Dan Davis will be deeply missed by us all. Dan Davis became a professor at SED in January 1999, after teaching secondary education as social studies teacher, department chair and later a principal. His wonderful combination of passion for education, humor, and energy was a great model that his colleagues and students will strive to emulate.
We invite you to share your memories of Professor Davis in the comments section below.
20 Comments
Joan (Edwards) posted on October 27, 2011 at 8:54 am
I knew Danny from SUNY Oswego in the early 1960s where we studied the fundamentals of education and learned to love, respect and appreciate both the art and science of teaching. He was always great fun and I am so sorry to hear of his passing. My condolences to his wife and family. He was a blessing; I know your hearts are aching. God bless …
Lynne Larson posted on October 27, 2011 at 10:06 am
Dan loved critical discourse, in the most civically responsible sense of the term. Dan loved conversation, absolutely (how many times did he bust into all of our offices, asking if we saw the latest play, article, debate….), but I think he was driven by a deeper sense of responsibility to participate — and voice disagreement, if need be. I can’t tell you how much I value that, especially the latter. I trust a community that engages in disagreement if the goal is solving a problem. And what community has more important problems than schools? I think that Dan was wired to solve problems, he was curious and intelligent in that way, and it was part of what made him an effective advocate for students. For some reason, I associate Dan with the critical voice of the 1960s. I also associate him with Hannah Arendt and her notion of the banality of evil, Dan as an embodiment of that message as a call to act and speak, before you can’t. I wonder if the young people he touched can see him in that way? Do they understand why Dan was important, beyond their love for him? In a world where people are so easily misled, distracted, disinterested, Dan believed it was important to engage and participate in a community with others. He was one voice, you were another — and the conversation mattered, even the disagreements, and often led somewhere significant. Such a voice in any community is a beautiful one.
I will miss “arguing” with Dan probably more than anything else, because most of the time we did it over coffee or food, and presents were often involved.
Peace, Dan.
Rosemary Dulac posted on October 27, 2011 at 11:17 am
Dan what a shock to here the news, you left us too soon, and wondering why Dan? You left this world doing what you loved teaching and being with your loving family. I will remember your speedy walk coming to visit my office on the 6th floor of SED, you were “A Gentle Giant, a Brilliant Man,” a man who always left my office making me feel more grounded with your valuable words and your laughter was contagious.
Thanks for the awesome T-shirt you gave me from the Neal Diamon concert you attended at Fenway Park, I will treasure, and telling the story about Neal Diamon being a classmate with you. For all the fruit you gave me over the years, so delicious and tasty good, a heathy diet to have! And for your wonderful kind way you had with everyone at SED.
I wish your family peace and comfort at this most difficult time. With deepest Sympathy, Sincerely, Rosemary Dulac
matthew g posted on October 27, 2011 at 11:27 am
Would just like to extend my condolences to the Davis family.
Tim Hayes posted on October 27, 2011 at 2:47 pm
thanks, Dan
Chris Martell posted on October 27, 2011 at 7:27 pm
This is what I read today at Dan’s Memorial Service today…
One of the best decisions that SED ever made was allowing Dan to move his office to 504. He was previously hidden in the back corner of the 5th floor, but this move meant that now, whenever you exited the elevator, there was Dan’s door in eyesight. It was almost always open, usually with him hunched over the computer screen and drinking a Fresca, which he would always remind you was LBJ’s favorite soda. Dan was one of the columns that held up SED. He was solid. As a student, if you needed anything, Dan would make sure it happened. If you were ever unsure, Dan would help you make up your mind.
In my second year as a doc. student, Dan called me into his office, excited as usual. I thought he was going to share another article that he read in the New York Times, or on the Ed. Leadership blog, or tell me again that I really should create an online portfolio. Instead, he told me that there were some new doc. students in the social studies program and he wanted us to form a group and work together. The next fall began the first of many weekday nights with Dan, Anthony, Scott, and I occupying the 5th floor of SED. First, Dan showed us the wonders of his educational idols, Hunt and Metcalf. Later, he would guide us in our examination of preservice history teachers. He would critique our work, but also tell us everything we wrote was amazing. He was a great writer and editor and your number one academic cheerleader. Dan, after all, was the best teacher I ever had. Despite his always too busy life, he dedicated this time to us. Honestly, I think he saw us as three younger versions of himself. We became such a fixture in Dan’s life that to Barbara we gained the nickname of “his boys.” When Barbara would call, he would say, I am here with the boys, but I should be on my way home soon.
