Personal & Authentic. Thomas C Murray
his heart and understand his story, I was no longer blinded by my own shaded lens. Just getting to school in the morning was an accomplishment for this boy. I had been so focused on myself that I couldn’t see him. I had been so focused on my needs, so insistent that he conform to my rules and my ways of doing things, that I had completely missed looking at his heart and what it was that he really needed.
Mark was right. I will forever be grateful that I had a colleague, a true mentor, who called me out face-to-face and set me straight. He didn’t gossip about my shortfalls in the faculty room. He coached me and challenged me when needed. He openly shared his experience, and through his example, I learned it was okay—even courageous—to ask for help. His mentorship ultimately changed the course of my career. And it was exponentially compounded by what happened next.
As the months went on, my respect for Mark grew. I watched as he asked our principal if he could take the first few minutes of a faculty meeting to lead a fun activity for the team. I watched him dress up for assemblies to make kids laugh. I watched as he created the type of classroom where kids wanted to be. He had high expectations for and loved every one of his students—and they thrived.
I no longer wondered why every fourth grader wanted Mr. Wieder as their teacher. Mark’s students felt loved in his classroom. He challenged them and made them believe they could rise to meet his challenge. Mark impacted hundreds of students over the years. He made the learning experience personal and authentic for them. The relationships Mark had with his students and the way he fostered an inclusive culture made them feel like they belonged and could change the world. His relationships were the foundation of the success that occurred in that classroom.
Mark attracted people to him, students and staff alike. It wasn’t his step on the pay scale, the bulletin boards that he hung, or how pretty his handouts were. He was a personal and authentic person. He treated others well, and he focused on relationships and loving others in everything he did.
Over the next few months, learning from Mark and other experienced colleagues, I began to change my practice. I found that as I changed my own mindset, my students responded—just as Mark had said they would. The experience of a veteran teacher is invaluable, and Mark guided me as only a true mentor could. My heart softened. When I changed my mindset from what I taught to who I taught, the real work came into focus. I began to understand the immense connection between personal and authentic relationships, classroom culture, and student learning outcomes.
As my attitude improved, so did my students’ behavior.
As my love for them grew, so did their respect and concern for me.
As my heart opened, their lives could finally be poured into.
As a team, working through things together, we began to win.
Teachers are some of the only people on the planet who go to bed worrying about other people’s children. Early on, I’d go to bed and stare at the ceiling with frustration from the day. Months later, after many lessons learned, I still lost a tremendous amount of sleep but for entirely different reasons. I’d gained immense empathy for all my students because I had a better understanding of what was on their plates, all they dealt with at home, and all the things I took for granted in life, for which their little hearts longed.
The months went on, and things improved. I received encouragement from other teachers, as well as guidance and support, and my confidence increased. I finally felt like maybe, just maybe, I could do this teaching thing.
When I changed my mindset from what I taught to who I taught, the real work came into focus.
I’d soon learn that the next few months would be some of the most difficult that I would ever encounter. My core would be shaken. My confidence rattled. My heart broken. I would question over and over again if I had the courage to be a teacher. I often wondered if I had a strong enough heart to work with kids.
It was the Wednesday before spring break. Due to the upcoming break, students were dismissed early that afternoon. The previous night, Mark and his wife Rae Ann had picked up the brand-new fourteen-foot camper they had just purchased. He had such excitement in his voice as he showed me the pictures from the brochure and told me all about it that day.
“Check this part out, Tom. We can put the grill back here. The bedroom is back here,” he’d said.
After school that day, Mark was heading home to pick up his wife to go and watch their son, Mark Jr., play tennis at his college in Maryland. They were going to get to use their beautiful new camper for the first time, and I was excited for them. As we stood in the hallway that afternoon and wished each other a great, long weekend, I waved and said, “Have a great time, Mark! Enjoy the new camper! Have a safe trip. I’ll see you on Tuesday!”
I didn’t realize it until later that everything changed in that moment because those would be my last words to Mark. I didn’t know that moment would be our last. I didn’t know that goodbye would be my final goodbye to my mentor.
If only I could have said “thank you” one more time.
The following morning, I walked outside to retrieve the local newspaper from the box at the end of my driveway. I looked down at the front-page headline: “Couple from Macungie Killed in Fiery Accident on Turnpike.”
Image Credit: The Morning Call, reprinted with permission
I began to read the front-page news.
A sport utility vehicle pulling a trailer ran out of control and skidded off the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike south of the Quakertown interchange, catching fire and killing a Macungie couple Wednesday afternoon. Mark Alton Wieder, 48, and Rae Ann Wieder, 50, both of 30 S. Sycamore St., were killed, state police at King of Prussia said.
Only those who have experienced sudden tragedy with loved ones can understand the fear, the anger, the disbelief, and the raw emotion that ensues in moments like these.
Wieder’s vehicle, which was pulling the fourteen-foot camper trailer, went off the road and struck the guardrail with the right front bumper, police said. The SUV separated from the trailer, became airborne, and slid down an embankment. It spun clockwise before striking a tree on the driver’s side, police said.
The SUV fell about thirty feet from the highway to Kumry Road, said Bucks County Coroner Joseph Campbell. The road was slick from a steady rain that fell throughout the day. Campbell said gasoline leaking from the vehicle caught fire and gutted the vehicle with the driver and passenger trapped inside.
“The fire was pretty extensive,” Campbell said. “It was a pretty violent accident.” Campbell said Mark Wieder died of smoke inhalation, burns, and trauma, and his wife died of burn and smoke inhalation. Firefighters arrived on the scene to find the car in flames, fire officials said.1
In that moment, my mentor—an amazing husband, dad of two, family man, and one of the best teachers that has ever walked this earth—and his loving wife were gone. Like so many others, heartbroken doesn’t begin to describe the grief that those who knew the couple felt.
That afternoon, many of my colleagues came together at school to mourn the loss of our friend. We shared stories of the man he was as our hearts were heavy. We cried together. We loved on one another, holding each other’s hearts in our hands.
I’ve come to realize that you never really know when that moment will be. You never really know when it will happen. You only know once that moment has passed, and reality has become a memory.
The last smile.
The last high five.
The last hug.
The last goodbye.
Mark’s life was cut way too short. Yet during his forty-eight years, he fully lived. He lived every day to the fullest. Mark had more joy and found more happiness through his relationships in forty-eight