I hukommelsen fra kærlighed & med total beundring, en ven, Lars Møller Kristensen

With Love, Lars. With Love

22 years ago.

It doesn't seem possible, but it was 22 years ago I kept hearing, "Oh, but when you meet Lars. If you go to Denmark, you'll meet Lars, and...When Lars comes with next year's 10th graders, you'll see that the Roskilde Lile Skole will..."

My first year as an English teacher in Louisville, Kentucky, and it was actually 1997 when Ron called me down to the office and said, "Hey, the Danes are coming, so have you figured out where they'll be housed yet."

I'm being honest here. I asked, "Great Danes? You mean dogs?" Ron loved dogs. It was the Brown School. I just imagined that once a year he brought a pack of Great Danes to the school.

It was then I learned of the Brown School's rich tradition of doing cultural exchange programs with the Roskilde Lille Skole in Denmark, a town of fjords near the city of Copenhagen, and a summer home for they many years I taught in Kentucky. The Danes did come, so did their 10th grade class each year, and they stayed with us in Louisville for over a month. In the summers, we returned the favor with any and all who wanted to join us. Who wouldn't like to see where Hans Christian Anderson penned his tales? Phew. Teaching for me became synonymous with the exchange. It was part of the rhythm, the flow, and the productive stress that made teaching in Kentucky as beautiful as it was. 

That first year, I was greeted by Preben, a 10th grade teacher, who was responsible for the crew. In the quest to find homes for each and every Dane I ended up taking in two kids, Fleming and Louisa. Here I was, a first-year teacher, with two teenagers living in my house for 30 days all because they were Danes....Great human Danes....and the Brown School did exchanges with them. Before, Bonnie and Maie, a kindergarten teacher and a librarian, ran the program. After me (and with me), (and then way way beyond me) the incredible Carrie Klingenfus carried the reigns. In fact, I give her 100% credit for keeping the cultural program alive for so long. We saw the benefits for our students. We experienced its magic. We thoroughly enjoyed the stress it caused merely because it had such an incredible impact on our kids. It wasn't an American-fast-pace tour of a nation where we ran rampant from one site to another from behind buses and within crowds of loud-mouth others...it was family. That's the way I've always loved to travel.

Yesterday, Carrie and I talked for 4.5 hours on the phone. Seriously. 4 and a 1/2 hours catching up on the last 13 years of our lives and reminiscing about what Lars meant to us. It was one of the most honest, necessary, and beautiful conversations of my lifetime (and way overdue). She's still working hard in Louisville supporting the literacy needs of students and I've moved from my days of Brown, earning a Ph.D. at Syracuse University, and heading to Connecticut to move forward with my life.

We owe so much to the exchange with the Lille Skole. More importantly, we owe so much of who we are as human beings to the influence Lars had on us....not only Lars. Vibeke, Ulla, and all who opened their arms and homes to us for so many years became aunts, uncles, siblings, parents, and cousins. We know so many of our Brownies today continue friendships with their Dane friends way into their adult life, even standing in one another's weddings and going on vacations around the world.

Yesterday, Carrie and I shared every memory we could, the love, and our appreciation for the lucky and fortunate times we were able to spend in Denmark (and them with us) for so many years. 

As Carrie and I processed, we tried to figure out what Lars actually meant to us and we came to the conclusion that he was a tremendous Sage. He was a teacher of teachers. A mentor. A father figure, a coach, a big brother, and a spiritual guide. In retrospect, we realized he was somewhat super human and above any description attributed to normal people. As we talked through this. We realized it was because Lars was a visionary, a scholar, and a man with a purpose that transcended himself.

Once upon a time there was a man named Lars who, with one eye, began many dreams amongst the Danish Fjord of which he was lord.

I penned that in 1998, after I returned from Denmark and finally had the opportunity to meet the administrator, the actor, and the dreamer behind the cultural exchange. I was a long-haired, first-year teacher (semi-hippie) who arrived to the airport with my crew of Brown School voyagers, with a toy megaphone that played music and allowed my voice to be heard everywhere. I was singing in it as we entered the luggage-area of the  airport and acting my usual self, laughing, and ready for adventure. Lars shook my hand and said, "Oh, I heard about your Crandall. Everything they said, I guess, is true."

And I moved in with him, Vibeke, Anna, and Ulla for 4 weeks. Silke was our canine friend. 

