News and Events
This article on Nick Kueny (“Mister”) appeared in the Hawkeye at the end of the 1987-88 school year:
Nick Kueny '43
From the Editor’s Desk
In my two years at the Prep, I have been at many sporting events. My attendance record can in no way compare to that of one of our faculty. Now this generous man is retiring from the field and we at the Hawkeye would like to add our voices to the many who are thanking him and wishing him well. For 40 years, the indomitable “Mister” has given his all to the Prep. As he told us yesterday, “his wish for all of us is that each of us someday find a job which we love as long as he has loved his at St. Joe’s. Typically, in his last hours as our teacher, when we tried to wish him the best, Mr. Nick Kueny spent his time wishing the best for us.
What do we think of when we think of Mister? The white coat, rosary in pocket, shuffling toward Room 103, the big blue van moving a gaggle of students somewhere, the taped-up algebra book, the taped up ankles, the teacher who stayed after every day for extra help, the smile at the corner of the discipline desk, the thousand-and-one classroom nicknames (I wonder if “nicknames” were named for “Nick” Kueny—wouldn’t surprise me)—for me Mister is always that shadowy figure alone on a foggy, frozen hillside who travelled 90 minutes to see a Frosh soccer game or helping an injured player on a rain swept field while everyone else was trying to stay warm and dry on a miserable, wet day. For all the accolades heard thus far and all those to come in the next few days, for all the tributes and congratulation, and engravings on training room dedications, it’s going to be the way we experienced Mister that will be his real story. We were always #1—nothing came before the students of the Prep. For Mister, we were something special, and because he always treated us as special, we became greater than we could ever have been without him. What he has given to St. Joe’s is permanent. I don’t know what it will be like around here without him, but we’ll do well because he taught us how.
We entered as freshman and feared the roar of the crazy person who taught math on the first floor. By Thanksgiving, we knew his act—he loved us. And we, him. The cheers and tears of yesterday morning gave us away. Ad multos annos, Mister—they don’t make them any better than you. Your knuckleheads will miss you.
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