There are certain professions that carry an implicit mandate, one that goes beyond performing the required duties of that profession. A social contract exists in these specialized lines of works that requires the performer to place the needs to those he serves above his own. Police officers, soldiers, and firemen are three such professions. There is a fourth, but this profession’s mandate has been corrupted by union greed and politics.

I speak of the Teacher, especially the teacher of the American high school and university.
The mandate of the Teacher is simple: to educate. The simplest, purest form of the Teacher can be found in my book Teacher of the Year: The Mystery and Legacy of Edwin Barlow. For 35 years, Edwin Barlow taught mathematics at his beloved Horace Greeley High School in New York. Thousands of students passed through his classroom. Yet when he died, he remained as much a cipher as the day he arrived, for he deliberately shrouded his life in rumor and mystery.
One of the many reasons why he kept his life secret was simple: he only wanted to be remembered as an educator. He only wanted his students to carry his classroom (and life) lessons into the world. Every interaction he ever had with a student always had an underlying agenda: teach that student something, about anything. He did so with a purity of intent unmatched by the greatest philanthropists of our time. He did so wielding a demanding, humorous, profound, and frightening persona. His classes were not merely invitations to learn, they were command performances. At a time in their lives when teenagers are more concerned with physical appearance, he demanded that they respect their minds.
I should know. I was one of his students. In over twenty years of the American educational system, I never encountered another instructor like him. Oh sure, I had plenty of notable teachers who made a difference in my life. None of them, though, provided me with an education in life, as well as their formal topic. None of them had the impact Mister Barlow did. And none of them cared as little about personal remuneration as Mister Barlow did. He chose the esthetic life, gave away much of his salary to charity each year, and didn’t give a hoot about the union.
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