Herr Stevens knew everything there was to know, and then some. He’d been a German teacher, once, and a damn good one, but after two failed retirements he found himself teaching a number of English electives.

He’d introduced himself to us as ‘Mr. Stevens,’ but the man we recognized from the stories told by our older siblings and cousins and parents was ‘Herr,’ and none of us could reconcile the two.

On the first day of Speechwriting, he slid open the doors to a cabinet in the corner and revealed shelves upon shelves of snacks. The rules were simple: If you are hungry, eat. You do not need to ask.

On the first day of Media Studies, he walked the class through instructions to create glowsticks from Mountain Dew. When he flicked off the lights, he delivered another rule to the huddled mass of teens in the darkness: Not all authorities are trustworthy. Not all narrators are reliable. Use your common sense.

And so passed every class he taught. The day after big tests, he would spend the period telling stories from his exploits in lifelong learning. He explained in detail the differences between 18- and 24-carat gold, shared which he preferred when setting certain stones for certain types of jewelry. One Wednesday, in a whisper more reverent than prayer, he described the wonder of holding a Gutenberg bible in his hands, and I swear I felt the leather butter-soft beneath my fingertips.

The same dozen or so of us took his classes every semester. We were a gaggle of angry teenagers raging against the system, and he was the only man we knew how to respect. He was all of five foot in lifts, but he may as well have been a giant, standing firm at the front of the class and showing us how to navigate the world. When someone asks for help, you help them.

After the election, he closed the door of the classroom and played footage from decades of protests. He taught us new rules. No phones, no cameras. Dark, unmarked clothing. Tattoos and birthmarks covered. My hair was carrot-orange; Dye it or tie it up.

At graduation, my hair was box-black; Everyone ignored that it had been yellow the week before. The whole class cheered for our friends and threw our caps even though the administration told us not to. Outside of the gymnasium doors, Herr Stevens stood waiting with lemonade and cake slices, and he laughed when he heard what we’d done.