One of my former students reached out to me to ask me the following question.
“Hi Mr. Lehmann, I wanted to ask if you had any tips for how you’re getting through the early days of this new presidency? I know you’re not my principal and haven’t been for almost seven years now (wow) but… I am honestly quite distraught these days.”
Here’s what I wrote back… and I’m publishing it at the request of their family, in the hopes that it helps others find some comfort.
“Great question, and I admit, I am figuring it out myself.
First thing – it is every bit as bad as it feels. You aren’t wrong. You aren’t catastrophising. So, it’s ok to be angry, frustrated, distraught… all the things.
Second – you can’t spend 24/7 thinking about this. Jokes are still funny, naps still matter, and the Eagles are still in the Super Bowl. Embrace the moments when things still make you happy.
Third – and this is hard. You don’t have to read EVERY Substack, listen to every podcast, absorb every hot take. You’ll make yourself nuts. And I say this as someone who probably consumes too much political media, but learn when you have the knowledge you need for now, and don’t let yourself keep reading 15 variations on the same idea.
And then… find small things you can do to feel useful. I’ve been making sure that new principals understand what to do if ICE shows up. I’ve been working with Ultimate coaches on how to talk to players who feel vulnerable right now, because these coaches feel unprepared for the moment. It’s not stopping Trump, but it’s wrapping my arms around a problem I can solve. There are going to be a lot of local manifestations of the hurt Trump is causing that will require good people to try to mitigate that damage. That’s going to matter a lot.
And don’t try to do everything at once. They are hoping that by doing all they are doing at once, they’ll disorient us and exhaust us. And it’s working. So… remember, social change is a marathon not a sprint, and it isn’t a race you run alone. Pick targeted actions that you can do, but remember that we have to stay in this fight for the long haul. The mid-terms are coming. So is the next election. And we’re going to need everyone who cares involved.
Those are my best ideas right now. I’m not sure how useful they are, but they are what I am trying to keep top of mind, even as I scream at the computer whenever I read the latest thing Trump and his people have done.
Thanks for reaching out and I hope this helps a little.”
[My end note — I hope my alum and their family is right. I hope this does help some folks who are reading it find some comfort in this moment. We have to find our way through this. And these are fights that we really must win. Stay safe and stay strong, everyone.]
Dr. Pavel’s Official Portrait (from the CHS Alumni Site)
Philadelphia lost an amazing educator today. Dr. Shelly Pavel was the President of Central High School for over twenty-eight years. He was the longest-serving leader in the over 180 year history of the school. He was the President of Central when my college friends went to high school there, and he was still there during the early years of Science Leadership Academy.
Shelly was unique. He believed deeply in his school and his students. He saw himself as the keeper of the mission of Central High School, and he followed his profound moral code when it came to the ways in which he ran Central. He saw the school through the many changes in the School District of Philadelphia over his twenty eight and a half years as its president – including coming on-board as President to oversee Central’s change from an all-boys school to a co-education school in the mid-80s. By the time he retired, he was the institutional memory of the School District for all of the younger principals with whom he shared his wisdom.
One thing that I loved about Shelly was that you didn’t have to agree with him for him to respect you. Shelly and I had some very different ideas about education. He was much more traditional in his pedagogy than we are at SLA, but he respected what we were doing and believed deeply that Philadelphia was better for having both schools, and he never hesitated to let folks know that. People would often try to get each of us to say something bad about the other’s school, but we both respected the differences and strengths of each other’s schools, and looking back now, I am struck by his generosity, and the space he made for a young principal and a brand-new school.
Where we did come together was in our belief in kids. Shelly was as student-centered a principal as any I have ever met. He believed in Central kids’ ability to do amazing things in the world, and the kids felt that from him all the time. He knew every student at the 2,500 student school, and when you walked through the halls with him, you just felt the love and care he had for his students and that school.
And the impact he had on his students lasted long after they graduated. Shelly came to visit us one time at SLA, and he and I decided to go for a walk to get some lunch. You couldn’t even try to have a conversation with Shelly if you were on a walk in Philadelphia, because you were just going to get interrupted every ten yards by a Central alum who just wanted to say hello or thank you to him. It was amazing.
