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To Teach, Give It Your All

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Sandy Banks is a Times editorial writer.

Bill Hoist was buried on a sunny Monday afternoon last month. On Tuesday, by coincidence, a group of students from Thomas Jefferson High trooped down to the Los Angeles school board to plead for more teachers with the will to push them.


FOR THE RECORD:
Teacher memorial —An April 3 Opinion article on teacher Bill Hoist incorrectly listed the e-mail address for Paula Stefanko, trustee of the Bill Hoist Inner City Educational Scholarship Fund. The address is paula_marie @mail.com.


Jefferson, in South Los Angeles, is so crowded that its 3,800 students — most of them immigrants, almost all of them poor — attend year-round in shifts. Its test scores are so low that it is on a federal list of failing schools. Everyone knows who the bad teachers are, students told the board, but no one does anything about them. Slackers ostracize committed teachers; mediocrity is tolerated.

All of which explains why, the day before, three busloads of Jefferson High kids had ventured to Pasadena’s Lake Avenue Church to say goodbye to Mr. Hoist, a teacher with an unswerving intolerance for mediocrity.

A tough-looking guy with a booming voice and penchant for roughhousing, Bill Hoist, 48, had been moving flagstones in the yard of the modest Alhambra home that he and friends had hammered together two decades earlier. He’d gone inside to watch his 10-year-old son, Jason, play a videogame when his barrel chest unleashed a massive heart attack.

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Hoist left behind his wife, Becky, and their four children. Judging from the testimonials that came pouring out, he also left thousands of former students whose lives he had shaped.

Hoist taught math. He toiled in classrooms with too many students and too few books, freighted with too many demands and too little time. Still he cajoled and prodded students others had given up on, demanding they learn not just the equations of algebra and angles of geometry, but the calculus of successful living. He took the time to look them in the eye and speak sternly of discipline, courage and self-respect.

Hundreds of these young people packed the church, offering thanks to this white guy who spoke fluent Spanish and liked to bellow: Hechele ganas!” — Throw yourself into it! Give it your all!

In the pews, they sat silently as their teacher’s 13-year-old, Brian, played “Amazing Grace” on violin and Kevin, 15, reminisced about the dad who “taught me how to find a job, to control my anger on the sports field and to respect women.” His daughter Allison, who heads to college this fall, played an intricate arrangement of “Jesus Loves Me” on the church’s grand piano. Then Joyce Randall, a colleague from Jefferson, aimed her remembrance at the somber students. Mr. Hoist had been a counselor and a dean, but considered the classroom “a slice of heaven,” she said. “He returned to the classroom because his greatest joy was teaching…. Every detention he gave, every suspension, every paper pickup was motivated by love.”

In the pews, girls leaned into one another, makeup running down tear-stained cheeks. Boys bent over, heads to knees, shoulders quaking, sweatshirts shielding wet faces.

They choked back sobs as they listened to excerpts from a few of the dozens of letters classmates had written. The grammar was imperfect, syntax fractured, letters riddled with misspellings. But their message was clear.

“I’m sorry about what happen to Mr. Hoist. He was a graet man that care a lot about me and other students that were on thin ice. My expiriences with Mr. Hoist were really deep because he knew what was happening in my life. I was hanging with the wrong crowd, so he got me in probation. At the starting I hate it, but then I notice that I was doing good, plus I had college credits thanks to him. Then I started to thank him a lot for his helped, which change my life by giving me a better future.”

Another left no doubt what set the teacher apart:

“I had Mr. Hoist in my first period class. He was a great teacher. He’s a teacher that we could say ‘he teaches,’ not like other teachers that just sit on the computer and write something on the board and tells you to do it. Mr. Hoist will actually stay in front of the board, showing us how to make a hard math problem. Even though sometimes we didn’t get it, he had all the patience of the world to teach us again the problem.”

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Tough love

What qualities make a good teacher? That debate roils education circles today. How do you train them, judge them, reward them, and persuade them to work where they are needed most — at difficult schools in dangerous neighborhoods, with unmotivated, unprepared, undisciplined kids.

I don’t know how Mr. Hoist would rate in the experts’ calculations. There is no way to grade patience or kindness or commitment. You won’t find the full measure of his worth in the master’s degree he earned while working and raising his own children. You won’t find the secret in his students’ test scores.

But I saw it that Monday in the pained faces of tough boys struggling not to cry; heard it in the story told by an elderly Latina, whose two grandsons were inspired by Mr. Hoist in middle school and became the first in their family to go to college. A student named Gabriela Sanchez wrote a poem, had it printed on pink paper and passed out at his memorial:

You were always there

When help was needed….

Although many said you were mean,

You were truly a leader,

You were a friend as well as a father….

Mr. Hoist, in the presence of God, hechele “Ganas.”

Simple formula

Author Joan Didion once described the ideal relationship between an editor and writer: “The editor … was the person who gave the writer the idea of himself, the idea of herself, the image of self that enabled the writer to sit down alone and do it. This is a tricky undertaking.”

A teacher’s role is much the same, and it is also a tricky undertaking. The best teachers not only fill a student’s head with knowledge, but awaken a wish to learn and offer visions of possibilities beyond school, family and neighborhood.

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Bill Hoist was laid to rest at Rose Hills Memorial Park in Whittier. His family, friends, fellow teachers and tearful students lingered around his wooden casket long after the formal testimonials were finished.

Daniel Rodriguez, now 27, had been in Mr. Hoist’s math class 13 years earlier at George Washington Carver Middle School. “Mr. Hoist taught me a simple math formula — S x S = A,” he said. “And that’s why I survive today.”

After missteps and hard knocks, Rodriguez earned a degree from a trade institute and now owns an architectural firm. His twin sister, another of Mr. Hoist’s students, battled her way to a UCLA psychology degree.

Since his death, the twins have heard stories from countless friends: of Mr. Hoist persuading street-hardened young toughs to clap and sing upbeat motivational songs; of Mr. Hoist telephoning former students years later, at moments of hardship, to boom out refresher pep talks.

From the hilltop where the teacher is buried, most of Los Angeles is visible. “Mr. Hoist always taught us that we’re responsible for this city,” Hernandez said, looking out over flat expanses littered with failing schools. “Now, it’s up to us.”

The Bill Hoist Inner City Educational Scholarship Fund has been established to help pay the college tuition of selected LAUSD students who express an interest in teaching. Donations can be sent to 1539 Larkwood St., West Covina, Calif. 91791 (Trustee: paula.marie@mail.com). Jefferson High will hold an on-campus celebration of Hoist at 2:30 p.m. on April 19.

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