best “Mike” McCormack impersonation.

Even he wouldn’t have seen that coming…

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