The 40th Anniversary of Valentine’s Day, 1985

This is not a happy blog memory–nor is it, now, a sad one. It is simply the past. There WILL be R-rated language here. And…if you’re usually reading for the coaching, this ain’t it today.

Most importantly, the events here moved my life in a specific direction that was not what I wanted at the time, but is a direction that has blessed me, regardless.

Way back yonder, I was legit awesome at school though I had, even then, my disdain for authoritarian-acting charlatans. The high school I attended was a private school–my parents felt that it would be the best way to give me a rigorous education, push me to achieve my full potential. I’m not sure it did that–but at the time, I did work hard enough that as I went into my junior year of HS (1984-85), I was set up to have completed 99% of the classes necessary to graduate. Since I did not like the school administration or most of the teachers, I decided I wanted to graduate early.

My mom and dad both questioned me about this and when I explained my logic, they agreed and supported my thoughts (this is very empowering to a teenage boy). Unfortunately, the headmaster (fancy term for principal/paperpusher) and the senior HS faculty person disagreed. They had one sound argument–that I hadn’t taken the ACT/National Merit tests, so that I had not shown myself capable of doing college work. Those things were easily solved.

I did both to a level that suggested I could handle college. The response from the school was “His scores are too high. He should remain for his senior year to maximize available opportunities.” Really. So here’s the thing–I’d already reached out to colleges and had had interested shown by a couple that intrigued me. The one at the top of my list was MIT. My parents saw the test scores and now were 100% convinced it was okay for me to move on–and they told the school just that. They got the school to agree–but MIT required a letter from the principal/senior administrator when accepting early-graduation students. The letter had to be postmarked by February 13, 1985. After that, I’d be on the fast-track to computer engineering or programming.

So when I walked into the school on Valentine’s Day, February 14, the headmaster was there in the hallway and he was waiting for me. Here’s the thing–I’ll be clear–Michael Novello was a fat-fuck slob who carried himself with a Brooklyners attitude masking gross incompetence. He was that way before 2/14/85 and he was the same after that. Valentine’s Day, 1985 did not change him. Novello tried to make small talk but even teenagers know weasels at which point he handed me the letter from MIT requesting a letter by 2/13, telling me “I forgot to mail a response to this. I’m sorry, but this means it looks like you’ll need to come back for your senior year.”

I don’t recall saying anything. I don’t recall anything about the day, nothing until Mom got home from her classes. I told her what happened and…it was one of the few times in life I’ve seen my mom furious–not just mad, but furious. She picked up the phone and called Dad–they may have been divorced but I have no memories of that coming between them when it came to parenting us.

The next morning Dad called the school and said they were coming over for a meeting and that Novello would be available for it. Dad didn’t make that optional. (I learned about this at the end of the day) My parents met with Novello and that senior faculty person. They gave the song and dance about knowing what was best for me and that was enough for Dad–he snapped, but not in a loud, angry way. He did it like I do, getting real cold and methodical. He informed Novello that the school would immediately support me leaving for college at the end of the semester and that the school could do it the easy way or with lawyers involved–and that once the lawyers were involved, there’d be emotional damages to his son to consider since his(my) dream school was no longer possible.

As you’d expect–bring money and lawyers into a conversation and school administrators cave in and so I got permission to go to college if I could find someplace that had admissions open so late in the year’s process. That was easy-peasy…Iowa State. It had open admission right up until the start of the fall semester (same for UNI and Iowa City’s Satan School), so I immediately applied to Iowa State and was granted admission–pending a letter from my high school that I had permission to leave early.

This time I didn’t give the letter to the fat-fuck. My Dad took it over–along with a letter already typed out giving permission…all it needed was Novello’s signature. Dad stood there while he signed it. And so I became a future Cyclone.

Novello made sure I paid a price. I didn’t officially graduate that May–instead, I would only graduate once I completed SKSM’s biology/chemistry requirement and an extra English class focusing on grammar, etc. In addition, I was banned from graduation or entering the school’s campus (which he then backtracked on when two faculty–Valus and Strohm–said they’d quit if he carried through) and if you go look, you’ll see I’m not in the yearbook either (Novello’s daughter was yearbook editor)…I was removed from the school’s records as effectively as Stalin airbrushed Yezhov and Trotsky from Soviet encyclopedias. For the rest of that semester, the only person who really talked to me was Erik Johnson who was new to the school and didn’t know I was persona non grata. It was a lonely last semester at a school I’d been at since preschool.

Pretty sucky, huh? Sure.

But–going to Iowa State gave me a circle of friends that has lasted 40 years. That’s a win. ISU gave me space to become *me*, taught me how to learn and have an open-mind, how to appreciate differences. Iowa State eventually led me to grad school–which is where I met Julie, where I found volleyball, both things that have been important in my life for 35 years now. With Julie came kids, with VB came the Hall of Fame and now UIU–happy things. The path led me to opening game stores with Eric Canfield which eventually morphed into Jolly Roger Games…and its sale paid for three kids’ college basically–and that led to the creation of the Dietz Foundation and being active in helping kids become teachers–hopefully ones better than what I had.

The experience helped me when I eventually became a teacher–because that experience taught me how NOT to teach or treat kids. Every kid that entered my classroom was treated with respect and decency–and as functioning young adults as often as possible (I mean, kids are GOING TO BE KIDS, right?) It taught me–though I didn’t know what it was at the time–what real servant leadership was.

So as I reflect on this forty freakin’ years later, I can think about the other paths life may have taken and realize that against Novello’s hopes, everything has turned out pretty decent; it just isn’t the path 17-year old Jim envisaged for life.

…none of this changes the contempt I feel for that fat bastard though. There are only a few people in this world I struggle to forgive for things they’ve done or decisions they’ve made. Michael Novello gets to be on that short, short list.

The short of things–it is dangerous when bullies are permitted to exercise power, whether that is as a teacher, an administrator, or even as a military officer or chief executive of a nation.

And it also reminds me of how amazing my parents were and the lengths they would go for their children. That, too, has stuck with me–and I suspect for my sister as well–as we have done similarly for our own children across the past two decades.

1. ***I loved Iowa State–in October, 1985, I actually got a different acceptance letter…from an engineering school out west called Cal Tech but by that point, I was no longer interested in being an engineer or programmer–that was something destroyed as a consequence of Novello keeping me from MIT)