I don’t live in Robbinsville, and never have. I didn’t attend school in Robbinsville or ever work for the township’s school district.
Robbinsville Schools superintendent Steve Mayer and I knew each other just enough to offer a friendly hello when our paths crossed. We weren’t friends. Our contact usually consisted of four to six emails per month, for a column he wrote for the Post’s sister paper, the Robbinsville Advance.
Yet, Mayer’s tragic death April 19 has me gutted.
Part of it, of course, is sadness at the situation. Mayer was young, only 52, when he was struck and killed by a vehicle while jogging with his dog, Gertie, on Robbinsville-Edinburgh Road. Mayer leaves behind a wife and three sons. One son will graduate Robbinsville High School in June. Another was set to be married this year.
A 17-year-old Robbinsville High School student drove the vehicle that killed Mayer. No charges or tickets had been issued, as of April 24, but it is safe to say that the life of this student—just weeks from her high school graduation—has been altered irrevocably. The accounts of everyone I’ve spoken to in Robbinsville, the student considered Mayer a role model, and his death and how it occurred have caused her and her family tremendous amounts of pain. This is something that will take them, like the Mayers, years to work through.
But I think I mostly mourn the loss of a rare person who understood what an educator could accomplish with the right attitude. To understand Mayer’s approach to education was to understand the man himself, and I’ve come to know him well through his writings and our conversations about it. He believed in every student, and set about to ensure no child had been given up on. He made room for every person that wanted his time, and made that person feel valued. He didn’t make the crude mistake of confusing a person who debated with him with a person who had bad morals or questionable character. In his view, someone who disagreed wasn’t out to cause a scene or make him look bad; they were merely taking a different path to his ultimate goal: giving the children the best possible education. He never carried animosity over even the most heated of exchanges.
One resident emailed him daily and would debate him on the smallest of matters—a zero on a homework assignment, Mayer’s tone at a meeting, the validity of a committee the school district wanted to establish. These emails were combative—I know because I was included on some of them (and a target of others)—but Mayer welcomed the notes. He said they just proved the resident cared, and he took the time to thoughtfully craft his responses to each one. On April 19, when the news of Mayer’s death broke, the resident emailed me, looking for a friendly ear.
“I’m devastated,” the resident wrote. “He was a caring man. I don’t know why I am sending you this. I just need to…We’ve had some real good correspondence over the years.”
His effectiveness came from his caring, and manifested itself in an ever-positive attitude that rankled some in Robbinsville, but is a trait I’ve come to appreciate in the best educators. In our own town, in the pages of this paper, we’ve featured many with the same qualities, including Reynolds Middle School teacher Kathy Morgan, former Kuser and Langtree School teacher Julie Smith, Steinert principal Nate Webber.
Most of all, Steve Mayer knew what it took to be a good leader. He knew the morale of his district depended on him, and that achievement often follows morale. He knew administrators and staff members would follow the example he set. He knew that the tone and the tenor of discourse around the school district took its cues from him. He knew that complete transparency was important and the actions of a good, responsive public school district don’t—in the words of one Robbinsville Board of Education member—“take place in a vacuum.” He knew the responsibility for everything that happened within the schools ultimately fell at his feet, and he never tried to push blame off on members of the public, the board of education or his staff. He was proud of his district, and he was proud to share it with his community. And the community, in turn, took pride in him.
The demands and expectations of the Robbinsville Schools differ greatly from the realities in Hamilton Township School District. But, even before Mayer’s death, I have often marveled at how different the two districts—neighbors—are. There are many reasons for that, I’m sure.
But the greatest difference was Steve Mayer.
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