Oh Captain, My Captain

Frontenac School District has a long history filled with amazing teachers. Sit down with any graduate from any year, and they’ll tell you about educators who touched their lives.

However, for one group of past Frontenac students, one name quietly comes up again and again: Lynn Hoover.

Mr. Hoover taught me technology during the ’90s and into the early 2000s. Frontenac was much smaller back then, my graduating class had around 30 people. We had known most of the staff or their families nearly all our lives and easily knew what to expect from room to room. But Hoover wasn’t like most teachers.

When you walked into Hoover’s class, you went from being a kid to a young adult. He required it, not in a fussy or mean way, but because he knew we were capable of it. The technology lab at that time, as it is now, was a point of great pride. The board had invested the money, Hoover the time, and we were learning on the same, if not better, equipment than most of the local colleges.

Mr. Hoover required us to treat that equipment with respect, to treat each other with respect. The only food ever allowed was his once yearly homemade monster cookies. His no food or drink rule was viciously enforced. That room was always cared for. We cleaned up after ourselves as a rule. Bullying or bad behavior would get you bounced from his classroom so fast your head would spin. He had no time for nonsense like that.

In return for acting like grown-ups, he treated us like them. We were given access, trust, and freedom. Hoover was quick to encourage creativity and show us how to apply it to real-life jobs. Lynn Hoover wasn’t just educating students, he was giving us a door to different worlds. Before Hoover’s class, creative pursuits were often treated like hobbies. Not in the technology lab. We were learning editing, video, lighting, photography, how to write commercial scripts or cast actors, the list went on and on. And that’s just the classes I took.

Because of Mr. Hoover’s standards and the class content, he often ended up with kids like me. Creative and driven, I couldn’t dribble a basketball or solve a complicated math problem if my life depended on it. But in the technology lab, where creativity was key, I excelled, as did several of my classmates.

The class of 2002 had a heavy presence in Hoover’s classes our junior and senior years. We adored him. At the time, the Robin Williams movie Dead Poets Society was popular. I don’t remember the details exactly, maybe it was me, or maybe Joey Tomasi, but one day, one of us turned to Hoover and said, “Oh Captain, my Captain?”

Hoover, in his typical calm style, proceeded to answer to it, and it became a thing from that moment on. For a band of kids who didn’t really fit elsewhere, Mr. Hoover became our Captain.

He often had colleges come speak to us because he wanted us to have every opportunity. Mr. Hoover was always willing to sit down with us and talk about the future. One such college visit led to me attending a summer photography camp at the Art Institute of Denver.

I had no idea how life changing that camp would be. Along with the skills Mr. Hoover taught me, the camp gave me a solid foundation in photography. Not just the basics it opened my eyes to how creative work can tell a story. It changed me as a photojournalist. I got my first journalism jobs in part because of those photography skills.

I married my husband, who was active-duty Army, shortly after graduation. Everyone believes the Army is a steady paycheck, but anyone who has served will tell you differently. The military often messes up your money with the kind of gleeful chaos that makes you think gremlins are in charge, especially during moves, deployments, promotions… and don’t get me started on government shutdowns.

During those hard times, it was my photography that paid our bills and fed our children. My video marketing skills sold those portrait sessions. The adult behavioral skills Hoover insisted on opened doors most young people wouldn’t have had access to.

He taught me everything from depth of field to how to value my creative work. Mr. Hoover is the reason I keep my gear so pristine, and why I take the time to do it right. In tough times, his lessons shone through and made the difference. And every Christmas, when I make my kids massive monster cookies, that’s Hoover too. A reminder that even he who followed the rules bent them on special occasions. (Away from the equipment.)

Hello Frontenac exists as it is because of Mr. Hoover.

I use the things he taught me every day here, in every graphic layout, every visual post. Every time I bounce a bully, not to be unkind but because we have work to do. Every time I double check a background before filming a video, that’s all Hoover.

I saw Mr. Hoover the other day in the technology room where we were both volunteering. (I immediately handed off my full coffee cup to Mr. Gudde.)

Hoover is now happily retired and tending his beloved cattle. Yet, he’s still the same guy. I watched him encourage students, give suggestions, and praise their instructor. He patiently let me ramble about the past, teasing and asking questions the whole time.

Some people change after retirement, but not Mr. Hoover. He’s still just as he always was: the steady as stone teacher who taught so much more than video editing. The same man who showed us that creativity can be a career.

So, from all of us who were part of those crazy years, Oh Captain, my Captain.

Thank you.