Chuck Mills may be gone, but he's not forgotten

Chuck Mills peered in the door of the fifth-grade classroom and motioned the assistant teacher out into the hall.

He was almost beside himself with concern.

“Johnny (not his real name) had a bad night last night,” he said. “Something about his dad had to go to the hospital, so he could be a little messed up today. Make sure you talk to him, let him know we’re here and tell the (head) teacher, too, OK?”

Johnny was always a bit of a handful, moody one minute, overly exuberant another, and occasionally even combative.

So Mills, knowing this, and knowing Johnny’s temperament might be even more volatile on this day, made it a point to tell every teacher, every paraprofessional, most every adult who might come in contact with Johnny that day, to be extra vigilant in their support of this child.

One time I came up the stairs of the Milton Elementary School and Mills was in the hallway, by himself, almost down on his haunches, taking a few deep breaths.

Somewhat taken aback by my sudden appearance he explained, “Just taking a break.” Then in an instant, he was up and walking swiftly down the hall, no doubt on another mission to make the school a safer and more welcoming and nurturing place for the students it serves.

Chuck Mills didn’t slow down too much. He was always on the go, whether counseling a troubled child, having lunch in his office with one of the kids or reaching out to parents and townspeople.

His outreach to parents may have been his greatest legacy along with his crusade against bullying.

He used to tell me, “Let’s get some stuff in your paper that shows the people of Milton some of the great things happening at this school, and there’s a lot of great things happening.”

I’m just not sure that not having Mr. Mills as principal is one of those great things.