Levinson Tribute- English

By Alden Hinden Stevenson, Freelance Reporter, Julian White-Davis, Photo Editor, and Calder Stenn, Editor-in-Chief

 

It’s Sunday morning at Snapdragon, a small bakery on the outskirts of the town of Vashon. We are walking out into the parking lot with one Harris Levinson, a former teacher at VHS who has become an invaluable member of the community over the years.

 

As we prepare to part ways, an unfamiliar man approaches us.

 

“Aren’t you the Spanish teacher at the high school?” he says.

 

Levinson stops, always happy to engage in genuine conversation. He explains to the man that he is no longer a part of the school here on Vashon but has moved on to teach in Tacoma.

 

The man continues to explain that Levinson had taught his son for many years on the island and that his son had been so inspired he chose to pursue studies in Latin America and explore a Spanish experience of his own.

 

Student-teacher connections like this are part of what makes VHS so unique from other schools. Another unique aspect of the school is the hip vibe that many teachers in Vashon’s small community embody.

 

Levinson epitomized this vibe. Some might say he was unorthodox in his teaching methods, but that is the result of someone who is able to translate the “real Vashon” into a classroom.

 

Organized chaos is the best way to describe it. A student never went into his classroom just to learn but also to have fun learning. The class was never fueled by achieving the highest standard — unless that standard was defined by how much energy you exerted. In fact, he would often confess how little he believed in grades, often saying that one’s attitude and overall character is what would ultimately stand the test of time.

 

Sometimes we would start off with scrimmages on the iconic mini-hoop — a tradition which has since been passed on to Mr. Callender — or by playing soccer. Levinson would even join in on occasions.

 

Levinson’s energy was a powerful ingredient in his teaching. In second semester last year, we had Spanish during the infamous first period — almost every teacher’s least active time of the day. The first morning of that semester, a former student of his brought in coffee to get the class going. This small act encapsulated how the class had an undying commitment to the community we had formed, and to Levinson as well.

 

In today’s academic setting, so much is still centered around particular standards that teachers must abide by and in turn ingrain into their students’ heads. Learning is often seen as a concrete structure of textbooks, lectures, flashcards, and exams.

 

Levinson did his best to avoid this as much as possible. He saw each class as a family — one coherent unit that was fueled by friendship and trust. Even people who weren’t the closest of friends could have a unique, shared experience in his class.

 

In other words, it was the interactions that counted the most. Sometimes Levinson wasn’t even our teacher; he was one of us. There were many occasions when he would lose track of time because of how engaged he would become in each lesson.

 

Yet he not only taught lessons on his subject but also left us bits and pieces of advice about life itself.

 

For example, one day in November 2015, the class gathered around in a circle as he put on a news podcast, introducing it simply as information that we needed to be aware of in the world. As we listened, stories of gang members murdering enemies, young girls being raped in their hometown and military corruption were laid out in front of us.

 

The class looked up to where Levinson sat, sedentary in his chair while he listened. In the morning light coming from the window, we saw tears glisten as they slid down his cheeks. He paused the podcast halfway through, shaking his head solemnly. The class didn’t move — we all looked up at Levinson.

 

He began to talk about how it can be easy to hide ourselves from the atrocities in the world, but how we need to face them head on and to not shy away from them. Only by being aware of hardships can we inspire ourselves to make a difference, he told us.

 

These moments of worldly education truly enlightened us and brought in another dimension to an already unconventional classroom environment.

 

One of the great things about learning Spanish –– or any language –– is that you don’t have to focus on just one subject area such as history, economics, or government and politics. Throughout our years in Spanish II, III and IV, we have found ourselves immersed in many different aspects of a variety of subject areas, not learning about Spanish so much as learning through it.

 

Of course, this is attempted in many Spanish classes, but the consistent energy, variety of teaching tactics and new ideas that Levinson brought to the classroom made the atmosphere one of the most enjoyable in the school.

 

One of the last things Levinson said to our class at the end of the 2016-17 school year was to remember these times in our lives and to keep in touch to maintain these relationships.

 

We met with him recently not because of personal means or not because of any requirement, but rather because of the relationship that we knew he too cared to maintain. As we parted ways with him in the parking lot — and as he parts ways with the school — it was (and is) clear that the legacy he left here will survive for years to come.