Peter H. taught religion and philosophy, and he was an ordained Christian minister. He had a wonderful face, with dark, dark eyes, grey hair and a trimmed beard. He smiled easily and with great happiness, but he looked like an Irish devil.

His courses were loosely structured, allowing the class to focus on whatever material that engaged it. In one experimental course he had titled "Wonder and the Art of Silence," we spent a semester on the idea of Wonder and never got around to the second half of the course.

He encouraged me to think, instead of reciting, and to question the underpinnings of my thought process. Classes were discussions, sometimes even arguments, and I often left the room after class sorting out and chewing on new ideas.

I've only visited the school a couple of times since I graduated, and Peter was the one person I sought out. He died when he was in his late forties.

Another teacher deserves mention. Frank N. taught the first two years of French in 8th and 9th grades, and I was scared to death of him until I was in his class. He was fairly short and trim, and he had grey hair that was almost white. Outside of class, he was serious and firm, but in class he radiated such a joy and enthusiasm for the language that I caught on and started to enjoy it, too. He taught vowel sounds by having me cross my hands in front of my face, palms in, curving my fingers towards my ears, so that I would hear the sound from outside my head.

I studied French for another eight years, and I became reasonably proficient. I could do simultaneous translation, but I could never have passed for French. One of Frank's great prides was that he could travel anywhere in France, and people would ask him what part of France he was from -- pas d'ici, peut-etre, mais c'etait sur qu'il etait Francais. Not bad for a Brooklyn boy.

I visited Frank about every five years until he passed away in his late eighties a few years ago. I think only a few students stayed in touch with him, and he always seemed to enjoy catching up. I'd scramble to keep up with his flawless French, and he would always graciously help me out.