Dean Grigg, Bless His Heart

I was in my mid-20’s, burning the candle at both ends, working a full-time job at Collegiate plus a couple of sidelines to make ends meet, and enjoying quality time with my young son.
Life moved at a frenetic pace, I barely had time to eat or sleep, and, though I knew a light glowed brightly at the end of the tunnel, I could barely detect a glimmer.

That’s why, when I arrived for my first one-night-a-week graduate school class at the University of Richmond, picked up the syllabus, and learned the expectations, I was ready to hit the panic button.
 
The course was entitled “Comparative Education,” and I and a group of others seeking our Master of Education degrees would be required to complete weekly homework assignments from the text and read an assortment of articles that the professor, an avuncular gentleman named Dr. Ed Overton, provided for us.
 
Did I mention that there would be three research papers, a mid-term, and a comprehensive final exam, all in a stretch from early September through mid-December?

Suffice it to say that I was not thrilled. In fact, before the class was 15 minutes old, I was mulling over ideas to remove myself gracefully from the predicament that was rapidly overwhelming me. The next morning, I was on the phone with Dr. Austin E. Grigg, the graduate school dean whom I knew well from my undergraduate days at UR.

Speaking for several of us, I explained that we needed to drop the class because there was no way we could put one more iron in the fire without causing a massive conflagration in our lives.

A well-respected psychology professor, Dr. Grigg listened patiently to my lame explanation, then informed me (in so many words) that we couldn’t withdraw without penalty and certainly didn’t want to begin our program by bailing on the first tough assignment. Reluctantly, I agreed to hang on, even though it meant there would be precious little free time in an already full life. 
 
Dean Grigg, bless his heart, was spot on, and to this day I’ve thanked him for keeping my compass trained to True North.

A member of Collegiate’s Board of Trustees for seven years beginning in 1969, he’s gone now, the victim of cancer which claimed him in August 1976.

His son Kenney, a ’75 Collegiate graduate and a retired attorney, has been a good friend since his high school days, and I recently asked if he was surprised by his dad’s response to my attempt to wimp out when things looked tough.
    
“Not at all,” he replied.  “When dealing with students, my dad made a great distinction between youthful mistakes, indiscretions, and bad decisions versus bad character. He always had a view of who people could be.  He didn’t want anyone to settle for less.”
    
Kenney then passed along a couple of stories that reflected his dad’s style.
    
Seems that one night in the early ‘70’s when Dr. Grigg was Dean of Richmond College, some very high-profile football players went around campus banging down signs with their heads and shoulders. Ultimately, they were hauled into Dr. Grigg’s office where, now sober, they fell all over themselves apologizing.
    
“My dad said, ‘You guys are in deep trouble,’” Kenney recalled.  “’This will cost a lot of money.’  Their response was, ‘What if we fix the signs ourselves?’  He said, ‘How are you going to do that?’  One of them said, ‘We’ll bend ‘em back.’  Dad’s response was, ‘This I gotta see.’”
    
So they left the office, and the guys, with their bare hands, returned the signs to their original state.

“So my dad said, ‘I guess we’re square,’” Kenney continued.  “’Don’t ever do that again.’ He viewed that as a bunch of high-strung athletes making bad decisions.  He knew they weren’t bad people.”
    
Dr. Grigg moved into administration as the Vietnam War was escalating and causing ripples across the UR campus.
    
“Marijuana was a big deal,” Kenney said.  “It was an expulsion offense if a student was caught with simple possession.  Dad would always give a student the opportunity to withdraw from school first.  He could later petition to re-enter so he wouldn’t have on his record that he’d been kicked out for drugs. He knew times were changing and didn’t feel like one offense should dog the student for life.  He could be stern and rule with an iron fist, but he tried to temper it with grace.”
    
As we parted company, I asked Kenney to reflect on my remembrance of his dad more than four-and-a-half decades later.
   
“It’s gratifying to think that my father impacted so many folks, most of whom he never knew he impacted,” he replied. “Most teachers see just a fraction of the total outcome.  There’s a saying, ‘A teacher touches tomorrow.’  Dad’s students were his legacy.  That’s very cool.”
    ~ Weldon Bradshaw
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