IN MEMORIAM: Don E. Merce

On the morning of May 6, 2008, I walked into my house from the gym to find my phone ringing in the kitchen. On the other end was another Little Silver mom, asking me if I had heard about the accident. I quickly hung up and called the school board office to confirm and rushed over toto find a cluster of other mothers standing in the school's vestibule.

We stood there, shell schocked, as our children were called out of their classrooms and fed out to us in the hallway. My girls, who were in 5th and 8th grade at the time, exploded through the doors and we all stood there with our arms around each other and cried -- for our principal, our school and ourselves and all that we had lost.

Don Merce was a legend in Little Silver. Across the board, parents and students respected and admired our middle school principal who was killed in a car accident that morning on his way to school early to prepare for that day's NJASK testing.

It's hard to believe that it's been four years since that day; it seems like just yesterday but also a million years ago. We've moved on, the kids have gotten older and now all the students at Markham only know Dennis Morolda -- who came in having to fill some pretty big shoes -- as their commander in chief.

And because I never want to forget all that I learned from knowing Mr. Merce, I wanted to share a piece I had written for the board of ed to help put a collective finger on what we all, as a community, lost on May 6, 2008.

Good-Bye, Mr. Merce

It’s hard to put a finger on what will most be missed in the weeks, months, and years following the sudden and tragic loss of Markham Place School’s long time principal, Don Merce.

Will it be the pilgrim costume in which he would parade around the school as a reward for students when they met the Thanksgiving food drive goal? Or maybe his beloved beaver hike at Stokes? Most definitely the decorum he instilled during the Eighth Grade graduation ceremonies impressed family and friends and reminded students of the significance of that moment in their lives.

Who will grill the hot dogs at Field Day or give out free ice cream tickets to pint sized Giants fans? Who will buy pizzas for the Markham sports teams when they beat certain towns? Who will walk around the cafeteria to check what’s in the lunch bags and monitor who is sitting with whom? Who will get the students to “listen up?”

In the end, what students, parents, and teachers will mourn the most is the loss of Mr. Merce’s constant presence. For not only was he everywhere physically—the lunchroom, the hallways, his office—he was also ever-present in his students’ thoughts. He got in their head; they heard his voice as they contemplated dress code, behavioral, and academic issues. Whether it was the urge to wear flip flops, throw something at a friend at lunch, or slack off in math class, there was always that little voice urging students to make the better choice. Mr. Merce led by example—in his fairness, his honesty, and respect of others—and he encouraged the same in those around him.

Everyone at Markham was also keenly aware of the things that Mr. Merce fully endorsed, like soccer, soda, and the Giants. When the Big Blue won this year’s Super Bowl, the first thing two Markham students said while jumping for joy was, “Mr. Merce must be so excited!” That was the impression he made on his students; that in the middle of a joyous event on a Sunday far away from school, they were thinking about their principal.

We will never forget that ordinary Tuesday morning when everything changed and we were reminded of how precious life is. We also remembered how a community can come together to grieve a common loss. If there is one silver lining to this tragedy, it is that the loss of Mr. Merce reminded us all of the type of community we live in: a small town where you know most of the children and share so many of the same experiences. So when we all gathered around that flag pole with candles in our hands later that evening of the accident, we were certain that every man, woman and child present felt the same pain that we felt in our own heart.

In the same way that we have moved on following the terrorists’ attacks on Sept. 11 and make distinctions between life before and after that terrible day, we will adjust following the loss of Mr. Merce. We will look back at that time when we had him and feel a little naïve at how we took what we had for granted. And as we move forward, we know that life will begin to feel “normal” again. We might slip up and look for his car in the lot, or think we see him walking down the hall, but then we’ll remember what happened. And over time the rhythm of the school community will resume as students, teachers and the administration continue to pursue the high levels of academic and personal achievement that Mr. Merce would have demanded from them.

It’s in our hearts that we’ll have to hold on to Mr. Merce. And when we hear his voice in our head, cheering for the Giants or telling us our shorts are just a little too short, we know that he will never be gone for good.