A Jamaican Experience: The Graduation Incident
By: Baron Stewart
My relationship with RCDS was symbiotic—it nurtured my life and prepared me for a successful future, and in turn, I played a positive role in shaping the lives of many students. At the time, I did not own a car. I would take the bus to work, but I was stranded at Cipe’s house on weekends. Recognizing this, the school lent me the VW bus we used during the week.
Though my weekends were lonely, my weekdays were overwhelmingly busy. I played tennis at local clubs with my parents and was frequently invited to dinners, parties, and various social events. The upper-middle-class community welcomed me into its opulent lifestyle. However, the most influential impact of my time at RCDS came from George Radin, an IBM Research Fellow and father of one of my exceptional math students, Dan Radin. George played a key role in helping me secure my next job.
However, the impact of RCDS did not stop there. One of my brightest students, Keith Raniere, left a particularly lasting impression. Keith was an exceptionally gifted mathematician who felt misplaced at RCDS. He had already studied advanced mathematics independently and didn’t want to repeat what he had mastered in class. When I arrived, he approached me, eager for a challenge. I handed him my graduate-level Real Analysis book to study, and this single gesture sparked a lifelong friendship. At RCDS, Keith became my teaching assistant in my lower-grade classes, where he demonstrated remarkable critical thinking and problem-solving skills. He left RCDS in his junior year to attend Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute near Albany, New York.
In addition to Keith, I had other protégés—Mark Adoldof, Koji Felton, and John Lock—among my top mathematics students. Mark went on to Stanford, Koji to Harvard, and John to Princeton, three of the most prestigious universities in the world. When these young men were graduating, they honored me with an invitation to be the commencement speaker at their graduation. I was thrilled by the opportunity, knowing them well, and eager to celebrate their achievements.
However, the event took an unexpected turn. It was a warm spring day in early June, and I arrived dressed in my only suit—a gray three-piece flannel—wanting to look my best. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I had a couple of glasses of champagne while celebrating with my parents. As I started my speech, I felt fine, but halfway through, dizziness overtook me. I collapsed on stage. Though I remained conscious and could hear the crowd gasp, my only thought was that I was ruining the graduation of the students who had believed in me so much. I tried to stand but fell again, caught by a chair that someone had quickly placed behind me. Determined to finish, I delivered the rest of my speech from the chair. When I concluded, I was met with a standing ovation. Koji, Mark, and John were so proud of me.
This incident would later reveal itself as the first sign of my lifelong battle with diabetes, which I will discuss in more detail later. However, rather than tarnishing the event, it only added to the growing folklore of "Baron Stewart" at RCDS.
The upper-middle-class community of RCDS was a beautiful new pond in which this Jamaican fish could swim. It was a world unlike my own, yet I quickly adapted and thrived in it.
Among my students, Keith Raniere stood out as one of the brightest. His desire to learn was off the charts—he wanted people to recognize his talent. Yet, in many ways, he was a misfit. He had already mastered much of what the school had to offer, but I believe he stayed at RCDS because of the community it provided. He was an excellent table tennis player and a skilled skier. His independent learning approach reminded me of what I had seen in graduate school, and I embraced him immediately.
Mark, Koji, and John were more than just my students—they were my companions in learning and competition. They played on my soccer team; we went skiing together, ran races around Rockland Lake, and engaged in endless chess and table tennis matches. We pushed each other, not just in academics but in every challenge we took on.
My teaching philosophy centered on independent learning, much like my own experience in graduate school. I taught my students to read their math books critically and explore concepts independently. My only rule was that they had to master at least one concept daily. If they didn’t understand something, they would bring it to class, and we would discuss it together.
The common trait in all my top students was curiosity. They didn’t just want to learn—they were driven to uncover more than required. Instead of learning just one concept daily, they would master ten or more. I still remember Mark finishing both Algebra 1 and Algebra 2 in a single year. One of my proudest moments came at a parent-teacher conference when I told Mark’s mother that her son had completed two years of coursework—with distinction—in just one year.
Looking back, the graduation incident should have been a wake-up call for my health, but at the time, I didn’t fully understand the seriousness of what had happened. My mother was diabetic, but I paid little attention to the condition then. It wasn’t until much later, when diabetes took a severe toll on my life, that I genuinely grasped its impact.
When I left RCDS, I transitioned to IBM, thanks to a strong recommendation from George Radin. I am still in touch with Mark, Koji, and Keith, and my belief in independent learning remains as strong as ever. Even today, when I tutor students, I encourage them to cultivate curiosity and take charge of their knowledge.
If I could go back and do one thing differently at RCDS, it would be to take my health more seriously. At the time, I brushed off the incident, but it was only a matter of time before it returned with life-threatening force.