Today, I’ll break the rule of many years, and go ‘personal,’ in this week’s column. Oman lost a valuable asset last week with the passing of Steven Orr, a much loved, admired and respected, American born teacher in Nizwa since 2011.
Against the background of the tragedy and grief felt by the small Nizwa expatriate community, there was, on reflection, wonder at the manner in which he had for so long displayed the energy and enthusiasm he did, whether at home, socially, or at work. An English language teacher, Orr passed away ironically, on the eve of National Teacher’s Day, having significantly and positively influenced hundreds of young Omanis lives since 2011. One who, given the health issues that dogged his last weeks he wasn’t so much a candle in the wind, as a candle in a raging gale, and oh my, how he fought to continue to burn bright.
I first met Orr the day he arrived on campus, having been requested to give him an induction by the Director, I stepped into the hallway and sure enough, here was this well-presented young man striding towards me in a semi-casual shirt, buttoned high, long sleeves buttoned down, in chinos, with a smile on his face a mile wide. As he drew closer, and did what all good Kiwis do, and decided to have some fun.
“You must be Steven, the new teacher from Canada?” I queried, knowing full well Americans don’t like being identified as Canadian, and as quick as a flash, he replied, “And you must be the Australian, Ray.” We both knew I had just been ‘hoist by my own petard,’ as Shakespeare wrote, beaten at my own game, as the worst compliment one can ever pay a New Zealander is to refer to them as Australian. We laughed, vigorously shook hands, and became firm friends from that day forward.
He worked hard at his teaching, not because he wasn’t a good teacher, but because he wanted to be as good as he possibly could, and not for any egotistical reasons, but because his students were so reliant upon him. And work hard he did! Early to work, prepping lessons, making sure his planning and organisation was smart, and he would set off for his classes with a spring in his step, a smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.
We talked a lot about the experience of teaching here, the attitudes of the students, and the way the students looked up to him, seeing him as ‘the font of all knowledge.’ We talked about the level of expectation within the student groups, and how managing their expectations that he would, “wave a magic wand and turn them all into fluent native English speakers,” placed significant pressure on all of our shoulders.
“You walk into the classroom on day one,” he once told me, “and here are these thirty sets of eyes looking at you, expecting miracles, and you feel ‘dammit,’ you’ve just got to do it!”
And he took that expectation very seriously, though he appeared relaxed and at ease, he was certainly driven
by an impassioned need to do ‘the right thing.’
He was a ‘miracle man’ who himself needed a miracle. One that in the end, proved elusive. For behind the smiles lurked a health issue that had troubled Orr in the past, one that would eventually, tragically, claim this eager young man.
He is survived by his wife Juliet, and daughter Shaheen, his mother and sisters in the USA, and he will be missed by his colleagues and students. We have, should, and will, continue to mourn his loss, but more as he would have wished, to celebrate his life.
The candle may be extinguished, but you can never put out the light that was the honest, irrepressible, enthusiastic, and energetic Steven Douglas Orr, an American in Oman, a friend for life.
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