Class crown

George Aitkens went above and beyond teaching English at Kelvin High School; he inspired generations of students with his intellect, wit and, most of all, his passion for life

By: Jen Zoratti

George Aitkens was the kind of man people wanted to be around. His passion was the magnet.

It was his passion for educating that made him a favourite teacher among generations of students at Kelvin High School, where he taught English in both the regular academic and International Baccalaureate programs for 25 years until his retirement in 2015. And it was his passion for literature, culture and adventure that made him so attractive to the man who would become the love of his life, Dave Brickwood, his spouse of 40 years.

Aitkens died on June 13 at the age of 72 from vascular complications following a stenosis surgery. And when the news of his passing made the rounds on social media, dozens upon dozens of former students shared fond memories of the canoe trips he led, the wintry retreats at Shakespeare in the Snow, Bruce the Moose — the moose head that hung above his classroom door whose antlers would become the home of any contraband (White-out, Coles Notes) — and the profound impression he’d left on them.

"Teaching is the best thing he ever did, and the happiest he ever was," Brickwood says.

At the front of a classroom, Aitkens was commanding and funny — acerbic, mischievous, eminently quotable. He expected a lot from his students, but he made them want to read that book, or write that essay.

He challenged them to become sharper thinkers, speakers and writers, and encouraged them to trust and follow their creative impulses and curiosity.

I know, because I was one of them.

In 2002-03, I had Mr. Aitkens for Grade 12 English. Like many others who studied under the watchful eye of Bruce, Aitkens was my favourite teacher. He also has the distinction of giving me the single-best line of feedback I’ve ever received about my writing, before or since, scrawled on the back of a comparative essay of mine: "You’ve renewed my faith in humanity."

"I’m surprised you could read it," Brickwood says. Apparently, the shopping lists were a bit of an exercise in deductive reasoning.

Dave and George became a couple in 1980. "I guess it was about the time I was realizing, ‘I guess I am gay and don’t quite know how to deal with that,’" Brickwood says over coffee in the book-filled Wolseley home they shared for the last couple of decades. "We just clicked together, and we probably moved in together a few months later.

"The first 10 years, he was my ‘roommate.’ Nobody really asked any questions, and we just left it at that. And then finally, people started saying, ‘OK, what’s really going on here?’" he recalls with a laugh.

"He was a canoeist, I was a canoeist. I loved hiking and all that kind of stuff, so we did all that together. He liked his museums and medieval history, which is stuff I didn’t know a lot about. He was just a very interesting person." (He was also a dog lover, most recently of Rufus and Molly, two Airedale terriers.)

And on a beautiful day in 2005, when it was finally legal to do so, Dave and George got married. It was a small wedding at their house in Wolseley, followed by a huge party at the cottage in Red Rock Lake.

"It was really nice," Brickwood says, his eyes shining.

When they first got together, Aitkens was working for Manitoba Hydro in a desk job that Brickwood knew was a poor fit for his rebellious partner. "I knew he wasn’t going to be a corporate guy, mostly because he couldn’t follow a rule if he tried," he says with a laugh. That would be a leitmotif in his teaching career, as well.

So, Aitkens pursued a bachelor of education degree.

"I think his first job he was a kindergarten teacher," Brickwood says.

"I would have liked to have a video of that," he adds, laughing. "It didn’t last very long."

That was followed by a stint at General Wolfe, where he spent the day teaching junior high, and Stony Mountain, where he spent the evening teaching inmates. At that point Brickwood, a finance accountant, had earned his MBA and had job offers across the country. They were considering their options.

"And then George got the job at Kelvin."

Lynn Faulder started teaching at Kelvin around the same time as Aitkens, in 1990, in a neighbouring classroom.

"Sometimes his class would erupt with gales of laughter and my own class would, you know, wish they were there," she says, smiling at the memory.

Since they were both new, Faulder and Aitkens struck an immediate bond. The qualities that made Aitkens a hall-of-fame great teacher — particularly his non-compliance to any kind of syllabus — were sometimes unappreciated by the more stodgy members of the administration, but Faulder always had his back.

They began the canoe trip together; he taught her how to paddle. They remained dear friends until his death. He could be annoying, she says with a laugh, but "if you had something tough happen to you of any sort, he was always very compassionate."

Aitkens liked to push people out of their comfort zones outside of the classroom, too.

"I always described George as Mr. Chaos. I never quite knew where things were going to end up. And I’m Mr. Linear. Chaos and Linear sometimes do not work well together. But it was always interesting because somehow, and I never quite knew how, I’d always end up getting sucked into doing whatever it was we were doing," Brickwood says.

"I’d be grumbling at the beginning, but at the end, I’d realize, ‘this was interesting.’ He got me outside of my linear box."

Mr. Chaos really came out to play when they were travelling, which they did a fair bit, seeing most of Canada and Europe.

"Mr. Linear, I would say, ‘OK, we’re going to England, and we’ll see this, this, this and this, because these are the things you have to see.’ And George would say, ‘Yeah, OK, OK.’ And then he’d come back and say, ‘There’s this neat little town that’s in the middle of nowhere that’s got this church that looks kind of interesting.’ And we’d go, and there would always be something fascinating you never thought of. Every trip we did, he would always take us out of the regular routine."

Mr. Chaos did sneak in one last adventure before he died. Brickwood and Aitkens belonged to a gay community whose members have since fanned out across Canada and, every year, they meet up in a different city for what was dubbed the Thanksgiving Waifs Party.

But Aitkens didn’t want to fly. He wanted to drive the whole way. The 36-hour northern Ontario route, no less. He wanted to see Kapuskasing.

"Typical George," Brickwood says.

In memory of Aitkens, people can contribute to the Nora Taylor Scholarship Fund — named for his mother — with the Winnipeg Foundation online at https://www.mycharitytools.com/gift/wpgfdn/donate?fund=1173.

jen.zoratti@freepress.mb.ca

Twitter: @JenZoratti