John Stanford: A True Educator On A Life Mission

I didn't know quite what to make of John Stanford when I first met him in Atlanta while he held the top administrative job in Fulton County, Ga.

Stanford was one of three finalists for the job of superintendent of schools in Seattle, but when The Times sent me to find out about him, I knew nothing except that he had been an Army general and had no background in education.

Education reporters interviewed the other two candidates, but I think I was assigned to Stanford because I'm drawn to unusual people and he seemed to be that.

He sat yardstick-straight behind his desk in Atlanta and told me he was a leader and said he did not fail.

Either this guy was the ultimate Boy Scout, or he had the worst case of naive arrogance I'd ever seen and was trying to snow me.

It didn't take much probing, though, to become convinced I had met someone special, a man whose life was a mission.

Love 'em and lead 'em, he said. Well, he certainly did do both of those things.

He had the idea he could control life. He was eating jelly beans rather than lunch the day we met because he'd calculated the amount of time wasted by lunch and knew exactly what he could get done in that time.

He wanted to get things done. He knew in his heart that people needed the leadership he had to give, and he loved a challenge.

He was not a teddy bear. The general pushed himself and he pushed other people, but I came to see that what I in those first

minutes of conversation thought might be outward signs of arrogance were really a depth of confidence I could only vaguely imagine. It is the stuff that makes a person a leader. Not a manager, not a tyrant, but a leader, someone people follow because he looks you in the eye and you know you matter and you see that his convictions do not derive from calculations for momentary success but are part of his core.

He communicated all of this through a childlike enthusiasm and an ego that needed no walls of defense.

I watched him at home with his wife, Pat, he soaring to the heavens and she standing firmly on the ground, holding a tether to his heart. She is as genuine in her ability to see and say what is real as he was in his ability to envision the seemingly impossible. He needed her.

Watching them together, I became convinced of two things: that he was the person for the job, and that there was no way the district would hire him.

I kept worrying as I wrote my story about him, "They won't believe this. `You've got to be kidding,' the editors will say. `Ask more people about him. He can't be real.' " But he was real.

I know how it is when people die and everyone says how perfect they were. Well, he wasn't perfect, but what is important for us is to learn from the things he did well and, most important, from his attitudes.

He believed in himself and the things he wanted to do, none of which caused him to raise himself above others. He didn't act like or try to be a big shot. There's a difference between letting people know how good you are and trying to show people that you are better than they are.

He cared about other people and didn't let anything other people might do sour that caring.

He knew how to make a decision and he took responsibility for his decisions.

During the time he was sick, I kept thinking I should write something about him, but each time I'd sit down to do it, I would say things that sounded as if he'd already passed on. He kept saying never give up, so I couldn't do that.

My wife's mother was a great fan of his. She was a retired school librarian, and they spoke many times about the importance of reading. She died last March after her own battle with cancer and just a few days before Stanford announced he had leukemia.

My wife has said many times since that she is glad her mother never knew about Stanford's illness. He was her hope for the education of young people in Seattle. Pat, whose generosity matched that of her husband, would take time to walk with my mother-in-law in Seward Park.

I have often felt bad that there was nothing I could do for them. I suspect a lot of people will feel that way in the coming days.

It's not a lot to offer at this point, but maybe we could sacrifice a little of our cynicism to his memory.

Smile at someone, say hi to someone, do something good because you are someone good. Read a book to a child. Never give up.

John Stanford was a leader, but there is something to which each of us is born, and we ought to do that thing as a gift to the world and to ourselves. That is what John Stanford taught me. He was a true educator.

Jerry Large's column appears Sundays and Thursdays in the Scene section of The Seattle Times. You can reach him c/o The Times, P.O. Box 70, Seattle, WA 98111. Phone: 206-464-3346. Fax: 206-464-2261. E-mail: jlarge@seattletimes.com.