Homenagem a DBS, captain, my captain...

I must confess that I had an intense and somehow turbulent relationship with DBS. In part, that was because my father was also the Principal of Colégio Santa Cruz, a Canadian school founded by two priests, Father Lionel Corbeil and Father Paul Eugéne Charbonneau, a kind of local Kurt Hann. It was due to his tenacity and inventiveness that Santa, as we all it, became the best school in São Paulo and the first one to send students to UWCs. He made Santa Cruz a place that was the sole educational stronghold against Brazilian dictatorship, which lasted for 21 long years from 1964 to 1985. At Santa, Father Charbonneau showed movies that were forbidden by governmental censorship agency, such as Christiane F. – Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo, shocking Brasilian church too. He was always at TV shows and used to wear red when defending conservative ideas and clergymen when defending very revolutionary theses, as women liberation, sexuality, or marijuana consumption - he was favor to legalization already in the sixties. Also, he was seen drinking with students, beer or whiskey, and in the company of beautiful women late in the night.
My father succeed Corbeil as a Headmaster. Also, my uncle, his brother, was dean at one of the best federal university in Brazil.
My father met David in Duino. He had a meeting with him to discuss if I had do leave the school because of my hearing loss and awful academic performance at the beginning of my first year, something that I think would be unbelievable nowadays...
But, I am especially grateful to Mr, Sutcliffe and also to Elizabeth. Both were my tutors. They took me by the hands and made me understand and learn that nothing in life is easy; for everything that you earn, you have to work hard, and sometimes you have to do painfully.
DBS knew that Maria Teresa, the Italian teacher who died od cancer during our first year, liked me very much and cared about my future. She was especially concerned of the bad habits I had - heavy drinking and smoking - much like an average Latin American boy, always running after any nice skirt, some of wich I still have to this day.
One day David came up to me and said: let´s visit Maria Teresa in the hospital, it´s going to be a farewell. He knew she was dying and he was right, it happen days after we went there, and I remember all the words she said to me: "Luiz, you are intelligent, pretty and funny, everybody likes you, but you have to take care. "Smoke less, drink less and sleep more," She was right. I quitted cigarettes, still smoke cigars in particular situations, but couldn´t handle sleeping less.
So, for me, David was and meant a kind o mixed feelings: half a father, half the incredible headmaster he was, in fact.
In the second year´s yearbook, I wrote something and quoted the final of the lyric of The Boxer, a song I loved and still love, by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, two American genius.
So, to finish, excuse me for such long text. let me quote the lyric again, pointing out that now the years are rolling by me; they are rocking easily. I am older than I once was, and younger than I’ll be. But, that’s not unusual, no, it isn’t strange; changes after changes, we are more or less the same. Thanks, DBS and Elizabeth, to allow me to be part of your lives, you were very important for me.

The Boxer

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station
Running scared,
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places
Only they would know
Lie la lie, lie la la la lie lie
Lie la lie, lie la la la la lie la la lie

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come-on from the whores
On Seventh Avenue
I do declare
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there, le le le le le le
Lie la lie, lie la la la lie lie
Lie la lie, lie la la la la lie la la lie

Now the years are rolling by me
They are rocking easily
I am older than I once was
And younger than I’ll be
But that’s not unusual
No, it isn’t strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are
More or less the same
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me
Leading me
Going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving; I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains...