To Teach Is to Learn Twice

Every non-rainy afternoon, walking back to the Metro station after consulting at Dunbar High School, I would come across the elderly black gentleman with a white beard and colorful baseball cap sitting on the bench outside his 4th Street row home. Sometimes, he would be holding court with 1 or 2 others. Other times he was alone. But there was always a smile and some kind of friendly greeting. 

Today's salutation was "have a great rest of the day."  I paused and, without planning, a lengthy conversation ensued, a 2-way talk that ran all the way back to 1922, the year that native Washingtonian Larry Bird was born. You mean like Larry Bird the basketball player? "Yes, just like that except that I'm older and darker," Bird said with a smile.

Wanting to show my respect, I asked Bird if I should call him Mr. Bird or Larry. "Larry's fine," he said. "Sugar costs both of them just as much."

Putting aside the trio of books he was holding, Bird explained that he had lived in his present location for 10 years. He had moved back to Washington at the request of his son, who didn't like the quality of life his father was experiencing in New Rochelle, New York. Bird's son, who owns an impressive bed-and-breakfast inn just across the street, said he would feel better if his father were closer.

There's something about Bird's appearance that is remindful of an older, more sagacious Garret Morris, the former Saturday Night Live star who now has a recurring role in the new CBS's comedy 2 Broke Girls. He's a survivor. He has survived 2 wars, 2 wives and 89 years of living. He says he is legally blind, an impairment that is the result of diabetes. But he considers his diminished eyesight a blessing.  "No pun intended but it allows me to look at life through a different lens," he said. "I know more about myself now."

He also credits diabetes with directly saving his life.  Several years ago, he attended a health fair at the nearby convention center. Given that he was used to working with large groups of people, he helped the nurses organize the people at the event. "When it was done, the nurses asked 'Mr. Bird, what can we do for you?' I said well could you give me the name of a doctor you would want your father to go to if he had diabetes. I went to the doctor. He gave me a stress test. He said 'Mr. Bird, don't plan on going home tonight.' I had a quadruple bypass and here I sit today."

Bird is acutely aware of those pivotal moments which can sway a person's life. Sometimes it is an action. Sometimes it's something someone says. Sometimes, it is message in a piece of writing. For his part, Bird says he has been living his life for many years around the advice contained in Max Ehrman's poem "Desiderata." "I've given 100s of copies of that poem to people," Bird said.

He hands me the paperbacks at his side. The complex titles hint at religion, philosophy, helping others, and self-awareness. "That's what I'm reading these days," Bird explains.

Bird says that when he got back from the war he realized he had to consider a career. He thought about becoming a fireman or a policeman. "I saw myself sliding down a pole or riding in a police car and I didn't see that fulfilling me," he said. Someone suggested education. Bird began classes and a an early instructor didn't think Bird had what it would take. "I wanted to prove her wrong. For 3 years running, I was the number one student in the program," Bird said, a hint of deserved pride in his voice.

After finishing schooling, Bird began teaching geography in DC for about 20 years. ("Didn't really need any books. Geography is about people and what they have around them and how that shapes how they live"). That was followed by several years working with dropout youth in New Rochelle. ("People came from all over to see how we were running the program").

"You know to teach is to learn twice," Bird said.

In the early 1950s, Bird became active in the DC chapter of the NAACP (the National Association for the Advancement of Color People). At the time, there were about 300 members. He helped swell that number to 300,000 during the Civil Rights Movement.

So, as a pioneer for racial equality, how does Bird feel about the fact that in 2008 America elected a black President. "To be honest, I'm awed and amazed," Bird said. "There's still a lot of prejudice."

But racial conditions have improved during his 89 years, right? "For some yes, for others no," Bird says. "These middle class black people are so busy leaving the city and leaving the poor people behind.  They forget that everybody needs some help sometime," Bird said.

And what about his feelings for the Washington he has seen for almost 9 decades. "I had more friends in New Rochelle. All the people I knew here are either dead or don't know ol' Larry's back in town. But I'll stay here. Washington's my home."

Tales, Tidbits, and Traveling Tips
Larry Bird is a special person. He sits on his bench like a modern-day Socrates, absolutely convinced that the unexamined life is simply not worth living. He dispenses great advice. He asks perceptive and provocative questions. He reads daily, knowing that you can't ever know enough. He is honest, open, and trusting. During our conversation, he asked me "Is that door open." I said it was. He said, "go in and look at what's on the wall in the room on the right." Inside, I found a finely calligraphed, framed poster with a series of dozens of words - warm, bright, a great person, giant. The words,  Bird says, came from a group of people who were honoring him years ago. "I have to admit I'm kind of fond of that," Bird said.  I agree. He should be. It's a fitting tribute to an 89-year-old man who sits on his bench, still trying to reach out to others and still believing that "to teach is to learn twice."