Just a Barefoot Farm Boy

In 1982 I graduated from the University of Reading and began a six month internship with Herman Hall, an educational psychologist in New York. Herman worked in private schools in the Carnegie Hill district of Manhattan. Having subsequently spent several years in inner-city schools in London, it struck me that, whether financially privileged or socially deprived, children often face comparable challenges and present with similar difficulties in the classroom.

Herman believed that every child had unique talents and that none were without promise. “Grown-ups are always telling kids that they need to work harder” he used to say. “What kids really need to do is to work smarter, but they can’t do that if they don’t know what their problems are.”

His premise was that all children want to succeed. “Kids either can’t or won’t do what’s required of them.” In other words, something beyond their understanding or control is holding them back. He was non-judgmental and never lectured a child. Instead he asked open-ended questions that made them think or provided an opportunity for deeper conversation: ‘So, your Mom and Dad aren’t getting along too well at the moment?’ or ‘Your Dad’s a busy man and is away a lot?’. He always allowed the child to confirm or refute his observations. There was something about naming the underlying suffering, as opposed to talking about a poorly-written essay or a low Maths score, that generated a rush of gratitude and a release of suppressed emotions. Young people felt recognised and understood.

I experienced Herman as unfailingly kind and curious, with a deep respect for children and an ardent desire to help those most at risk of being marginalised, either academically or socially.

He also taught me the importance of never judging parents, no matter how calamitous their parenting style appeared to be. The most important skill I learnt from watching him at work was to state facts rather than voice opinions; to recognise that the other person had a point of view and a set of skills that could complement and contribute towards a good solution. He approached everyone with the understanding that they were being the best possible version of themselves they knew how to be, and that setting himself up as an adversary was unhelpful. He recognised the need to win the trust of parents and teachers so they could all work together to improve the life of the child. By accentuating the positive, by listening and asking questions, Herman Hall subtly managed to lead the child, the teacher and the parents to the bigger picture.

He believed strongly that praise was best offered intermittently. If you applaud children for everything they do, they feel they have to be the best and the brightest and, each time they fall short, their anxiety levels increase. This was the model in my own family – either you were a success at something or you were a failure.

Herman was clearly very proud of his two adult sons, Rick and Doug, but he neither overly praised nor excessively criticised them, choosing instead to recognise their individual strengths and weaknesses and his own contribution to the development of their personalities.

On my first day at St. Bernard’s School, Herman sat me down in his office and said he was going to talk to me ‘like a Dutch uncle’. I had no idea what that meant but I have never forgotten what he said to me: “You can please some of the people some of the time, but you cannot please all of the people all of the time.” Herman himself, although he was respected, appreciated and loved by many, was also criticised by those who resented the idea that someone who had not gone to Harvard, did not have a PhD and was unpublished, could maintain such consistent success over so many years.

There was a world of difference between Herman Hall’s own background and the elite schools and Ivy League colleges he advised for more than 40 years. He was born in 1917 in Springfield, Massachusetts. Following the death of his parents when he was a small child, Herman was sent to The New England Home for Little Wanderers, an orphanage in Boston. He liked to joke that he was ‘just a barefoot farm boy’ but these early experiences clearly shaped his gentle, sensitive and intuitive value system.

During his high school years Herman worked as a typesetter at night to save money in order to go to college. Forced to drop out of Clark University when he could no longer pay the fees, he took a job as a moulder in a foundry. The men he worked alongside were skilled craftsmen but most of them were uneducated and, at the age of 25, Herman was invited to head the union. When America entered WWII in 1941, Herman enlisted in the Navy where he took the medical and psychological histories of Marines returning from duty in the South Pacific.

After the war, he worked as a travelling salesman for Blue Cross. He returned to college and earned a BSc and a Masters in Education, became a teacher and subsequently moved into a career as a guidance counsellor.

I returned to England at the end of my internship in the spring of 1983. I had been offered a position at Rye Country Day School in Connecticut but, having consulted an immigration lawyer, I was told that the chances of my getting a visa were slim.

Herman and I stayed in touch. We would meet for lunch at his favourite diner in New York or at his home in White Plains. Sometimes I would fly to France when he was visiting Paris or Aix-en-Provence to consult with students at the American University.

In September 2001, shortly after returning from a trip to Europe, Herman was hospitalised for a heart condition. He was eighty-four years old, still working in schools and in the process of being interviewed for a book about his life.

On the morning of September 11th, when two passenger planes hit the Twin Towers, his son Rick, who worked in the South Tower as a senior Vice President at the Aon Corporation, was killed. One hundred and seventy-five Aon employees died alongside Rick that morning. Herman died just eight days later on September 19th, 2001.

His widow wrote to me: “Keep Herman in your heart, Suseli, and remember that he had a truly happy life with his family and friends and chosen profession, which he loved.”

The Herman and Richard Hall Scholarship Fund for graduates of White Plains High School was set up in 2002. In the same year, Aon established an education fund to provide post-secondary school financial assistance to the dependent children of Aon employees killed in the attacks on the World Trade Centre. Herman would have been pleased to know that his grandson’s college education was secure and that Christopher would never have to work nights or drop out of college because he couldn’t afford to pay his school fees.

Today is the 24th anniversary of Herman’s death and he remains an enduring presence in my life. He taught me to look for the sweet spot, even in those who are most oppositional. He taught me to work in the best interests of the child, which included listening to and respecting anxious parents. He was endlessly patient and generous with his time. He liked to go to sleep early but, as his son, Doug recalls, “he would get out of bed to talk to a concerned parent on the phone if there was an emergency and, he would do so without complaint.”

Herman managed to simplify rather than magnify problems and I remember feeling immensely grateful for his nuanced understanding of my own inner struggles. In all the years I knew him I never felt judged or criticised.

In his final years he would sometimes say that he had lost faith in the educational system but he never lost faith in young people. In the words of Joan McMenamin, Head of the Nightingale Bamford School between 1971 and 1992.

“I will always think of that dear man with gratitude, both for what he did for Nightingale and for me, but above all for the lessons he kept before all of us of what education is and can do when practiced by a person of Herman’s intellect and kindness. Our schools are richer for what he taught us, and he blessed us in all he helped us to be.”

 

Herman W. Hall     April 6th, 1917 – September 19, 2001

Richard B. Hall       April 30th, 1952 – September 11th, 2001

Capturing the Essence by James Shapiro  pub. 2004

The Absent Prince by Una Suseli O’Connell  pub. 2020