An Educator: Richard Nye Whitmore

For a small town like Florence, we were lucky enough to have some gifted teachers who didn’t have to stay in a small district with its chronic budget battles with citizens who charged that there were too many “frills” in our schools. One of the gifted teachers was Richard Nye Whitmore. Maybe he liked it there because he was born and raised in small town western Oregon.

 Mr. Whitmore started at Florence in 1961, the autumn I entered high school, and was my sophomore biology teacher. He stayed in the system for over 30 years, and besides biology, taught driver’s ed, and became the assistant, then the principal. He died during the last week of July, 2012, at the mere age of 76. His tenure extended through the school years of all four of us, Sandy, Mark, Tina and me, and Mark will represent our family at the memorial services.

During the last year or so, Mr. Whitmore was very active on “Facebook,” connecting with his former students, and he attended my 45^th Class Reunion two years ago, where it was obvious that he was remembered warmly by our class.

     It was at that reunion that Mr. Whitmore told me a story about my dad, Vake. Mr. Whitmore had tried to hire Dad, the old plumber, to fix some plumbing at his house. The repair involved soldering a joint. Dad insisted that this was something that Mr. Whitmore could do for himself, and explained how to solder a joint. However, Mr. Whitmore lacked the tools and the interest in doing it, so finally Vake took the job. “I’m sure he was just trying to save me the money,” Mr. Whitmore said.  And I’m equally sure that there was another side to it:  Vake believed that an educated man had to know his metal alloys, and could tell you what metals went into galvanizing, soldering flux, brass and bronze, and pewter, and knew how to work them, and he respected Mr. Whitmore as an educated man, even if he couldn’t solder a joint.

     At that last class reunion, I overheard an exchange between Mr. Whitmore and a classmate, Carl Ronning. At the end of the cocktail hour, when we were being called to take a seat at 10-person tables, Carl asked Mr. Whitmore, “Sir, may I sit next to you? It would be an honor.”  Of course Mr. Whitmore agreed. Now, Carl was not a student who was easy to teach. He was not academically inclined. And he was one of those local boys who was snapped up by the Marine Corps as soon as he turned 18 and finished high school (if he finished high school). (Ironically, Mr. Whitmore sat on the Draft Board.)

     Carl told the rest of the story as each of us spoke at our reunion. He had sustained a head injury in combat in Vietnam that affected his ability to learn. For the past 30 years or more, he had never had a drivers’ license, until recently. Then, Mr. Whitmore took him under his wing, and tutored him, until Carl passed his driving exam.