Michael Esslinger
September, 1972. The first day of high school and this clueless freshmen is wandering the halls looking for his freshman English class somewhere in the 'E' part of the school. I think the crumpled schedule in my clammy hand said E-29. Sweating and embarrassed, I walked into my first class of high school and past the guy I presumed to be the teacher, calmly leaning back on his chair, shoes resting comfortably on the top of his desk, hands behind his head. That was the my introduction to Mr. Sobolik.
For various reasons, we all have that one teacher we remember. The one who made a difference, who lit a dormant neuron. For me it was my mom; my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Marg (it was criminal how well she filled out a tight sweater), a colleague, and Mr. Sobolik.
I was, at best, a ‘C-‘ student. My favorite classes were phy. ed. and lunch, not English. But I soon learned Mr. Sobolik’s English class wasn’t like other English classes I’ve had, nor did I know how much it would affect me. Sure, there were thick textbooks with copyright dates in the early 1900s. But Mr. Sobolik taught poetry using cameras, film, and popular music. He taught creative writing playing classical music. He taught persuasive writing through student-made TV commercials. He used songs instead of chalkboards, film instead of lectures, and photography instead of textbooks. Directly and indirectly I implemented many of his lessons in my own high school English classes.
He encouraged me to enter my slide show to the song “In the Year 2525” in a school art show. I took third place (out of three entries). I should have taken second.
One Sunday I was crossing a street in downtown Oshkosh and a car stopped at the red light lightly beeped at me. I turned, flipped off the driver, and mouthed a few soap-worthy words. The next morning Mr. Sobolik called me out in front of the class (a smirk on his face) and asked if I always flipped off people who were simply waving hello.
Mr. Sobolik is “survived” by more than his family and friends. He is survived by all those students (from ‘F’ to ‘A’) who sat in his classroom excited to experience what he’d have us do next, this C- student among them.
My deepest condolences to Mr. Sobolik’s family and friends. I hope your own memories of him will bring some relief and eventually a smile.
Sincerely,
Michael Esslinger