They gathered to say goodbye to Bob Scott this past weekend.

I said goodbye to Mr. Scott a few decades ago but it’s funny how some people’s influence never really leaves you. It’s sad that sometimes even though you thought you said goodbye, you realize too late you never said enough.

Mr. Scott was my junior high school band director but before that he was also my seventh-grade homeroom teacher. He was only in his mid-20s then and had only been teaching a few years but to a 12-year-old, the mid-20s was ancient and a few years was long enough for him to become a legendary institution to the seventh through ninth graders.

I was a shy kid, quiet, kept to myself. The switch from a rural grade school to a junior high school downtown in Charleston, W.Va., was a major shift. I felt a bit lost.

Mr. Scott offered me a means to make the transfer easier. He needed a tuba player for the band. Some friends had joined band classes in grade school and were members of the junior high band. I didn’t take band classes and had no plans to join band.

At least not until Mr. Scott asked a few students in his homeroom class if they wanted to learn to play instruments and join the band. So Mr. Scott taught me to play tuba, or the sousaphone to be more accurate.

By the end of the year, I was a member of the band, playing in concerts, marching in parades. Band opened up new worlds to me, new adventures, new achievements, new friends. Mr. Scott was my band director throughout junior high school; during summers, he was the manager for the pool where my family visited; in high school, Mr. Scott was my girlfriend’s next-door neighbor and he helped me plot marching formations when I tried out for drum major in high school band.

Mr. Scott was a big part of my young life and set me on a course to having a more fulfilling life.

Thousands of people could likely say the same thing. He eventually became band director for Capital High School in Charleston, leading the band to win an untold number of prestigious awards, while Mr. Scott was named to the state’s band hall of fame.

He influenced thousands of young people, opening new doors to them through music, hard work, participation, setting goals and striving to be the best.

He was a devoted family man with his wife, Debi, working with majorettes and their small children often attending band practice.

Mr. Scott retired a few years ago. For the past year, he battled cancer. Shortly after Thanksgiving, he passed away.

His passing has left a hole in many hearts while his influence and example have directed many lives.

Coupled with his passing is the realization that I let thanking him — really thanking him — go unsaid. 

Through the years, I made a point of finding and thanking some of my other teachers and professors. These were teachers who were closer in age to my parents or older. But as I grew older, the difference of about 12 years between myself and Mr. Scott didn’t seem that wide a gulf. He was younger than my other teachers.

No need to hunt him down. He still lived in my old hometown. My mom and sister regularly ran into the Scotts in town.

He is only in his 60s; I’m only in my 50s.

He was only in his 60s.

And if you’re in your 50s and haven’t told a teacher or mentor what a profound positive effect they had on your life … then what are you waiting for?

No one is getting any younger. And some things are inevitable.

So, thank you, Mr. Scott, though it is said too late. Thank you for your talents, your time, your influence, your impact on a shy kid who had no idea he was destined to be a tuba player. Who had no idea he needed a Mr. Scott to show him the way.

Dean Poling is an editor with The Valdosta Daily Times.