Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Tribute to Miles Gersh, by Robert Baldwin, former student at Milton Academy (written March 7, 2016)
Although known principally as an attorney with a strong sense of social justice, Miles Gersh also served as a remarkable high school English teacher at Milton Academy for one year in 1969-1970. Having graduated from Harvard Law School that spring, he took a one year job teaching at a nearby boarding school while figuring out his next big move. (He moved to Washington DC where he worked as a public defender). I was in tenth grade when he arrived as my English teacher. Gersh, as we called him behind his back, made a big impression on his students. In part, we admired him for his remarkable intelligence, his breadth of knowledge, and his amazing eloquence. He could speak in whole paragraphs without pauses or filler words. Most of us privileged teenagers also responded to his strong liberal politics which swept universities, colleges, and some high schools in those years. Gersh drove a green MG sports car, liked more sophisticated rock music (The Band, Byrds) than what most of us were still listening to (Stones, Beatles, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young). He also had an extensive collection of classical records and introduced me to the Brandenburg Concertos on period instruments. Within one semester, he was one of the most popular teachers among his students in grades 10-12.
For those who loved him at Milton, Gersh was far more than brilliant. He was humble, soft spoken and a great listener. He was also exceedingly kind and compassionate. This informed his teaching of novels and poems which drew not on any specialized academic knowledge of English literature but on a lifetime of wide and close reading, especially in fiction. He taught Faulkner and Bellow, among other writers, and was equally adept at traditional and contemporary fiction (as he was wide ranging in his musical tastes). His emotional intelligence made him a natural teacher in the old fashioned sense of a mentor, adviser and friend.
With most boarding school teachers living in dormitories or nearby in faculty housing, it was easy to stop by your favorite teacher’s place, uninvited, and hang out ”shooting the breeze”. A friend and I soon became regular visitors at Gersh’s house one block off campus on Center Street near the cemetery. (He shared it with Milton Smith). We would ask Gersh questions about all manner of subjects to marvel at his responses. And we would have him play his favorite music, hoping that it would also become our music. Privately, we competed with Gersh imitations, recited snippets of his oracular brilliance, and swapped stories about the latest Gersh encounter. At the end of the year, we showed up at his house with two whipped cream pies and managed to coat him and his faculty housemate. I have a fuzzy black and white photo from that occasion. While Gersh was never a manic performer like the boarding school teacher played by Robin Williams in “Dead Poets Society,” he was just as beloved by his students, just as charismatic (in his quiet way), and left just as much of an impact despite his short time with us.
Immediately after the Kent State Massacre in early May, 1970, hundreds of universities and colleges went on strike for the remainder of the spring semester. That night, Milton students met secretly in the chapel to plan a strike for our campus. Over the next few days, liberal students and some younger faculty managed to organize an all-campus meeting where we voted to go on strike. This was fiercely resisted by our headmaster, David Wicks, and most of the older faculty. But it had strong support among the student body and many of the younger teachers. Among these was Miles Gersh who spoke up at the assembly about the need to suspend “business as usual”. Largely because of his popularity and because he dared to speak up publically, Gersh became a convenient scapegoat for the administration which blamed him for “inflaming” the students. In fact, nothing of the sort took place. The more activist students met on their own within 10 hours of the Kent State Massacre in the Chapel and planned the strike without any faculty input. The fact that the younger teachers eventually supported this plan was a separate development.
I remember Gersh for the qualities mentioned above and for his great sense of dry humor which expressed itself in commentary on absurd social and political trends, delivered with an incredulous tone punctuated by sudden bursts of laughter. Those explosions of laughter and that radiant smile did as much to make us love him as anything else. He was as far from a rabble rousing radical as anyone on campus. His characteristic manner was moderation, restraint, and mildness of temperament. I sometimes referred to him as “miles mannered gersh,” playing on the conventional description of Clark Kent (Superman) as “mild-mannered”.
When I was hospitalized in the infirmary for four days after an emergency, acute appendicitis, only one teacher came to visit - Gersh. This simple act of charity left a deep impression because it was so characteristic. Having been sent off to boarding school at thirteen, I dreadfully missed the two people in my family above all others, my doctor father and my older brother, both of whom I worshipped. Only in June, 2013, after I had a reunion dinner with Miles in Denver, did I realize why he had been so important back when I was a socially awkward sixteen year old so far from home. Born ten years before me, Gersh was young enough to be like a cool, older brother but old enough to be a father figure. He replaced both of my mentors.
After he left, I kept in good touch for a few years, staying with him in DC two or three times, and doing my best to show him that I had turned out OK after the worst angst of the teen years had passed. Every five years, I would call him out of the blue in Denver or send an email. I finally had a chance to see him when I attended a wedding in Denver in June, 2013. The photo attached here records my visit to his office before we dined just around the corner with my wife and 13 year old son. I was so proud to show him that I had done right by myself. And he gave me the approval and affection he knew I had come to receive. His kindness, emotional nuance, and humor were unchanged after 40 years. I told him I would write him a long letter explaining why he had been so important to me at a time of personal uncertainty. I kept making notes to myself to write this letter while we were both alive. Then tragedy struck me in May 2016 and I found myself in a hospital room most of the time with a family member struggling for life. When I googled Miles today, I found to my shock that he had passed away in January, 2014, just six months after our get together. After a good cry, I put together this tribute. My only regret is that I did not write that letter right away.
Robert Baldwin
Associate professor of Art History
Connecticut College
rwbal@conncoll.edu