Since I was Dan’s first doc. student, he always said I taught him how to be an Ed.D. advisor. We were figuring out the system together. This meant we were always making mistakes and spending double the time to get things done. As we found out things, Dan would go and tell Anthony, Scott, Terri, and later Colby, to help avoid the same pitfalls. But that is what I loved about Dan. He was always learning and striving to be the best teacher and teacher educator. He inspires me to be the same.
Even in his last official act as my advisor, the hooding ceremony, together we made another mistake. Dan had never hooded anyone. And when he hooded me, he put it on upside down. I, not knowing, continued to wear it upside down for the rest of the day. For me it was perfect. The pictures of me with my upside down hood will always remind me of how Dan and I were “learning it” together.
I will really miss walking out of the elevator on the 5th floor and seeing Dan grinning back at me. He was that column for many of us. We were so privileged to know such a hardworking, humane, and caring professor, colleague, mentor, and friend.
Amanda posted on October 27, 2011 at 8:58 pm
Professor Davis helped me navigate my way through grad school and represents part of the reason for my passion for teaching. He was the first (and really only) professor I encountered in my graduate studies who helped me through the real nitty-gritty work of classroom management and job applications while continually serving as a constant reminder of why I wanted to be a history teacher in the first place. His forthright, jovial personality made him one of my favorite people at BU. You will be missed, Professor Davis!
Grant Gary posted on October 27, 2011 at 9:25 pm
I think we’re fated to meet certain people in life. For me, one of those people was Dan Davis. Even though I only knew him for a few months, I’m certain our meeting was written in the stars eons ago.
You see Dan Davis was a Jewish boy who grew up in Coney Island. So was my grandfather. For all I know Dan and my grandpa used to play stickball together on the streets of Brooklyn. But my grandpa was a bit older than Dan so I think that firs time around Dan and I missed our meeting. Because if he’d known my grandpa, he would certainly have known me. Years later our fates would spiral a bit closer together. I had a college roommate at the UVM named Jason who grew up in a tiny little town in New Hampshire. When I was 20 years old Jason introduced me to his lifelong friend, Colby Young. Years later, after traveling to a number of countries, living in Costa Rica, and teaching in California, Colby decided to do a PhD in Education at BU. And who was his advisor but Dan Davis? But even though I was one step closer to Dan, our paths didn’t meet until I found myself sitting in his classroom one fateful day in May of this year. Dan taught the first class on my journey to be a teacher and as it turns out, it was one of his last.
I liked Dan Davis from the second I saw him. He had a certain Je ne sais quoi about him that immediately put people at ease. His kind eyes, easy smile, and endearing nervousness made him completely disarming. The instant he started to speak I knew he would never be Dr. Davis, or Professor Davis, and he sure as hell would never be Principal Davis! He would always be just Dan.
And that’s what makes his death so sad. For everyone who knew Dan he wasn’t just a teacher, or a mentor, or an academic. He was a friend, in the truest sense of the word.
Dan claimed to me once that he’s never matured past the age of 17. And I believed him. I used to brag to my friends about my 70 year old professor who would slap me five every time we saw each other in SED. And I admired that, because that’s what I’ve always wanted to be. I’ve always wanted to be the old guy who kind of just never grew up. Who knew how to enjoy life. Who knew how to never lose that sense of awe and wonderment we have as children, but lose so easily as we reach adulthood. In short, I saw Dan as the 70 year old version of myself.
And perhaps the thing we had most in common was the idea of being nervous risk takers. A “Nervous Risk Taker”, that’s how Dan also described himself. I find that phrase so beautiful and truthful and courageous all at the same time. Because it’s easy to take risks when you’re not scared. And it’s even easier to NOT take risks when you are. But to take risks when you’re nervous, that’s the stuff legends are made of. I can only sum it up with the famous quote “Courage is not the lack of fear, but acting in spite of it”. Dan Davis was a courageous man.
The last thing I want to share about Dan is the following: I believe that all great teachers are great, not because they impart wisdom on their students, but because they allow their students to impart wisdom upon them. I know for a fact that there is one thing I taught Dan in the short time that I knew him. I taught him a lesson about Taoism.
