One day in class, he told his ninth-graders about something special. On April 8, 2024, a total solar eclipse would pass right over their part of the country.
“I said, ‘Hey, why don’t you circle this April 8, 2024 eclipse, and you know what? We’re going to get together on that,’” he remembered.
2024 felt like a lifetime away. The kids were 14 or 15 years old.
“My kids looked at me like I was crazy,” he said.
But Mr. Moriarty meant it. For the next 16 years, he told every one of his earth science classes the same thing: circle the date. We’ll watch it together.
The years went by. His students grew up, moved away, got married and had kids of their own. Some of them got gray hair, just like their old teacher.
As the big day finally got close, Mr. Moriarty put a reminder online, so his “kids” would not forget.
They didn’t forget.
On April 8, 2024, his former students started arriving at his home, one by one. Some still lived nearby. Others came from Boston, Minneapolis, Virginia and Detroit. Many brought their old yearbooks. Some wore matching T-shirts that said “Moriarty’s Eclipse Gathering, April 8, 2024.”
More than 100 people came.
One woman put off her knee surgery so she could be there. Her surgeon told her the knee was more important than an eclipse party. “But he doesn’t know Mr. Moriarty,” she said.
Kevin Thompson, who sat in his class in 1982, laughed that it was “the longest homework assignment in the history of any teacher.”
Nick Stathis drove five hours to be there. Mr. Moriarty’s class was the reason he became an earth science teacher himself.
“He wasn’t just a great teacher,” another former student, Chuck O’Brien, said. “He was an inspirational teacher.”
When it was time, clouds rolled in over Rochester and covered most of the view. Nobody seemed to mind. As the sky went dark in the middle of the day, the whole yard went quiet.
“It just seemed very magical,” Mr. Moriarty said.
He said something had always surprised him about teaching. “When I had these kids, they were ninth-graders, and ninth-graders wear a teenage mask, and they don’t let you know that you’re getting through,” he said. “Now they’re adults, and the mask is off.”
Then he told them what the day really meant to him.
“It’s not about the eclipse,” he said. “It’s about you guys being here to share this time with my family and me and each other.”
“I wish every educator had this.”
Do you still remember the name of your favorite teacher? Tell us in the comments.
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