Considered a quintessential teacher and a widely beloved figure, Paul M. Bolenbaugh died in his sleep last Thursday, Oct. 13. He was 84.
Born in Mishawaka, Indiana, Bolenbaugh graduated from Ball University in 1960 and was recruited to teach social studies in the Baltimore County Public Schools system. He taught in the county for 44 years, first at Sparrows Point High School for five years and then at Pikesville High School for 39 years. He subsequently taught for 14 years at Pikesville’s Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School before retiring in 2018.
During his tenure at PHS, Bolenbaugh advised the honor society, as well as the “It’s Academic” and mock trial teams, which won several awards. “He was the best teacher I ever had,” said award-winning author and journalist Burt Solomon, a graduate of PHS’s class of 1966. “He opened up my world [and] introduced us to [Bob] Dylan.”
Bolenbaugh is survived by his nephew Steve Bolenbaugh and his wife, Cathy Stephenson Bolenbaugh. A celebration of his life will be held Sunday, Nov. 6, at 11 a.m. at Beth Tfiloh, 3300 Old Court Rd.
Donations in his honor can be sent to the Paul Bolenbaugh Memorial Fund, C/O Baltimore County Foundation, P.O. Box 37422, Baltimore, Maryland 21298 (or bcf.org/bolenbaugh), or to Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School, 3300 Old Court Rd., Baltimore, Maryland 21208 or bethtfiloh.myschoolapp.com/page/giving/tribute-gifts/tribute-gifts-bolenbaugh.
The following column was written by Noah E. Abramowitz, a former student of Bolenbaugh.
There are many clichéd statements about how a teacher is like having another parent, that they will care about you and watch you grow, help you become who you need to become.
But clichés are often true. And they were all true about Paul Bolenbaugh, my dear American Government teacher who taught me for 50 minutes once a week for five months.
In the classroom, I may have learned 20 hours in total from him, likely less. But Mr. Bolenbaugh taught me so much more in the minutes after class, the breaks in between periods, and the visits we would share after I graduated.
The first time I met with him outside of class, he had asked me to come to him before our ill-fated Poland trip in 2013, which never happened. He described to me an experience of being at Treblinka and witnessing the silence of the trees. He described those trees in a way that would put Tolkien to shame, the emotions he experienced, the meaning they had for him, and the noise he heard as he put a stone on one of the many monuments there.
He sent me off with tears in his eyes (and in mine), and from that moment on I knew this needed to continue. I was to continue these visits once a year when I came home to Baltimore.
Sitting with him was coming to someone with so much knowledge, such wonderful life lessons, that you felt that he had the answers to all the questions. He was blunt, honest and never afraid to question and be questioned. He would ask me about my life, and would want to hear everything.
I would bring donuts to our meetings, and we would talk about whatever transpired over the past year. He never wanted to sit and let me tell him a story; he wanted to know how I felt, what I had learned and how things would change. It all was interesting to him, and there was no detail which bored him.
That was who he was — a master educator who knew that people learned by being asked questions, and by questioning themselves, and by being treated as equals by their educators. In his classroom, we were all free to express an opinion about politics, and we were all expected to formulate one. We would debate issues and never feel that there was a teacher who knew far more than us, just a sweet, wise man who loved to watch us talk the issues out.
And he demanded we respect one another, not through the rules of a classroom but by treating each of us — even those who had thrown a position paper together in 10 minutes before class — like we were the expert.
In the years after I finished his class, I learned so much about cherishing life, enjoying the little things and truly continuing to be dazzled by the world, just by writing emails and sharing a cup of coffee once a year. Mr. Bolenbaugh never shied away from being as “real” as possible; he told me of his feeling old, his feelings of decline, and how unafraid he was of old age and the end.
The last time I visited Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School in May, I found out I had missed him by two days, for he would be coming in to give a lesson. I left my email address and my regards in a note, and he returned an email expressing his pleasure at the sentiment. He told me I should start calling him Paul if I wanted to, despite the fact that old students have issues making that change. He no longer saw me, he told me, as a student. But I couldn’t — he always was, and he will always be, Mr. Bolenbaugh.
Fate would have it that in the week after his passing, I happened to teach a class on Israeli politics. I yelled, I stormed around, I banged on things, I asked hard questions. I acknowledged all answers, I swore, I said what I meant to and let the students say what they did as well. Whatever they felt, whatever they wanted me to hear.
It was the best class I’ve given in a while, and I could almost feel Mr. Bolenbaugh smile as I realized that I had used all of his techniques, and mirrored everything which I had learned from one of the greatest educators, teachers and mentors I have ever met. I hope I did him proud.
In the last email I sent him, I wrote the following, which is truly the emotion which I carry with me onward, as I remember his voice, his wild smile and the sound of his laugh:
“Mr. Bolenbaugh … you truly are one of the most blessed presences in my life, and I value our correspondence despite the years. … To get a mail from you is a blessing, and I will thank God tonight before I go to sleep, for that special privilege. … Whether I told you then or not, if I had come to Beth Tfiloh only to become acquainted with people like yourself, it was more than enough.”
I imagine that once in a while, I will look to the stars and wonder how today I can be the person Mr. Bolenbaugh believed I could be.
A Baltimore native who now lives in Jerusalem, Noah E. Abramowitz is a graduate of the Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School.
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