Dan had assigned our class a reading about Taoism and Eastern Culture that, to be honest, bored our 15 person class to tears. Since it was my turn to facilitate the article, I decided to switch gears and platy a YouTube Video of THE BEST college graduation speech I have ever seen. I was given by another great man who recently passed away; Steve Jobs. In the speech, Jobs talks about how in life, we can’t truly understand the meaning of an event until we’ve had another experience, often years or decades down the line, that puts the first event into it’s proper perspective. I know for most of us, Dan’s unexpected death does not make any sense. But have faith, because one day the dots will connect for each and every one of us. As for me, I wanted nothing more than to have Dan Davis sit in the back of my classroom and watch me teach. Just One Time. But Maybe. Just Maybe. Now he’ll be sitting in the back of the class watching me every time…
Lisa R posted on October 27, 2011 at 9:31 pm
Dan,
I keep coming back to this blog over and over, attempting to find the right words to say, but nothing seems adequate. To sum you up in a blog post, to sum up everything you have done for me and have meant to me over the years, seems impossible. I never got the chance to respond to your last email, consider it a lesson in “life is short.” If I had the chance to respond, I would have told you how I wouldn’t be where I am at today without you. Literally, I would not be in my classroom today. I would have said thank you for your selflessness- you were always willing to drop everything to help me out, never once saying “no”, “im too busy”, or “i can’t”. I also would have told you how much you were like a father to me, especially when I struggled so much with my own. You always reassured me that I was worth something and I could accomplish anything. Dan, you were patient with me when I wasn’t sure I wanted to teach, and when I came to you and said I finally knew it was what I was meant to do, you responded with: “no surprise.” Like a Dad, you knew you had to let me figure out some things on my own, but knew eventually I would see you were right.
You are truly loved and very much missed. But, you impacted everyone you encountered and you have left a legacy behind. I hope to make you proud this year!
David Whittier posted on October 28, 2011 at 12:22 pm
Yesterday I was lucky to sit in on Prof Dr. Dan, Danny, Daniel Davis’ last class. It was beautiful. I was instructed, delighted, and moved. I loved it except for the crying part, something I never found easy to do or even cathartic for that matter. Must be a guy thing. Dan would understand. Of course, Dan was not there, materially. But he had organized it well, apparently taking a lifetime to do so. He had prepared us, as a great teacher does, to take over the reins, to remind, reflect, and pass on the wisdom and joy of the great teacher. Family, friends, students, and colleagues all found what to say, what to do. Of course, you knew because you are talented, smart, thinking and caring people so it was not as if we had nothing to do with the beautiful last class, but somehow Dan had chosen us for our roles. He had many gifts but one stood out yesterday and in the comments leading up to it. He tapped into the good in us. Perhaps it was destiny that he died in India for he seemed to touch the divine within us. For everyone there in Prof Davis’ last class seemed to share in the goodness. It was palpable. I have sometimes wondered what community means. Now I know for sure. It was the student body of Dan’s last class. United in grief and joy, the exuberant energy of Prof Dan. Thank you Jill for your courage and Dannyness in describing his departure. I had encouraged him to go, and I felt guilty for a week. I couldn’t sleep wondering how he had died and how the aftermath had played out. I knew India as full of nearly inexplicable contradictions. I felt fetal at the thought he had suffered in some chaos. From Jill’s description I learned that apparently was not the case. Now that vacuum has been filled with the fear, love, dirt, integrity, fire, toughness, and spirituality that I heard. Sounds like life itself. Thanks to Jeff for his reflections while driving. The Deweyians among us were especially appreciative. Thanks to you wonderful folks from Stoughton. I never knew you but now realize you are my brothers and sisters. Thanks to Carol and Dan’s students. You captured universes in your thoughtful, heartfelt, and funny words. Thanks to Steve, the Sweet Solomon from the Midwest, for his unerring kindness and intelligence and for how he too brings out the best in us. Thanks to you Miller boys. You made me laugh and cry. It feels good to say “boys.” Dan had a way of making us feel like boys – even me – and you tapped into that. He was my comrade and brother. Yesterday I had the thought that in another context I might have taken a bullet for him. Maybe that’s just a movie. I’m not sure. Lucky again I never had to find out if I would have had the courage but just having the thought tells how inspirational he was. As was his last class. He uplifted us. Isn’t it amazing what a great teacher can do?
Barbara Davis posted on October 28, 2011 at 4:14 pm
For 48 years I have shared Danny with his students, fellow teachers, faculty, and friends. It was a privilege. At this time, I thank you for sharing your love with him and me.
-Barbara
Kathy-Anne Jordan posted on October 28, 2011 at 11:57 pm
Dan was a great friend and wonderful colleague. I am blessed to have known him.
Thomas J. Miller posted on October 30, 2011 at 8:40 am
My Dear Sweet Uncle Danny, you left this world better than you found it and now it is our responsibility to carry your torch. Let’s all be more like Danny and continue his good works. Bless and thank you for touching all of our lives in such a meaningful way. I miss you.
Meena posted on October 30, 2011 at 12:51 pm
Dear Dan,
We were fortunate that you touched our lives and was here in Mumbai to teach us. You left a lasting impression and we will cherish it forever. Rest in peace!!
Geoffrey Stevens posted on October 30, 2011 at 9:07 pm
Dan, you were an example for me as I entered my career in education. I will always remember your warmth and humor.
Thank you for everything,
Geoffrey Stevens, S.Ed. 2005
Phil Iacobacci posted on November 1, 2011 at 11:30 am
I owe so much to Dan. He was always so full of energy, compassion, knowledge and fun. I loved the team we made as Principal and Assistant Principal. I never worked with someone who knew so much about EVERYTHING and who could care as much for students who needed a break. He gave me freedom as his Assistant Principal to find my own way, but was there with advice when it was needed.
I’ll never forget him. He was so progressive, open to new ideas, and seemingly aware of all of them. It was a whirlwind and a joy to work with Dan. Thanks, Barbara for all you did for him and for sharing him with us.
Brandon Lemos posted on November 2, 2011 at 12:06 pm
Professor Davis was the reason I chose Boston University to obtain my Masters. Despite the fact that I was applying very late in the year, that the School of Education was already considering a highly qualified undergraduate classmate of mine for the program, and despite being late to my interview because of my attempts to navigate the streets of Boston, Dan was genuinely excited to meet me. Throughout the course of our conversation, I never once felt like I had to sell myself to him, but rather that he wanted me to be a part of Boston University, and was more focused on finding out if the School of Education was right for me. I came away from our conversation absolutely positive that BU was the right place, and I have not once regretted that decision.
Throughout my experience in the program, Dan was a constant source of advice, support, and direction, and even after graduating he was always ready with guidance whenever I had any questions regarding the path of being a teacher. I still have the voice message he left on my phone a few weeks before passing away, in which he answered a question I had about becoming qualified to teach psychology.
With Dan, it never felt like he was ‘making time’ for you, but that he honestly wanted to talk and was happy to hear from you, and he was legitimately excited about what new teaching ideas or classroom experiences. Getting my MAT was a grueling experience for myself and my classmates, but Dan honestly made me feel not just that I could do it, but that I belonged in the program. For someone who grew up with learning disabilities he didn’t always understand, and who still struggles with a lot of basic academic tasks, the value of someone having that sort of faith in you can’t be measured.
I wish I had more time with Dan, to let him know what an impact he’d had, to benefit more from his advice and encouragement, to tell him about my first full time teaching position, but I do know that I am going to use the skills and confidence he imparted on me to continue his legacy by being the best teacher I can be and living up to the potential he saw on me that day in spring of 2009 when I rushed into his office completely out of breath.
Dan’s legacy lives on not just in his own work, and in the countless students he influenced, but also in all the young teachers he has helped to guide into our education system. The effects of that sort of gift, and how it has influenced all those teacher’s students, and all the people whose lives they touched, cannot be measured. I know that wherever Dan is, he can look back on all of us he left behind, and feel proud that we’re continuing to change this world of ours for the better.
Also, Dan, I just want to make you a promise. I promise, I’m not just going to teach from the textbook.
Burt Weiner posted on November 3, 2011 at 10:44 am
Dan was a fine man and wonderful teacher. It was a pleasure to have known him and a privilege to have worked with him. Many of us at Newton North High School will miss his insight and encouragement.
Andy Hollins posted on November 18, 2011 at 8:32 am
Several years ago, I had the privilege of having a class with Dr. Davis on teaching methods in secondary schools. When I told him that some of his former students (also my close friends) who did the “Nixon Musical” in his class at Stoughton said hello, his face lit up even after so many years. All of us salute and thank you for your passion, for being a great teacher, and for your commitment for so many years. I personally rely on the “Habits of Mind” you gave us as a centerpiece for the daily goals in my classroom for myself and my students.
Jo'Ann (Kelley) Newton posted on November 30, 2011 at 2:58 am
Dr Davis was an excellent Principal of Stoughton High School and an advocate for all. I was the third of 5 Kelley Children from 107 Pearl Street of which 4 of us attended SHS. My 2 older sisters had missed so much school that they asked to drop out. Dr Davis made every effort to help them, but they dropped out anyway. When I graduated with a Scholarship and enrolled in College, Dr Davis said to me on the platform, “Well at least I got one of you girls through.” I answered, “No, I got me through.” Dr Davis simply smiled and said, “You sure did, and you did it well.” It was one of the Proudest Moments in my life. And that was June of 1979.