It is with great sadness that we share the news that Tom Eccleston, longtime Holderness faculty member, and father of Holderness faculty member Rick ‘92, passed away peacefully on Monday, October 3.  

Tom was a Holderness faculty member from 1987-1997, teaching history and serving as the head hockey coach from 1987-1995.  He was also a valued and trusted member of Norm Walker's football coaching staff and a revered dorm parent on campus. Tom had a profound impact on Holderness and was an educator in the truest sense of the word. 

Tom’s obituary can be found here. 

In his book of poems and remembrances of Holderness colleagues, Teachers, the late Norm Walker shares the following on his dear friend:

Recently, progressive educators have discovered the word “coach.” They use the term to describe what they consider to be the best kind of teaching that can occur in a classroom.  Generally, they are referring to a teacher as a guide or resource: students learn through trial and error, discovering information and understanding on their own.  The teacher resists the temptation to lecture or control the process and steps into “coach” only when absolutely necessary.

On the field and in the classroom Tom Eccleston is “Coach,” but his style of teaching has little to do with the new theories.  He’s about as old-fashioned as you can get.  Coach Eccleston believes in discipline, firm outer direction, drilling in fundamentals, imparting knowledge vigorously and often, student accountability for the information proffered, and testing to ensure accountability and understanding. His classrooms are as disciplined and as organized as his teams.

“Coach” looms large in the minds of students, not so much because of his physical girth, which is considerable, but because of his large personality.  He does not hesitate to raise his deep, booming voice to get attention and he never minces words.  His values and expectations are clear and simple: follow the rules, don’t pull any fast ones, be a team player, and work hard.  As rough and gruff as he can be, kids love him because they know that he has their best interests at heart; they also recognize that, underneath all the bark, he is essentially a warm, caring human being. 

Tom learned what it takes to be a great teacher by watching his father, a strict disciplinarian and legendary teacher-coach for over fifty years in Burrillville, RI, and at the Hill School in Pennsylvania. A product of pond hockey and small town playgrounds, Tom developed into a fine athlete in football, hockey and baseball; now, like his father, he has become an outstanding coach in those three sports.

At Bowdoin, he developed a love of history. That led him to the classroom where he works harder, if that’s possible, than he does on the athletic fields.  His brother was a fine teacher-coach in Pomfret, Connecticut, and two of his three sons are now teacher-coaches in New England schools.  Aren’t genes wonderful when they keep producing such dynamic, effective educators! 

 

Eck

Morning, 5:00 AM

 

Something Paleolithic

Is moving in the fog,

Slow, glacial,

Something large.

 

It could be a bear, a moose,

An unbelievably huge dog.

 

It’s not a butterfly; not a bird or bee;

Nothing airy or light,

Nothing fractal, fragile, soft.

 

Down Prospect Hill,

Round the bend at Mildred’s empty yard,

Past the rink,

Still it moves.

 

Down into the Intervale,

Towards the bridge.

At the deep brook it will drink, perhaps;

Then back on up the hill.

It labors, lumbers now.

 

This is something strong

Like thick ice on a dark lake

At dusk.

 

Deep ice, so cold and clear

It called the children out

And clunked beneath just once all day.

 

As light fades, the games should end,

But skaters holding sticks will stay

And try to slide just one more puck

Between the rocks that serve as goals…

 

Night settles fast.

 

Some things last forever;

Not ice.

But by spring-death, spring chance,

Through mist and fog and rain,

It finds its way

Into our bones, our veins.

 

Just as Ice transforms,

This dinosaur will melt and sink

Into the dark, the woods,

My dream…

 

And now I know, once and for all,

The sould of something solid

Something large

In a fog.