The Mark of Mogill

I first read the sad news on Facebook. One of my former teachers had passed away. Not just a teacher … my favorite teacher ever. Born to be an educator, Mr. Mogill taught Physics at Streator Township High School.

I occupied his mildewed-scented classroom for just one year. But what a year it was! I can still see him pacing back and forth in front of the classroom donning a white shirt, sleeves partially rolled up, his hands shoved deep into the chalk-stained pockets of his black dress pants. Every other step he took, the old hardwood floor would let out a squeaky sigh. Mr. Mogill used intelligence, humor, and kindness as tools to teach a classroom full of teenage know-it-alls.  And teach us he did. Not only about physics but about life.

Mr. Mogill respected each of us and expected, no demanded, that we respect him in return. He also required 100% of our attention when he was in the midst of an important teaching moment. My most vivid memories of him happened at this time. With his back to the class, while furiously writing on the chalkboard, Mr. Mogill’s superpowers awakened. Several sleepy students were also awakened by the piercing nails on a chalkboard chill-sending screech that happened way too often. Mr. Mogill’s all-seeing eyes in the back of his head would focus directly on the student paying the least attention to his lesson. Then, with a ninja-like quickness, Mr. Mogill would suddenly pivot, and what I can only describe as “High Noon” meets “The Matrix” … he would quick-draw a chalkboard erasure from his pocket and project it toward the hapless kid who was giving him “no respect.” SMACK-PUFF! Chalk dust filled the air, and our nostrils … and for one shocked student, the “Mark of Mogill” could be seen as a rectangular white powder outline dead center on their chest. How Mr. Mogill never missed the intended target and how others in the room were not victims of “friendly fire” is a physics lesson in itself.  I remember thinking, “How could this old teacher be so fast and agile?” Of course, I now realize that Mr. Mogill was only 29 years old when I sat in his class. That is just 12 years older than I was at the time.

Mr. Mogill

I am sorry that I never made the effort to personally thank Mr. Mogill for that magical year. However, I can proudly say that, on more than one occasion, I went home with that chalk erasure outline on the front of my chest. But much more important than that, the true “Mark of Mogill,” the life lessons he bestowed on his class, will always be with me.

Rest in Peace Alexis Timothy Mogill. 

January 24 1939 - June 4, 2016