"When you love what you do, you've never worked a day in your life:" Remembering Mr. Saint Clair

The first day: “I must have been meeting with some other colleagues, on the second floor, on the even side…it was the first time I ever met him, and he had his son [she stands up from the desk chair, grabs a stuffed gingerbread cookie several feet away, wrapping one arm around its stomach as it faces outward, and returns to her seat]...he was carrying the baby just like this…his chest was supporting the baby, and giving him a view of where he would be working.”

The pocket pretzels: “He would come in, and he had the cargo pants. And he’d be snacking out of his pockets [she smiles in reminiscence]…he had such a good sense of humor; he would go, ‘Oh, do you want a pretzel?’”

The gym shower: “Every single morning, in the gym office, he would take a shower, 'cause he rode his bike in every day [he chuckles, thinking about the morning routine]…we would generally get there around the same time… every day he would have this system; now the water is ice cold, but he would still take a shower every day…I don’t know, those memories are engraved in my mind…I would always tell him, even [he pauses] a month ago…that I wanted to look like him when I get older…” 

Kevin Saint Clair had, in his words, “vowed never to be a teacher”— until he started majoring in accounting. Fast forward to 2021, when he reflected, in contrast: “I can’t imagine me not ever teaching, like being a teacher as my career. I hate being a cliché, but when you love what you do, you've never worked a day in your life, it’s true.” 

It soon became apparent that Mr. Saint Clair had chosen the right profession. Loved by teachers and students alike, he thrived in his role. “He gave the kids everything he had every single day…[he had the] dedication to making sure that every single kid felt the same every time they came in contact with him,” recalled Todd O’Neill, a Masterman physical education teacher. “He was very concerned with student well-being, wanted to make sure that everybody was alright…that everybody had what they needed,” remembered Joanne Donahue, a current fifth-grade teacher who came to Masterman in 2001, when she began working with Saint Clair in the sixth grade.“He cared. He just cared. So much.” 

The teacher who, as one student put it, “taught [students] to always treat people with kindness and respect,” tragically lost his life at age 65 in a road accident on Monday, November 6th, while biking to his home in Chestnut Hill from his son’s house—a high-performing athlete as a collegiate runner and five-time U.S. National Rowing Team member, he had been a passionate and experienced biker, racing until his death. He had just been sanding and edging the floors at his son’s fixer-upper home. Carolyn Gray, a fifth-grade teacher at Masterman, remembered how he did similar work on his own house. “[When he moved to Chestnut Hill], often you would see him at the end of the school day going home with lumber, or some kind of tool, because he was redoing his house and making it comfortable for his family,” she remarked.

Saint Clair was “turning from Wises Mill Road onto Henry Avenue just before 7 p.m,” reported The Philadelphia Inquirer, when a car hit him into the road and “he was struck by another car.” “I miss him already a lot,” O’Neill said. “He’s left a deep hole. And it’s overwhelming…it comes as a stab,” reflected Gray as she thought about her relationship with him, Saint Clair’s son Jack (whom she taught), and the entire family. 

Colleagues, students, and alumni agreed that his legacy at Masterman as a teacher, dean, coach, and, after retirement, a substitute, will never fade. From the hallway, where he greeted each student; to the classroom, where he would reach over a sixth grader, having them scooch over so he could jot down equations on their paper; to the outdoors, where he encouraged each runner he coached on the cross-country and track teams, speaking with kids before mounting his bike, his caring character shone through everywhere. “He’d ride into school, hang his bike up, then greet everyone with a smile, a good morning, and a cup of coffee,” remembered Dan Bici, who graduated from Masterman in 2018 and ran track under Saint Clair until he retired from coaching in 2016. “I appreciated how he made time for everyone, showed them that they mattered, and gave without wanting anything in return.” As middle school dean, affirmed Gray, he demonstrated this faith in all, never trying to pull anybody down: “[Saint Clair] did believe that everyone had good intentions…that they could do… well…when [he] had to speak with students about misbehavior…you could tell that the student never felt downtrodden…he told them what the expectation was, but everyone always left with the sense that [they could] go forward.” 

Saint Clair is remembered as more than a mathematics teacher or disciplinarian in his role as middle school dean: his daily interactions instilled precious values in countless lives. O’Neill spoke about Saint Clair, standing in the third-floor hallway outside room 311 during an advisory period. Here, he recalled in hindsight how his relationship with each kid shaped them as teachers: “...I try to do that same thing here… to make sure every kid feels the same way…that they have a good relationship with me…Mr. Saint Clair [embodied] that,” noted O’Neill. Ms. Lerer, Digital Literacy/Technology teacher, agreed. She spoke about her first day at Masterman:  

[He] was my first friend at Masterman. I came [to Masterman] in September of 2001…the principal at the time…wanted someone to show me around, and she said, ‘Oh, Kevin is upstairs!’...Not only did he come and…in a very friendly way, introduce himself, but he took me all around the building, helped me get to know my new school, and gave me…advice…that I still remember and use to this day.

Over time, Lerer observed “how [he] would greet everybody on a daily basis,” and she “realized that he did this and helped him stay connected with students.” This prompted her to do the same, and, as she said, the daily interactions made her “happier.” 

Teachers’ lives were indeed not the only ones he influenced. Sharon Ashok (Class of 2013, who was a member of the track/cross-country teams for her four years of high school) and Bici—the two alumni were interviewed separately—both deemed Saint Clair a “father figure,” somebody who went beyond the role of a coach and teacher. In an email communication, Ashok fondly remembered her days running under Saint Clair: 

…What he taught me about resilience will stick with me forever. Some of my best memories from high school are with fellow members of the track and cross-country teams who quickly became my family, thanks to the culture Saint fostered for us. He graciously hosted us at his home to celebrate the end of the track season each year, and every time I eat baked beans or play Bananagrams or Scattergories, I will always think of him.

Bici also looked back on the impact of his Masterman running days:

We all wanted him to be proud of us, but we really earned it. Although Saint helped turn me into the man I am today, it breaks my heart knowing he will never be by my side again so I could tell him how much I grew and achieved and hear about his life in return.

These are just some of the memories that continue on among lives intertwined over the many years of Saint Clair’s career at Masterman —endless more than Gray’s first interaction with him as he started his career at Masterman, Donahue’s recounting of the pocket pretzels, and O’Neill’s story of the gym shower that nobody knew how to use except him. As Gray remarked, “There are so many whose connections we will never know…” As a testament to this, she recalled an attendee at Saint Clair’s funeral: “He was from out of town. He heard and…jumped on a plane. He had a suitcase with him. He said, ‘I don’t know where I’m sleeping tonight but I had to get here.’”

His palpable energy that radiated in the school, exceptional compassion felt in every interaction, and nurturing guidance—all are sorely missed at Masterman. “I don’t know how we’re going to go on without him,” O’Neill reflected, vowing, “but we’ll make sure that we’ll honor him every single day.”