Doc- Our Favorite Rambling Man

In 1990 or early ‘91 I decided to try out for the Dance department in four public high schools- three of them were to the east of me (Cardozo, Hillcrest, and John Bowne) in Queens, the borough I grew up in. To the west of me was LaGuardia high school of Music, Art, & Performing Arts in Manhattan, the borough I was born in and so technically, really from. For that school, I auditioned for the Dance and Drama department so that I could increase my chances of getting in. Stuyvesant is also in Manhattan, allows outer borough students to try out as well, but that place wasn’t my style in any way, shape, or form- LaGuardia, the “Fame” school, was. In a way. In some ways it wasn’t, and that’s not necessarily a compliment nor an insult to either myself or the school, it's just a hindsight observation.

I got into the other schools but didn't get into LaGuardia's Dance program. I did however, get a call back for another Drama audition. My Titi Janis coached me on my two monologues and advised me to look the same way I did on my first audition; same ponytail, same kind of clothes.

I got in. My down-on-my-knees prayer was answered. I got to regularly go to Manhattan again, back in my city. I was 14, taking the trains by myself for the first time, sporting a new haircut for my new life. These felt more like my “college years” than my actual college years later on.

Doctor Gregory Schneider was my freshman drama teacher as well as my first teacher there since acting was our first class. There were drama, dance and voice diction classes all morning, and the academic ones after lunch. The room was huge, white, sparse, and ready for us. We came from all the five boroughs, and were gathered around that first day to hear him introduce himself and state his expectations.

In his deep, serious voice, I thought he told us that it was his job, “to teach this crap”. “Oh no” I groaned to myself. “How jaded and world-weary is this guy?” Somehow years later it finally hit me that what he actually said was that it was his job to teach this craft, which of course changes everything and is way more fitting and aligned with the kind of person he was.

I don't fully remember the conversations he and I had walking down (and often lingering in!) the halls, but I do remember his enthusiasm. Once he shared with us that he didn't like wearing headphones in the train. Being engrossed in a walkman while outside was not something he liked because he wanted to absorb the world around him; the sights, the sounds, the rumbling of the train, the conversation bytes. He wasn't saying that's what we ought to do, he was just confiding in us in a friendly, sincere, and inspiring way. Yes I thought, I want to be like that too, even though majority of the time who am I kidding; those ear buds are playing music for me throughout the ride, my nose buried in a book, and goodbye to the world around me until I reach my stop. But anytime I'm on the train without them, I remember what he said. I felt very validated around him before I knew that was even a word. He wanted the best from us, and he wanted our truth.

There was a kid in my drama/dance/vocal classes who was also in one of my academic classes. I sat diagonally in front of him. From where he sat for about a week or so, he kept asking me to give him a blow job. No jokes, nothing clever or creative about his approach, it was just a straightforward plea over and over again.

“Yo, Tennille! Give me a blow job! Psst! Tennille! Come on! Gimme a blow job!”

Now I had never flirted with, talked to or shown any interest in this boy.  I was very annoyed with his stupid, empty harassment, but didn’t tell anyone.  I kept ignoring him and eventually he stopped. In acting class, he turned every freeze/improv game he jumped into to a gangsta holdup situation. “Yo, say your prayers, punk!” he’d shout with his imaginary gun. Doctor Schneider got so angry at this at one point that he stopped the game and yelled to him something like, “Every time you come and give me the same shit! You can do so much more, you don't have to regress to the same thing!”  He hated the thought of us wasting our talent, or getting in our own way.  I've never seen a teacher so angry for us. I was used to teachers yelling at us for something we were supposed to obey or follow, not because they felt we were cheating ourselves. He also allowed us to discuss the Rodney King incident the following day in class as he could see many of us were perturbed by the incident, something else I never saw a teacher let us do.

He didn't have a “Bah, Humbug! Get off my lawn!” old man kind of anger. His anger seemed to derive from the stuff of Passionate Youth. Yet he didn't awkwardly try to be down and relate to the kids like Mr. Rosso, the well-meaning Freaks and Geeks counselor, or like the outrageous and ridiculous Theodore Barron, Dave Foley’s English teacher character.

