Remembering John Riley

Teacher, Colleague, Friend – Remembering John Riley

Photo by Christiana Holyer

On October 2, 2019, John Riley—beloved eighth-grade science teacher, coach, colleague, and friend— passed away after a yearlong battle with cancer. John’s kind demeanor, patient approach, and passion for teaching and learning had an enormous impact on our entire community.

Head of Middle School Carla Moyer started working with John the day he stepped foot on Cannon’s campus, back in 2002. Below, she reflects on a life well-lived—and the incredible legacy that John leaves behind.

When I was having a tough day or week, I knew that the Diet Coke that appeared on my desk “anonymously” came from John Riley. Sometimes it was a whole case if things were really bad.

John was a lot of things to us. He was a science nerd. I’ve never met anyone more interested in following weather

patterns. In fact, he was our “go to” in-house weatherman for predictions on field trips and advisory games. He shared this passion with students during his annual weather unit. John created hands-on and interesting projects for students and instilled a love of science and a willingness to take risks with science tools and equipment. He created his own textbook, his balloon and bridge projects are remembered

long after graduation, and the annual “build” in eighth grade was always a highlight for us all. Finally, the Science Olympiad program in both the Middle and Upper Schools is a testament to John’s passion and dedication. He singlehandedly ran the program for years. He gave up lunch periods, time after school, and time on weekends to ensure kids had opportunities to “do science.” He led many creek clean-ups, taking us all through the muddy Coddle Creek in waders and old tennis shoes. He was also recognized for his work for the Trout in the Classroom program. Our fish population at Cannon enabled several other schools to participate in the release program—talk about giving back! I can’t think of any other teacher who has made more of an impact on the science program in the history of Cannon than John. His coaching style was always one of encouragement and autonomy for students. John was passionate about serving in the athletic arena at Cannon. He coached tennis, he drove teams everywhere, he announced football and basketball, and he always made sure he acknowledged the VIP’s in the house—our alumni! Often, John was accompanied by his dear friend and colleague, Mike Hoffman. It was a great pleasure and privilege of the school to be able to name the Boswell Gym court as Hoffman-Riley Court in January 2019. His service to the athletic world is unparalleled at Cannon, and his pride for the Cougars was evident in all that he did. While John never shied away from sharing his thoughts or feelings in a professional manner, it was done respectfully and thoughtfully. He put people before program, put students before curriculum, and put friendships at the center of his collegial relationships. John knew how to separate the daily challenges from the truly important life challenges, and he was there for all of us. He was the quintessential gentleman—always holding doors, always polite, and always treating women as a good southern gentleman should do. This rough-around-theedges Yankee always appreciated that, as John had a way of making you feel taken care of without being patronizing or condescending. From the day Kathie and John sat in my office in October 2018 and shared the news that he had been diagnosed with cancer, they were a beacon of faith, love, and joy. Yes, joy. How could someone going through this be so joyful? How could someone so sick make us all laugh, cry, and be grateful? John managed to do that. He continued to talk about this as a blessing, and he used the word “fortunate” more times than I could count. Fortunate. I consider US fortunate. We got to know John in a different way. In general, John was a very private person who loved deeply. But throughout his ordeal, we got to see him bare his soul in an assembly to Middle Schoolers about words to use more often. We got to learn more about his hopes and dreams for his son and his wife. We got to meet more of John’s family members. We got to see him inspire our entire student body with his courageous battle. We got to see him cry tears of joy at the Hoffman Riley Court dedication as he listened to a former student speak about what he has meant to others. We got to tell him how wonderful he is in a way we hadn’t before. And through it all, he continued to ask and care about our lives and our families. WE are the fortunate ones. John was the only one to ever call me “Boss.” If you knew John, it is a term that lets you know that he respects the “office,” so to speak. I don’t love the term “boss” and almost never use it to refer to myself, but from John, it felt like an endearment. I sure will miss hearing, “Boss—any comments, cuss words, or complaints?” as he peeked his head around the corner, maybe with an offering of a Diet Coke. John, I have lots of comments, but I have no cuss words, and no complaints. You were the “real deal,” and you will be so missed. “He put people before program, put students before curriculum, and put friendships at the center of his collegial relationships.”