What do you expect of a teacher who growls at you in the hallways, sings in the computer lab and throws vocabulary assignments into the ceiling?

Freshmen tremble as they enter the journalism room with expectations high and unusual for the legendary “Mr. Stobbe.”

Publications adviser Greg Stobbe was born in Canada: that, first and foremost. He has a surgically-altered eye, a passion for the Muppets, and an intense hatred of the ordinary. I met Stobbe years ago in church; he always manages to pop up somewhere. He told me: “You’ve got to be in journalism.”

I didn’t listen. I joined choir. But he was there in English I Honors, and I was learning more than I could imagine. After a while I asked him; “Is it too late?” He looked sideways at me and said with all the warmth and welcoming arms that are characteristic of him, “You better hurry up, girlfriend! We’re going to New York!”

The first month is always the hardest: he makes sure of it. He trashed my first article. I couldn’t see the white paper for all the corrections scrawled in that dreaded black pen. “Go, interview that senior,” he commanded. “Go, call that college professor.” I whined and complained, but he refused to relent. “Girl, do you want to be the best in the country?”

Then on April 19, 2008, we were a National Scholastic Press Association Pacemaker winner. When all of Anaheim rang with the the name of our newspaper, along with Stobbe, eight editors and 10 other writers, I screamed and jumped a foot in the air. At the beginning of the year, half of the staff couldn’t write a simple news piece. As much as he refuses credit, he made The Feather Online.

Fifteen minutes after we won, that plaque still clasped to his chest, I asked him, “Stobbe, has the euphoria worn off yet?” He said, “Oh yes! I’ve got to worry about what we have to do next year!”

Despite living for two years in a world of quirks and eccentricities, of girls made to cry and of the song “Celebrate” constantly looping, I have learned more than I could ever imagine. I have written 26 articles this year, without him I probably would have ended up with 10. My writing is marked by him perpetually standing over my shoulder, proclaiming the evils of helping verbs.

He loves to give immense amounts of credit to the editors, to whom it is definitely due. However, I know that without Stobbe, there would be no Feather, no national championship, and one of Fresno Christian’s finest learning experiences would be lost.

So, out of a constant state of fear that I haven’t said it enough: Thank you, Stobbe. You are one of the most wonderful people I know.