Teachers Estelow and Johnson: riding into the sunset

REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK

By John Tredrea
   "I’m a rolling stone, all alone and lost. . . ."
— Fred Rose and Hank Williams
   Mike Aucott and his wife, Louise, live on Dublin Road in Hopewell Township. They have a real nice kitchen and a real nice deck at their place. I mean, really nice. Their son, Gabe, built them both.
   "It all started with the banjo," Mr. Aucott said with conviction last Saturday afternoon, when I happened to be over there.
   That’s the banjo Gabe built in Skip Johnson’s woods class at Central High School. Gabe graduated from there a number of years ago and is now thriving as a professional woodworker in North Carolina. I remember that beautiful banjo. It was in a glass display case in the lobby of the high school and I got to hear Gabe play it. Like his dad, he’s a fine banjo player.
   During the past few weeks, I’ve heard any number of people declare that Skip Johnson and Dick Estelow were nothing short of salvation for their children at Central High School. My wife and I are in that category, too. Both our boys took Mr. Estelow’s course before graduating. Knowing about Mr. Johnson’s course, we urged them to take that as well. But they couldn’t fit both auto shop and woods into their schedules; their infatuation with cars edged Mr. Johnson out, and they took Mr. Estelow’s course instead.
   I used to think I knew all about what was going on in this world. Then I became a parent. Now, there’s a slice of humble pie for you! When our guys were in the high school, it was, well, a tough row to hoe at times, cough! They just couldn’t get rolling with a lot of those courses, no matter how worthwhile those courses were and no matter how many times we urged, pleaded, nagged, threatened and cajoled them to bear down and do the work.
   Auto shop was different. They ate it up. It was their lifeline, literally, in that school. They loved Mr. Estelow’s course, and they loved him. Still do, and so do we. Many’s the day they came home with a great story about Mr. Estelow, or to re-tell a story he had told (now these are some good stories; maybe you can track them down). And they sure learned their cars. The oldest boy got a job selling cars while he was in college. He made $20,000 one year selling cars while a full-time student! I asked him how he did it.
   "Mr. Estelow," he said without pause. "He made me see it." I didn’t ask for elaboration. It didn’t seem necessary. Seeing is believing, they say. After belief kicks in, you’re on a roll.
   Few things are more powerful than nostalgia, and I think that what makes the retirement of these two great teachers so moving to so many people is a perception that they sprang from a time that is turning into another time. As if that weren’t enough, Mr. Johnson could be Johnny Cash’s twin brother. And, while he doesn’t look that much like him, Mr. Estelow, a very righteous man as many of you know, always reminds me of Hank Williams. It’s got something to do with the way he is. And that reminds me of a story.
   One night I saw Tony Bennett, a singer I admire greatly, interviewed on television. This was years ago. The interviewer – it was Charlie Rose – asked Tony a terrific question. It was: "What makes a great singer?" I leaned forward to hear the answer, and Tony gave it immediately and with total conviction. "Destiny," he said. "Like Hank Williams."
   I never forgot this answer and have thought many times since, that, if it applies to singers, it applies to everyone and everything. Certainly to teachers. Who knows what destiny is and how it works? Not I. But there’s no doubting destiny. A lot of times, it seems like it’s the main thing we’ve got.
   It all started with that banjo, the man said. I have seen Gabe Aucott from time to time since he left high school, and he is just a fine, fine guy. Mr. Johnson was the ace in the hole for him, like Mr. Estelow was for us. Here’s to Skip Johnson and Dick Estelow. Men of destiny. There they go. . . .going around the bend.