And I will never forget when I called a friend of mine who was a Central alum and mentioned that I played poker in Shelly’s home game, “You played in DR. PAVEL’S GAME?” Turns out, the game was the stuff of legend, and the fact that I got to play in was a greater honor that I realized. I was the youngest player at the table that night, and it is just one more way Shelly created space for others.
But others will write about his tenure at Central and the incredible impact he had on that school far better than I can. That’s really not for me to write about. What I – and many principals of my era – lost was a mentor and friend.
When I got to Philly in 2005, the principals’ community wasn’t the easiest of places to break into, especially for a thirty-four year old who was opening a brand new school without ever having been a principal. But Shelly saw something in me, and he cleared the path for me to be accepted in that room, and that made such a difference in those early years. Chris Johnson and I were talking today about the education we got in our early years listening to Shelly and others who took the time to share their wisdom with us.
And, to be clear, Shelly was incredibly giving with his time. He made time for you when you called him, asking him for ideas and advice. Everyone who ever sat to talk to him – in person or just on the phone – can hear him say, “Listen… this is what you’re going to do…” and you knew that whatever was coming next was going to be incredibly thoughtful. He didn’t expect you to agree – in fact, some of my favorite memories of Shelly were the times we debated various ideas. Some things, I still disagree with him about, but there are other conversations that I look back on now, and I think about just how patient Shelly really was with a young principal.
And if that conversation was in person, and if it was a serious conversation, he’d probably invite you to step outside so he could smoke his pipe while you talked. And there was something just right about that. There are few people in the world who can pull off smoking a pipe as part of the overall image of the wise leader, but Shelly did, and he always made it feel a little transgressive too. I remember sitting in his office one day when he decided it was time for a break. We went down one of the stairwells of Central to an outer doorway that – conveniently – had a door stop stashed nearby, and we continued the conversation as he smoked his pipe outside the side of the school. He did it all with the Dr. Pavel smile that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.
In all, what I remember most was how thoughtful and kind and wise he was. When he spoke in Principal meetings, you listened. When he called you, you listened. And when he retired, the principal’s room in Philly was a little emptier because he wasn’t in it anymore. Today, as we face challenge after challenge in our schools and our district, I miss my friend’s wisdom. I miss his perspective. I miss his counsel.
It is — without doubt or question — the only responsible choice at this point in time.
And…
This hurts. Jakob was a strong candidate to make the Philadelphia U-17 YCC team. He’s one of the better young handlers in the region… and I’m not just saying that because I’m his dad.
In my 15 years of playing competitive Ultimate, I made Nationals three times – once in the College Division, and twice in the Co-ed (now Mixed) Division. I can tell you everything about those teams. I can tell you about the games…
In 1991, on the Void, going to the fields the night before in Wisconsin and getting us psyched up, us beating Carleton in pool play, the party after we’d been eliminated, the drives there and back with my teammates.
In 1998, WUPASS playing in *ridiculous* wind conditions and losing in the quarterfinals in a total up-wind / down-wind game. The excitement in playing in the first ever co-ed nationals. Coming all the way back from an ACL tear to make it to Nationals when I never really knew if I’d be able to play at that level.
In 2000, with NYCE, the sod fields that you could make shake if everyone jumped up and down at the same time, the incredible spirit of that entire tournament, as best exemplified by being part of a post-game spirit circle that ended in a marriage proposal.
All of it. And so much more.
These moments are fleeting. For every dominant athlete who gets to play at the elite level year in and year out, there are dozens of athletes who only get a few bites at the apple. I consider myself beyond lucky to have made it to Nationals three times as a player. I know great Ultimate players who never got to go. And there are kids who were going to experience Nationals for the first time this summer who now won’t be able to. Some will continue on and go on other teams in other years. Others, this might have been their best and only shot.
And yes, in the face of 300,000 deaths across the world, missing out on Nationals is not that big a deal.
And yet, it is.
We will never be able to measure all that we have lost.