The other day on the radio, we were talking about our favorite teachers and what they meant to us. I expect that like the rest of us, you had a favorite teacher who figured large in how you turned out. Here I am at 81, and I had no trouble answering the question when it came to my turn. I said “Eugene Steiker” without hesitation.
Mr. Steiker was in the room on the first day of orchestra class at Joan of Arc Junior High School on 93rd Street in New York. To put it mildly, I loved the man. It was he who suggested that the right instrument for me was the trumpet. It was incredibly fortuitous and important that I met him. When I got the word that Mr. Steiker had died, I got in my car and drove down to his funeral. That meant Albany to Queens but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Not only did Mr. Steiker teach me at Joan of Arc, I took private lessons from him. He was a very funny and wonderful man. If I did something he didn’t like when I was playing for him, he might kick me in the shins. One day, I did something that annoyed him, and he chased me throughout the entire school building, up and down the stairs until he caught me and tickled me until I screamed. When I left Joan of Arc, he and I remained friends. He would bring his family to visit us in the Berkshires. Our little kids adored him as he put them on his knee and played “horse” worth them.
When I mentioned on the radio show that Eugene Steiker was my favorite teacher, the phone rang and a few others said that they, too, loved the guy. Think about that. Thousands of people listening to WAMC public radio, and several of us who studied with Steiker remembered him fondly so many years later.
What is it that makes a teacher live on in our minds so many years after they taught us? I’m pretty sure that the teachers who leave such a big impression on us do so because we are convinced that they truly cared about us as individuals. With some regularity, both my wife Roselle and I will be approached by younger people who will tell us that we were their favorite teachers. Nothing makes us feel better than when that happens.
When I arrived at Mr. Steiker’s funeral, his wife said, “I knew you would be here.” I have remembered those words ever since. There are some things that mean a lot to us for as long as we live, and I have always treasured Mrs. Steiker’s words. I wonder if wherever he might be, my wonderful teacher knows that one of his former students thinks about him all the time and remembers him with such fondness.
I think that what I loved the most about him was his sense of humor. He would give us lessons on 78th St. and Riverside Drive, and then we would beg him to drive us home to our apartment on W. 96th St. He’d drive right past my building and refuse to stop until he had crossed the Triboro Bridge. We would then have to take the subway back to Manhattan. You might not find that funny, but my friend and I thought it was hilarious.
I was the president of the Joan Arc General Organization, the school council, and the teacher in charge was no friend of mine. When she tried to disqualify me from my elected position (ultimately without success) I complained to Mr. Steiker. He informed me that this was the way the world was and life wasn’t fair. Said Mr. Steiker, “Pull up your socks.” I never forgot that lesson. Wise man.