I pulled out old photo albums when I learned that Lars passed away this week. In my head, it was just yesterday we were sipping beers, talking teaching, and dreaming of a better world. It's hard for me to believe it's been 13 years, though, since leaving the Brown School and 22 years since I first meandered through Christiana and learned to watch European soccer with 1,000s of others on the streets of Copenhagen. Like many of my American colleagues who also visited and loved Lars, "We just thought we'd eventually get back there and have a chance to hang with him again."

Lars, and his home, and Lille Skole, was nothing but open. He was the lord of the fjord, a pied-piper of young people, and a Jedi to his fellow teachers. As I began to think about his strengths as a human being, however, it also occurred to me how behind-the-scenes his work and he was always doing it....tirelessly...and for the better of everyone. 

My biggest memory of Lars is that of perpetual teacher. He wasn't an aggressive kind, but one who stood at the sides, watched, listed, then came in to make the point. He wasn't  after a reputation of expertise, but desired building strong relationships, establishing lifelong learners, and pushing wisdom, rather than regurgitation. Lars was careful when to speak out, and cautious for when it was the right time to pull a kid under his wing. He took many under his wing, too - both Danes and Americans.

I have been under that wing, and for that I am extremely appreciative.

A student once told me that my teaching style was different from others I worked with because, she said, "You're thinking is bigger and not as small as the others." She actually said that while at a Lille Skole Musikfest and I used to wonder what she meant. In later years she expanded, "You offer a global, more human experience, whereas so many others have small, tiny views of the world that they want to punch you with." I was thinking of this last night, while thinking of Lars....that is, what it really means to be a teacher.

In 2000 Lars brought a crew to my room, and was asked to give a talk at Spalding University and I went with him. As he spoke to the students he walked up to a white board and drew a long line across the entire thing. He then put a dot towards the beginning quarter of the line and circled it. He asked "What is that?"  No one had an answer, too shy to take a guess. "He said, "That is us right now. That's where we are in history. A blip on the radar that has only just begun." 

Lars then explained that his vision for teaching young people was have cultural, human-connected experiences, to have opportunities to see the world, to step outside national boundaries, and to see the vastness of our planet. He also addressed European history, imperialism, colonialism, and Western traditions that offered him a location to share knowledge with a room full of students in a college classroom. He knew his luck and privileges. He said to them, "We're all humans, and we owe it to one another to learn with, and from, one another." He was Ubuntu, before I knew what it was.

Lars was always reading. Always questioning. Always patiently trying to find a solution amongst the chaos of everyday living. He lived by example....one that I still laugh about, because he championed Kentucky bourbon way before I did, and loved his cigarettes, but once attacked me for trying to kill him because he thought I fed him meat in a meals I cooked for him, and he was a proud vegetarian. He got sick and thought it was my food.

I laugh at that now, but also don't laugh. I know that the loss of Lars Møller Kristensen is a tremendous hit for the Roskilde community, especially his beautiful family. I remember fondly the year that Dea was home from California, after training squirrels for the remake of the Willy Wonka film with Johny Depp, and sharing how insane squirrels are to train. They were nuts, actually, and had an instinct to hoard nuts, not pass them around to one another. I remember fondly, too, the admiration and pride Anna always had for her father, and the wonderful home she, Vibeke, and Lars  made for me and my colleagues when we came to stay. She was a teenager then, and I imagine the invasion of Americans was just a smerter I røvet.

In my head, now, I'm still 26, and laughing with Lars at 2 a.m. as the Danish sun finally sets, joking that we only have two hours before it rises again and the magpies and roosters start singing in a new day.

But, I'm  48. Much life has happened since the last time I was lucky enough to see him, and now I realize I waited way too long for my return.

Lars, you'll never know what a tremendous impact you had on my life. In fact, when I reflect on my work with immigrant and refugee youth now in the United States, my devotion to K-12 teachers as National Writing Project Director, my mission to unite people with love, togetherness, and humanity, and my quest to fight ignorance, small-mindedness, and hypocrisy, I think of you. I

I owe it to you. You modeled what it means to be a good man.

My heart is with your friends and family right now, and all those who have passed before you.

Yes, you have been a sage, but you're also the giant of a human being that will be in my mind forever.  Your influence and greatness are astounding...

...and you did your work, your life, with grace, joy, love, and intelligence.

Today, I look to the clouds and give a standing ovation for all that you made possible. It's the least I could do. 

Se over os, klog mand.