Given Bob’s enormous range of interests, I thought about stealing from Michael Pollan and calling this tribute “The Omnivore’s Dilemma.” But I quickly realized that the vast and delicious smorgasbord of existence offers no dilemma to our Monsieur Vollrath.
Bob can’t resist learning, whether that comes in the form of an amusing widget for his Apple laptop, a challenging exhibit at the ICA, a thought-provoking book, or a new restaurant worth seeking out. And his impulse, once he’s found yet another wondrously cool thing, is to share it.
An example of the swirl of energy and synergy that is Bob Vollrath: A while back, he was reading the cooking memoirs of Laurie Colwin. He came upon her account of the strong emotional effect making “beef tea” had on her—just as he was poised to discuss Proust’s Madeleine Moment with his French Literature class. Good literary critic and teacher that he is, he made the connection with Proust, and in class served up Colwin’s passage along with the Proust text and the madeleines he’d baked for the kids at home.
In our sometimes chaotic school, Bob shines as a supremely organized man. (He can probably tell you tonight what he’ll be covering in his Geometry class on a given day next April.) He serves as the main planner of our semiannual Hancock weekends. He juggles teacher responsibilities, makes hot air balloons, explains how to use the kitchen sterilizer, and leads nature walks and gravestone-rubbing excursions. He also picks pecks of apples and supervises the annual pie-baking activity, during which we turn out pies for 200.
Bob is a musical man. He sings in the school’s chorus. He plays the piano and has played chamber music with our colleague Brent Whelan. He subscribes to the symphony. When you visit his house, music will be playing: jazz, classical, and often, some new indie group he’s discovered, often by reading Sasha Frere-Jones of The New Yorker. He follows up his leads by seeking out new music during his weekly trips to the library.
An animated teacher and ardent advocate for his advisees, Bob is kind, but he also knows when it’s time to play the role of dutiful disciplinarian. Some of his advisees explained the Vollrathian check: he approaches a kid he intuitively seems to know is contemplating a bit of mischief, places his hand gently but firmly on the kid’s shoulder, and asks, “How are we doing?” They agreed that his little reminders serve their purpose admirably.
Bob not only introduces his French classes to intriguing vocabulary, sophisticated grammar, and analysis of poetry; his students told me that he also specializes in “doing” the voices of Tintin and his gang (par example: “Saporlipopette!") complete with Victor Borge-esque punctuation. And every year, a group of them stand beside Monsieur Vollrath in the School kitchen, chatting in French as they whip up mousse au chocolat.
As you will have surmised, this little ditty about Bob is a tribute to his appetite—for life. Mr. Vollrath: Merci from your students, your colleagues, and the school. We wish you bon appétit!
Bob can’t resist learning, whether that comes in the form of an amusing widget for his Apple laptop, a challenging exhibit at the ICA, a thought-provoking book, or a new restaurant worth seeking out. And his impulse, once he’s found yet another wondrously cool thing, is to share it.