The following is a memoir and tribute to my high school mentor, Wayne MacDonald.
“Can I trust you with my life?” I asked her.
The girl looked back at me with gentle eyes and smiled. Her hand holding the end of my rope line, she replied.
“Yes, you can trust me with your life.”
I didn’t know her. This was only the second day of school. But here I was, on the precipice of a sharp cliff. I wondered how the hell I ended up here.
The cliff was 70-80 feet high, but I remember feeling like it seemed bigger. The scent of wet morning grass mingled with the old leather of my gloves.
I couldn’t bring myself to look down. I just focused on the rope in front of me, the instructions they gave me. The rope, my own life, ran through my hands. I trusted the girl with it now too. Commit.
““Don’t die…bring the rope down to your thigh to brake…. lift the rope to release…don’t fuckin die.” I repeated to myself.
But soon I started feeling more confident. I eventually released my brake to take large jumps from the rock. Just like the guys in the movies. A few agile bounces, and boom, I completed the descent. Exhilarated.
“..savage” I whispered to myself.
Chapter 2: New Bootie
“Muahrcus, we’re transfarring you to a special pwrogram. I think you’ll like it theah”.
My Art Director, Mr Rosenblatt, looked at me concerned. In his thick New York accent, he recommended I attend an alternative school program - Urban Pioneers (UP).
You see, high school was a tough time for me. There were too many pretty girls, distractions, and psychoactive drugs for me to give a shit about getting good grades. I felt rebellious and convinced myself that "learning in school" was dumb and I wanted no part of it. (I was a dumbass, I know)
“Oh shit, you’re going to Urban?” a kid chuckled. “Watch out, that’s like, for ghetto kids who are about to drop out”
…Well, fuck him cuz he was wrong. But I understand how that could be misconstrued.
The program operated independently out of a group of bungalows in the parking lot of a separate high school. From the outside, a passerby might only notice the large graffiti-style letters spelling out Urban Pioneers spray painted on the side of the wall. Oh, and Juvenile Hall stood ominously across the street -- a not-so-subtle reminder of detours on the path of education. Good stuff!
“Man, fuck school” I told myself.
Walking into the bungalow, there was a blend of aromas; moldy classroom, bubblegum, and a hint of someone’s weed.
I quickly scanned the room and immediately recognized some of the kids there. And I wasn’t exactly happy about it. I knew them from different neighborhoods – kids from the housing projects in Hunters Point and specifically, kids from the “HITSquad'' on Highland Street. If I'm honest, I was kinda scared of them. At the time, I thought one of their older friends had tried to rob me when I was little. Doesn't matter now anyway. Either way, I thought they were all assholes.
The classroom was laid out with a few couches and chairs arranged casually. A graffiti-style banner stretched across one wall - a visual reminder of the program's ethos:
'Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for life.'
My teacher, Jay Lee, confident and nonchalant, leaned back on the edge of a table, twirling his long dreads with his fingers and spoke in a husky voice.
“So…yeah…tomorrow, don't come to campus. Meet us in the canyon for the wall repel.”
When I arrived I noticed some kids had already set up. And guess who was there. Yep. One of those dipshits from HITSquad. Turns out one of them had already gone through the program and earned the privilege to return for a second semester. As a “Returnee”, he was charged with mentoring the newcomers – the “new booties”.
“Christ. HE’s gonna train us?!” I whispered to myself.
But something was different about him. He wasn’t being an asshole. He was legit. This dude had straight up morphed.
I thought I knew this kid to be a jerk, but there he was, a hyper-vigilant leader, diligently guiding the new students through the complexities of tying a figure-eight knot. And let me tell you, if you were screwing around, you heard it from him. He really wanted us to listen and learn.
“Dang, he really knows his stuff” I said to the kid next to me.
“Yeah. He’s a sav.” a girl responded.
I stood there, fascinated, in awe, like I just discovered fire.
“Huh… a sav.” I thought.
Now, for those of you who don’t know, a “sav”, short for “savage”, is loosely defined as a mythical idealization of an intelligent, driven, mature, brave, athletic, challenge-ready survivalist with endless skills, and all-around capabilities (I could go on and on). And here is this bratty-ass kid, exemplifying exactly those traits. This was a big deal.
…Now, granted, this dude might have still come off as a dipshit teenager in the streets, but UP provided a context that brought out the absolute best in these kids, revealing a side of them that most people, including myself, hadn't even known existed. These weren't just bratty street kids; they could exercise the highest levels of maturity and brought a unique blend of passion, energy, and loyalty. Someone just needed to bring it out.
