Mr. Markowitz

Eric taught special education at Amundsen High School for 23 years, and at Sullivan House alternative high school (deep on Chicago’s South Side) for two years prior. He liked the underdogs. He was Mr. Kotter, and his kids were the sweathogs. His patience with them was legendary, as was his silly singing and dancing.

For years he kept a drawing on our refrigerator that student A.P. made of him with the caption “Sings too much.” It’s true! He did. Anything and everything became a song in his classroom: numbers, poetry, alliteration. I even remember the rap for the latter: Got it? Get it? Good. Alliteration in the ‘hood.

He always joked that being a teacher was his karmic payback for being a pain-in-the-ass student himself. The kind who wrote Rush lyrics on the blackboard instead of the geometry proof the teacher asked for. The kind who had a high school newspaper column called The Camera Eye (Rush again), styled after Mike Royko, that offered advice like “don’t do any favors for strangers named Julio” to Miami-bound spring breakers. The kind who, when the assignment was write to someone famous and ask for an autographed photo, sent his letter to the Ayatollah Khomeini in Iran. (He got no response.)

Maybe that’s why Eric went above and beyond for his kids. You want to have a school club, but you need a teacher-sponsor? Ask Mr. M! He helped the guitar club, poetry club, Jewish club, gender and sexuality club, and - my favorite - the breakdancing club, among others. He helped students like M find housing. When her electricity got shut off, he drove her and her mom to the ComEd office to get it turned back on. He reached students like E, who skipped all classes except his. As she wrote in her essay [sic to all]: “The reason student cut class is because teachers ar dum. They are nosy as f*ck and thy smell like shyt. Not Mr. M. I’m ok with him.”

He helped hundreds of kids. Sometimes we’d run into a former student working at the Apple Store, bussing tables at a restaurant, clerking at the bank. The kid would recognize Mr. M and tell him how he’d taught them to get their act together, to go to college or find a job. That made Eric’s day. Because he always worried: Am I a good teacher? Are these kids learning anything?

He knew the power of that special teacher. He had one in Solon, Ohio, when he was in high school. Her name was Mrs. R, and Eric saved a letter from her that he referred to often:

“Always remember you have much to accomplish and an abundance to create. Only when I hear from former students like you do I even begin to realize how powerful teaching can be — to have an impact, however slight, on the thoughts and lives of so many young people.”

That kept him going. Thanks, Mrs. R. And thanks, Mr. M. For all you did. Especially the breakdancing.

Mr. M advising on Special Olympics curling. (He has no idea how to play.)

Mr. M modeling his teacher uniform: jeans, hoodie, ID, mask and water bottle.

High school newspaper columnist Eric Markowitz snarking a la his hero Mike Royko. Big hair = big headline.

The breakdancing club t-shirt! It was one of Eric’s favorites. And, only one kid broke his arm in the club.