He once said that if you're playing a part on stage and become so riled up as that character that you uncontrollably lash out on someone, that's not acting. He once had us stand on stage doing nothing having us note how self-conscious we were about it. Then, he had us mentally count the boxes in the room on stage, giving us something to do. Many students said they now felt less self-conscious. I still felt self-conscious however, but carried that tip with me in life overall.

In his retirement video, one of his former students recalled him once advising, “the quickest way to avoid a bar fight with a Viet Nam vet is to ask him what regiment he was in- you know, because having to remember something calms the temper.”

My sophomore Drama teacher was Mr. Yusim. He was from Russia, (Moscow?), more authoritative, not as eloquent, and didn't give off that same life-loving, “I wanna take in the fascinating world around me” vibe. I don’t remember who my junior drama teacher was, it might have been Yusim again. By then I was cutting school more, my introversion, anxiety and depression were getting the better of me. I tried to adjust. I switched to more behind-the-scenes work like the Audio/Visual department, thumbed through a stage manager guide book one of the teachers lent me, delved into writing and literature, wondering if that might be more my thing. I eventually finished up in a different high school altogether though.  Mr. Yusim once advised me to push myself, that one has to go through life. I seemed to have taken his advice later on, showing up for life more, even if I don't always feel like it.

There’s going to be a memorial for Doctor Schneider, who had a brain tumor and passed away in December. They were waiting for warmer weather to arrange an outdoor get together and remembrance.

Needless to say, I was crushed when I found out. I really loved ‘Doc’. I wasn’t in love with him, never saw him in that way; he never crossed the line with me either- but he did mean a lot to me. And I come to find that he meant a lot to practically every one of his former students.

I feel like this memorial is going to be something like my 20 year high school reunion but with more of his friends and family. It might be heavier, or maybe like my Uncle Jeff's memorial in '08- festive, and with the bittersweet joy of remembering someone so fun to remember, and who so many of us were truly fond of.

Here's what his stepdaughter Jess posted on facebook about him in December:

Friends! … Countrymen! (Comrades)

I have terribly sad news,. Our Good Doctor has been called home. He chose the correct time to fuck right off the planet with the best of the aliens. He got the last seat on the Spaceship 2016 — turns out he always had one reserved. Which is why, if we’re being honest, we have always loved him.

Doc was an island for the misfits, a beacon for lost ships, a teacher for us all. And on his behalf, I would like to thank you for being part of his tribe (that’s the word he used when family was too pedestrian). To those of you who I don’t know, know that i am fully aware there are decades of students he reached whose names he cherished and who I never met. You/re as integral to his story as I am, as my mother is. I’m Jess. (Class of 99. SDF: Marat/Sade.) More importantly, I got Doc to marry my mom. Which means I got to share a life with him for the last 19 years, and that included over 15 years living with the effects of a brain tumor. He lasted so much longer than we were told he had a right to.

He picked a hell of a time to check out. And as much as we wish we could ask his advice on how to proceed in the new world order, we can know he didn’t deserve the sentence of living through it, having marched more than any of us in more revolutions than I can count. When I need to shorthand Doc, I tell people he once taught drama at Rikers to kids stupidly incarcerated as adults. That seems to sum it up pretty well.

We passed the point a few months ago, when he would have chosen to exit. If that choice were available to him. So that makes it ok, maybe. He died as you’d hope, surrounded by people who loved him. And soon we’ll celebrate this truly exceptional human, and thank the Gods he’d never believed in, that we were lucky enough to have him. I’ll send details when they exist — it’ll be when the weather is warm and we can congregate in Central Park like the hippies he wanted us to be, and remember, and laugh.

Love, to all of you. My mother sends a quote from just a bit ago, one of the last full Doc-isms we got:

“My philosophy of life is finding the joy in what you are randomly dealt.”

And truly, when the rest was lost, the last thing he had, his go-to move, was laughter.

May we all be so wise, and so lucky.

[Please feel free to share, and more importantly, leave your memories and photos below. Love to all of you.]

Getting ready to go out and celebrate the Doc with everyone

First stop, Central Park. Strawberry Fields Forever- Imagine all the people...

Next, a nearby Irish pub he liked, Malachy's Donegal Inn. These came out too dark but it's better than nothing xo