I liked the kid now. I respected him; He WAS a sav. And we’re still friends to this day.
Chapter 3: Learning to Learn
Those highest levels of maturity were tapped into through a simple philosophy. This program was built on the idea that everything of value, we learn not by reciting, but by doing. UP focused on applied learning; a hands-on approach to solving real-world problems – “teach a man to fish” by actually going fishing.
Wanna earn your Geometry credits? Forget textbooks; at UP I earned my credits using mathematics to build a 14-foot wooden sailboat, affectionately named The Naked Lady. ;)
Think you don’t like Science and Chemistry? How about shadowing soil scientists to manage elemental micronutrients and biomes on an organic ecological farm. (…while later secretly applying these techniques to grow weeeeed. Applied learning, bruh.)
But that’s not all. Within a single semester, the program was packed with adventure and catalysts for self-discovery and personal growth at every turn. We spent the first few days cliff rappelling, on ropes courses, and rock climbing that challenged us to take on responsibility, conquer our fears, and build trust between one another.
We spent every Thursday with the wind in our hair on the deck of a 44-foot boat, navigating the sparkling waters of the Bay. We embarked on two-week wilderness backpacking trips that included a 3-day Solo expedition.
For me, being thrusted into the Sierra wilderness was life changing. I fell in love with it. It was the closest thing I could call “church”. God was everywhere. And then, there was a jubilant euphoria of finally returning home. Grateful and reformed, I stared pensively out the window, packed in a van full of smelly, sunburned street kids as they sang along to our anthem “Wanna Be A Baller”, driving into the sunset, back to the Bay.
Hands down, it was the coolest education. Nah, it was fucking awesome.
And all of this was thanks to a vision that sprouted decades earlier in a small bungalow; back when it was just one class, one teacher, and one dream; back when it was… just Wayne.
Chapter 4: Wayne
Man, oh man, an absolute legend.
When I arrived, Wayne MacDonald, the ringmaster of this show, had been at it for decades. Since the ‘70s, he took on the Herculean task of spearheading this alternative program. The whole thing was his idea. This was his baby. He was the main teacher, but also had to balance administration duties and served as a defacto principal/PR rep. He was always super busy.
But if you ever had the chance to witness him at work with his students; some of the most unruly San Francisco had to offer, you’d be in for a treat. I heard tons about him, but I gotta admit, when I first met him, I wasn’t sure why everyone revered him. I didn’t get it, until I witnessed it firsthand.
Here we were, 30-60 teenagers. Peppered everywhere are kids with curly hair, baggy clothes, and NorthFace jackets. All of us stuffed into a small bungalow. A cacophony of side conversations so thick you could cut it with a knife. Suddenly, a lone man, crowned with a voluminous flux of white wavy hair, sporting a bushy mustache, rosy cheeks, and cargo pants, walks up to the front of the class.
I initially thought the kids were gonna tear him to shreds. I had seen it happen to other teachers before. But even as he walked toward the front, the side conversations fizzled. One of the ghetto kids whispered to the students around him.
“Shut the fuck up! Wayne’s talkin” he whispered.
And I saw it right away. The kids respected him; respect that had been earned.
Wayne instantly commanded the stage. He was fast-witted, I mean razor-sharp. He had an immaculate timing - a special knack for dropping humorous F-bombs that kept these kids at the edge of their seats. His banter was world class.
But it wasn’t just the humor - that was just to get your attention. Wayne had a cadence. He had a stoicism about him; a kind of deep, calm, resonant voice that elicited our hidden maturity; the sav within you. Even as dumbass teenagers, we knew when he was serious; when we needed to pay attention; when it mattered.
Of course, that stoic voice came out when he talked about our safety - protecting each other in the wilderness, double checking our safety knots, and so on... but more impactful was when Wayne would speak about our future, about our path of growth; about learning. (To provide some comparison, think of my reaction if you were gonna throw out a perfectly good, imported Grade A, Kansai region, Japanese Wagyu steak. I’d be fuckin upset. Now replace that steak with a teenager’s self perception of their own future and education. That’s how much Wayne cared about us. That’s love, bro)
It didn't matter how bratty the world had decided you were. Wayne knew. And you would hear it in his voice and see it in his face: we had more potential to offer and we deserved a chance to discover it. And this wasn’t “pity for the poor urban street kid”. This was conviction – a matter of fact.
