Remembering Glen Pritzker Candice Wiggins

 

First weeks of high school, circa September 2000. I was an insecure 13-year-old freshman, not sure of myself, my capabilities, or of my future.

 

Sure, on the outside I looked fine. I was already a rising volleyball player and certified basketball star at La Jolla Country Day School and had just transferred to this private school in eighth grade, from a huge public school in a suburb not too far away. I had already skipped a grade in elementary school, and started first grade as a socially frightened 5 year old, so I had developed a survival skill that most don’t get to experience at such a young age.

 

But here in this English classroom during the first weeks of my freshman year at La Jolla Country Day School was different. I was anxious about the person I was going to be at lunchtime with my friends, the player I was going to be on the basketball court, and most of all, the student I was going to be in the classroom. I felt invisible everywhere in my life but the basketball court. Was I going to be feeling invisible forever?

 

I began to ask myself pressing questions. What if I fail in every way? What is going to happen today? Am I prepared for the next four years? And the most important question, that I could tell a lot of students around me were neglecting, but I refused to because I was determined to be a successful basketball player beyond this world: Where am I going to go after high school?

 

I couldn’t even begin to contemplate the last question in my brain when Glen Pritzker walked into the room, with a trademark smile so warm and wide his eyes crinkled shut and everyone instantly relaxed. He was replacing our English teacher Deborah Shaul, as she was pregnant with her daughter and was taking maternity leave. Ms. Shaul was our absolute favorite freshman year teacher, and we were all apprehensive about who would be replacing her for the rest of the school year, but I especially remember being curious as I always had a strong love for English class. I knew that this was going to shape my approach to the subject forever and I was searching for a leader in this department.

 

Much to my amazement, when Glen Pritzker stepped in, he started my high school career in the most humbling way. He quite literally created Candice Wiggins.

 

Without even addressing the class he first walks up to me as I’m sitting at my desk. “Candice! Glen Pritzker, I’ve come from the Menlo School in Northern California. I just wanted to tell you that I have a message from an acquaintance of the coaches at Stanford, and I’m letting you know that this is the school you’re going to go to. And you’re going to love it there!” All this, while smiling jovially, pointing to a lightly worn out Stanford sweater that had sustained the years of a truly committed fan.

 

I sat there scared and shocked, shot with an adrenaline rush of pure joy, unbelief, but most of all embarrassment, as it appeared Mr. Pritzker so boldly blew my cover.

 

Suddenly, I wasn’t invisible.

 

Not only that, now I was clearly the favorite by the new teacher, who in my classmates’ eyes was practically begging me to attend a school that they might not even be able to apply to, in three years at that. Because of Mr. Pritzker, I was forced to meet my potential in the face of the public and not shy away from it.  In that classroom as a 13-year-old freshman at La Jolla Country Day, I decided Mr. Pritzker was right. I was going to go to Stanford.

 

Every student in my small class turned to look at me and gaped at what had just transpired. I could feel students looking at each other and whispering in amazement. At that point, as I silently smiled and allowed the awkward moment to pass, I finally had the inner strength to believe in myself and dare to dream something great. I am saddened to even dare think about it, but without Mr. Pritzker doing that on that very particular day, I don’t know if that dream is identified and fulfilled.

 

So, how did Mr. Pritzker know who I was?

 

He had a gift of seeing things before they were even there. He was brilliant in that way.

 

My connection to him was instant, and he was nothing short of an angelic presence. From that day forward, he had the strongest impact on the development of my character over the next four years, and there was not a single voice I listened to over his. No matter what class of his I took, from English freshman year to Psychology my senior year, I always learned more about the subject at hand, but through this man I was able to understand more about the value and beauty in myself. His boldness in encouraging me and communicating to me my strengths every single time we interacted was what I appreciated the most about him.

 

But as cherished as I was for Mr. Pritzker, I could also feel the great love he had for everyone around him, especially his wife and two children, who he would speak about in the most loving way almost every day in our Psychology class. He treated every single student like they were the most special souls to him, because they all were. Everyone felt lucky to be receiving his energy because he delivered it in careful quantities, being meticulously deliberate with every person he interacted with.

My fondest memory of being his student, among countless things, was during my senior year before and after every Psychology class period when he would always play Alicia Keys’ album The Diary of Alicia Keys  (right when it came out, too). He would play the record as he silently gathered his thoughts preparing for the day’s valuable lesson and I would silently appreciate how moved he was by each and every song, adrift in his own world. I just thought he was the coolest teacher in America for that.

 

Glen Pritzker represents everything that I want to strive for in my life--not just the pursuit of answers to the many intellectual questions presented to us, but life’s challenging questions.

 

It turns out that the greatest subject he taught was how to live a fulfilling life. His life message to me was simple: seize the day—and with that, seize every beautiful and glorious moment it offers you to build people up. But most of all, never be afraid to expose the dreams buried deep inside your own heart.