Jerry Larson believed in me before I fully believed in myself. He called me into leadership, made my pivotal placement at Dunn School possible, and, in his final days, left me a voicemail I still play when I need grounding: a reminder that leadership is not about titles, but about purpose.
Jerry understood the poetry of life. He would smile when I told him that my own journey began with a teacher, Tommie Lindsey, whose insistence on truth and humanity became my compass. He would point out the poetry in the fact that I had come to Los Olivos to lead at Dunn — only to discover that he too had once found himself in Los Olivos, shaped by the very same hills as a boarding school student decades before.
That thread of continuity matters. For Jerry, leadership was never only about outcomes or metrics. It was about the resonance between one life and another, the moral courage to stand for people even when it costs you, and the ability to see the human story running through every policy or program.
Today, as Heads of School navigate the complexities of AI, political polarization, and shifting expectations from our communities, Jerry’s lessons remain urgent. He taught me that leadership is not about being the loudest voice in the room but the one that insists on listening first. He reminded me that belonging is not created by slogans but by practices that ensure everyone at the table has a voice — and a meal.
In my new book, Speaking Truth, Teaching Humanity: What I Learned from Mr. Lindsey to Teach and Lead in the Age of AI, I expand on these same themes. The book is not a manual on technology; rather, it is a meditation on what technology cannot replace: empathy, dignity, moral courage, and responsibility. It draws on my years under Mr. Lindsey’s mentorship and extends into my current leadership at Dunn School, where Jerry’s trust in me continues to ripple.
I believe Jerry would want school leaders today to double down on these human skills, especially as AI promises efficiency but threatens to erode empathy. He would want us to remember that schools are not merely pipelines to university or employment, but communities where young people practice belonging and courage.
The greatest tribute we can pay to Jerry is not in words alone, but in action: leading in ways that keep humanity at the center. For me, that means insisting that AI remain a tool, not a teacher; that equity and belonging are not optional, but essential; and that the poetry of our lives is worth noticing, because it reminds us that our journeys are never just our own.
Jerry believed in me. He believed in many of us. Our responsibility now is to live into that belief with courage, humility, and humanity.