Fuckin shit, it was a powerful energy to be around. What’s more, we started to believe it ourselves.
Because of Wayne, I gave a shit now. It wasn’t only that I learned HOW to learn, I fuckin learned that I even WANTED to learn. There’s a difference. And it was a potent and intoxicating feeling.
Chapter 5: The sad one.
Years after I graduated, just as the generations before them, a UP class embarked on a backpacking trip to Los Padres National Forest. During the tail end of their trip, the kids were in the midst of their “Solo Expedition”, where on the final night, the staff entrusted the students to work together and return to base camp safely on their own.
They were on simple terrain along a large dirt road. You can’t get lost. On their final night, the kids set up camp near a small trail bridge, about 2 miles down a road from base camp where the staff were waiting for them.
The events that followed remain somewhat unclear. I wasn't there. But from what I could gather, two random men unexpectedly appeared during the night. The men had been watching the kids from afar. The men offered the kids alcohol. At some point, an argument erupted between certain students and these men. Splitting up was forbidden, but nevertheless, in the chaos, two of the students decided to pack up their belongings and venture off back to base camp. I am unclear if the men pursued the boys, but there were a lot of allegations. With base camp just a couple of miles down the road, they walked on their own back to the staff... only they never make it back.
The next morning, the devastating truth unraveled. The bodies of the two boys were discovered at the bottom of a ravine, having tragically fallen to their deaths. And none of it made sense - they weren’t on a narrow trail, they were on a road. And the actual cliff was at least 20 feet away from the road’s edge. I honestly couldn’t fathom how they could have simply “fallen off”. One of their packs appeared to have been opened and rummaged through.
With alcohol in their blood and on an official school field trip, the blame ultimately fell upon the program itself. Urban Pioneers was seen at fault; its whole philosophy was picked apart by the Board of Education. They dug into the past and scrutinized every single mishap, every mistake ever made by the program administration. They characterized the incident as a systemic problem rather than the isolated incident that it was. And the suspicious men who provided the alcohol were cleared from the investigation.
Fuck. I can’t imagine the experience of the boy’s parents.
It was devastating for all of us. It broke us all and left a gaping wound that in some ways would never heal. In an instant, the tragedy seemed to overshadow the triumph and miracle that UP had been. Nobody seemed to remember the countless lives touched by the program. They only saw the tragedy.
Wayne fought the school board for months, defending the program he had spent his life building. He advocated valiantly for the hundreds of students that wanted to continue in UP. But the writing was on the wall. Within a few months the program was shut down and the remaining students were shuffled back into the drudgery of the public school system.
Chapter 6: Today
The events that closed down UP were tragic. But it’s important to remember that it cannot overshadow the undeniably positive legacy of the program.
Years later, as I write this, my blisters are still healing. Can you guess from where?
Yes sir.
Backpacking the Sierras. After all these years, we still go out. As much as we can.
We still navigate off trails, using only maps and compasses. We take ultra-long day hikes to hit the highest peaks and drink from fresh mountain springs.
And guess where we learned it all?
I understand that not everyone experienced UP in the same way, but writing this tribute crystallized an understanding: for so many, UP became more than just “high school”, it offered a lifestyle that many of us adopted, albeit in different ways, into our adult lives.
Some students used their Career Phase and continued in that field as adults. Some loved the outdoors so much they went on to work for the Park Service to fight fires or build mountain trails. Others went on to become great avid rock climbers, bumming it out in the back of their vans near Yosemite Valley so they could climb all day rent-free. Some even earned their credentials and went on to become educators alongside their former teachers. I, for one, still go out rock climbing, backpacking and sailing. Even Sam Rockwell, the famous actor from the movie The Green Mile, attests to his growth as a youth in Wayne’s program – just one more example of the countless generations whose lives were shaped by UP.
It’s also important to point out that the concept of experiential learning survived strong as well. Programs like Get Out And Learn (GOAL) continue the practice of boatbuilding, ropes courses, and backpacking. And even though it’s a new generation, the tradition keeps the spirit alive.
But of course, it can’t compare to our years.
And looking back, I suppose even then, there was this sense that we were all part of something remarkable; where one man’s vision could connect with the unteachable and turn a bratty HITSquad kid into a leader and mentor his peers to save their own lives; where a city kid gets the chance to witness the grace of God in a Sierra Mountain sunset; where the smell of moldy classroom, bubble gum, and a hint of weed are the aromas of an alternative education, and where “learning” finally became exciting because there was purpose to it … and because it’s sav.
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