It’s been 30 years since I last saw or spoke with Douglas B. Tate, my brilliant chemistry teacher, recently sentenced to prison for sexual misconduct. I write not to defend the indefensible but, rather, the man I once knew — and on contention that “silence” of society may belie complacent sanctimony.
In 1984, I drew the caricature of Doug in mock wizard’s cap with alchemical symbols that emblazoned Highland High A.P. Chemistry club sweatshirts. Classmates and I wore them to exams for “luck” to Professor Ronald O. Ragsdale’s University of Utah lectures to demonstrate school spirt, and out of love for our teacher. Eager to prove the caliber of our program, we did so, earning — through Doug’s ingenious efforts — more “fives” on the exam than any other school in the state. It wasn’t only to demonstrate mastery of subject but out of respect, admiration and gratitude towards our patient instructor and mentor of two years.
More needs be said. Guilt is invariably “joint and several.” By this, I in no way refer to the young victim in this tragedy but to society at large. Impartiality aside, “Lady Justice” is blind — meaning she can never “see” everything nor “weigh” all relevant factors in her earthly scales: those distal precursors, stressors and repercussions that impinge upon human psyche — impacting psychological states, judgment and behavior. If justice were comprehensive the field of view would be wider, matters would be far less simple and blame for wrongs apportioned differently. It might well indeed encompass the architects and vested, corporate interests of the Vietnam war who remained remote and far removed from the lives they damaged or destroyed.
In 1976, fortunately for those who became his students, Doug turned to teaching. Unfortunately, there were no programs to counsel Vietnam veterans about the unspeakable things some had witnessed. Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) wasn’t recognized as a mental health condition until 1980, and Congress didn’t prompt the VA to research its prevalence and other postwar psychological problems among vets until 1983.
By then, Doug had dealt with issues alone and found refuge and fulfillment in teaching young people, who responded enthusiastically and affirmed him. Perhaps, it was easier to relate to them rather than peers of his age. He won a much-deserved reputation among school administrators, parents and students alike as an exceptional educator who worked scrupulously and assiduously with encouragement and humor to instill passion for learning and build students’ confidence in their abilities — thereby, preparing them for success in college and beyond.
I won’t forget one particular day when Doug appeared distraught and “not himself.” After class, some of us asked if he was OK. He reluctantly explained that he’d woken up that morning screaming in his closet — 15 years to the day since returning from Vietnam. Thereafter, he occasionally confided experiences from the military hospital in Da Nang where he served — what no civilian could truly comprehend: hiding under a pile of dead bodies when the perimeter was overrun by Vietcong; the death in his arms of a female nurse — her back broken accidentally by another diving for cover during a mortar attack; and, visions unfathomable: body parts of a Vietnamese prostitute strung up around the base with fishing line — murdered and dismembered (publicly) in retaliation for American servicemen killed over failing to pay their “tab.” Doug was a sensitive person. He couldn’t always escape nightmares of horrendous wounds, piles of amputated limbs and spraying anticoagulants onto pools of congealed blood under operating tables.
In those days, he had a painting, done by a friend, depicting a cross section of earth with a man — either sleeping or dead — buried underground in a tomb or vault. Growing out of the body were vines that had managed to sprout on the surface and produce a tree. I thought the picture might be a metaphor for Doug’s own life. If he were — in ways — already “dead and buried” on the inside, he’d also found a way to give back through his unique gifts as a teacher.
The Vietnam war isn’t directly to blame for the deplorable fate of the kind and conscientious person we knew. Doug would probably be first to abjure any claim it was. Yet, “society” ought not so lightly dismiss the life and service — both at home and abroad — of one of its sons. If I’ve betrayed ancient confidences, it is with hope that all concerned may see through the eyes of compassion. I pray those hurt will find healing, including Doug, who I’m sure feels tremendous remorse.
I’ll choose to remember Doug Tate as one of the most remarkable teachers I ever had and one of Utah’s finest. Without excusing actions, I can attest he was a genuinely good person, who managed to transform his personal torment and PTSD into the worthy education of thousands of Utah students. More than that, he was a true friend. If my words are anathema for any who never knew him, I still say: Thanks, Doug. You deserved better.
Richard Lux, PhD., graduated from Highland High School in 1987. He is an Arabic linguist and independent author and developer, with many years experience living and working in the Middle East. He is the former director of translation at the Centre for Arab Unity Studies (Beirut) and a former professor of Arabic and Islamic Studies at Queens College, City University of New York, and at Eckerd College, St. Petersburg, Fla. He lives in San Marcos, Calif., working on several books and bi-lingual animated stories for children and young readers.
Richard Lux