Perhaps I’ve been too hard on myself, and some have told me so. But I also know that the death of a boy I cared about changed my life. When I have discouraging days (and I have many of them), I start to think of the other things I could do with my life. “I don’t need to beat up on myself like this,” I say. But when I have calmed down, I know I can’t push the memory of Willow out of my heart. I believe God put that burden on me so I don’t forget—so I can’t forget.
One of the things I struggled with was that I had left Vaux; Reynolds Elementary School was only one block away, but it might have been five miles. Whether I liked it or not, moving to Reynolds meant that those former students would have to make an extra trip to see me. They had been accustomed to coming to Vaux, not only to see me but also to talk with teachers who had been there thirty or forty years. Many teachers who went to teach at Vaux never left until they retired. The students appreciated that dedication and felt close to them. They knew those teachers cared. They said they came to visit so often to say hello or to play chess, but I think they also came to get additional doses of influence. One of those sources—and I was only one of them—had moved a block away.
My transfer to Reynolds meant those former students would have to take an extra step. Most of our young people wouldn’t do that. If I had called them, they would have come immediately to see me. Most of them didn’t take the initiative or reach out for support.
They hadn’t learned early in life that even when we get knocked down, we can still get back up. They hadn’t figured out that facing setbacks are growing pains, part of maturing, and learning to become successful. I like to tell students, “What knocks you down makes you stronger and prepares you for the next obstacle.”
I currently work with the CEO of schools in Philadelphia, the After School Activities Partnership (ASAP), and several other wonderful organizations that were developed to help change how students are educated outside normal school hours. It is the best way we know to help keep them alive and moving ahead to attain healthy goals.
One of my major goals is to start chess programs in every Philadelphia school. Even some of the most skeptical have admitted that such programs help to save the lives of young people. If we had instituted similar programs ten years ago, Willow might still be alive.
Yes, Willow is dead. I didn’t save him, but I can help to save others. I now use his story as a testimony for how he came from failure and used chess to become a success.
His death has brought about a number of changes. For example, we’ve started a program for children of incarcerated and deceased parents. We encourage college students and graduates to return to the inner city and volunteer with enrichment programs. Also, the America’s Foundation for Chess, headquartered in Seattle, Washington, has begun implementing a national chess curriculum in second-and third-grade classrooms around the country. When we have accomplished this challenge—and we are committed to this cause—more than 9 million elementary school kids in our country per year will learn the benefits of good decision making, problem solving, and conflict resolution.
Will we succeed? That’s not the question. The question is: Don’t we have to try? What will we do to help our inner-city, suburban, and rural kids become successful? If we implement and sustain these programs, I’ll feel that Willow’s death will have had a purpose.
As I look at my students, I often think, “These children are alive. They have a chance to stay alive and to make a difference in the world.” Because of Willow’s death, we’ve saved many children. Through his death, God has taught me that I have an awesome responsibility to care for other children. I can also have a tremendous and powerful influence on our young people, and as long as they are alive, I have the opportunity to challenge them to change.
I don’t think every day of Willow and other kids we’ve lost, but I think of them often. Some days I’ve felt as if I can’t handle it anymore. “I’m so tired,” I say, or I pray, “God, please remove me from this responsibility. I can’t do it anymore.”
That’s when an image of Willow comes into my mind. I remember the many photos of Willow. Or I see him the first week of school when he still sucked his thumb. In some ways, he was just a baby. I often think about his many chess battles with players who were much older. I can close my eyes even now and see him bent over that chessboard, his eyes taking in the whole board, trying to figure out the next two or three moves. Then he’d become aware of me, look up, and grin. “This is easy, Mr. EL,” he’d say before he again concentrated on the board.
“This is easy, Mr. EL.” I always remember those words and that child’s face. The memory reminds me that he had overcome many odds, and we at the school had helped him make significant progress. We pulled back too soon—and the reality is that we had to pull back because he went on to high school. Besides, there are always other children who need attention, affirmation, and encouragement.
Every year we get students who can’t read or who read far below grade level, but they can improve. Smart is not something they are; it is something they can become. They can’t pull themselves up without help—our help.
Yes, I think of Willow often, but I decided to learn from that young man’s death. I’ve looked at my influence on the children and I’ve considered the influences that have affected my own life. As I think of the powerful, lasting impression of certain individuals in my life, it makes me even more committed to be as strong an influence in the lives of children as I can.
I want to be able to prevent more deaths by learning from the failure to rescue Willow. In this instance, I’ve used the failure as motivation. When I saw the success of the chess program and the triumph of Willow and others, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. I didn’t realize that I needed to find ways to continue to build on that success, a system of sustainability, so those students could continue to feel successful.
I learned that I need to find a way to continuously be a part of students’ lives. I want to make such a powerful impact that they’ll hear my voice when they make decisions. I’ve had powerful voices in my life. Sometimes I can hear those strong female influences in my life as a child, like my mother or Marsha Pincus, who did so much for me when I was in high school. Or I can hear Dr. Deidre Farmbry and Michael Robinson, from my high school days and early career as an educator, saying, “Believe in the unthinkable and impossible for yourself and your students.”
Those who helped me have also influenced thousands of children. Not only do we need more teachers and parents like them, but each of us needs to learn how much more we can do. Because I have responded to their influence, I hope that, through me, students can also hear those other, powerful voices, and say, “I can make it.”
I saw the same things in Willow those teachers saw in me. He was not only smart but extremely creative. He read below grade level when he first came to Vaux School. He was like nearly 50 percent of the children in our nation’s elementary and middle schools. Within two years, that young man went from a near-nonreader—the boy some predicted wouldn’t even make it through middle school—to finish as one of the top twenty-five chess players in his division in national chess tournaments. I vividly remember his teachers, many of whom were new to Vaux School, working hard with Willow. They were a big factor in his success there.
“I’ll make you famous,” was one of the first things I told Willow. If he would commit to playing chess and helping to improve the image of the school and community, I promised to make him a star. My words came true. Willow was the first student to be featured in a major newspaper article on our chess team. His face appeared on the cover of the Philadelphia Inquirer.
To this day, I remember the headline on the front page of the local section that appeared in 1996: A SCHOOL MOVES BACK TO CHESS. Below that was a photo of Willow staring at a chessboard. He became the poster boy for our program.
With Willow, we developed a great chess program. Years earlier, the school had won seven consecutive state and national chess championships. We