GRANTHAM, NH — Mark Lewis, born on August 19, 1937 passed away on Thursday, July 9, at DHMC from pancreatic cancer. His illness was swift. He didn’t want to linger, except to see Trump defeated, and-if only it was possible-to eat one more pastrami sandwich followed by a slice or two of Marilyn’s stellar pie. We can see him seated at the head (always!) of a long family table where everyone talks over each other until Mark starts to roll out a story. The raconteur wasn’t to be rushed. Details mattered, and his circuitous telling (“Dad, where is this going?”) reeled-in our attention and collected us into what he loved most: a clan that hummed with mutual affection. Maybe he riffed on endless memories from deep in his childhood streets of post-war Brooklyn; maybe he asked a grandchild about their school and then launched into a story about an obscure but fascinating leg of Magellan’s explorations; maybe he ticked through his revised list of French New Wave films he was preparing for his next Dartmouth Osher cinema class. Doesn’t matter. He brought us together.
Mark was the son of Eve and Lou Lewis, whose 3rd floor apartment on Brighton Beach Avenue, Brooklyn, buzzed with family and friends; immigrants, self-taught intellectuals, radicals, seamstresses, card-playing comics, all pleasantly occupied with food, arguments, politics, more food, and lots of children. Always a step behind his rebel-minded (and dear friend) older sister Lynn, he was a self-described underwhelming student at Lincoln High School, where he returned as a young teacher and over the next 30 years became a New York legend. He really was that teacher about whom 70’s TV shows were based. He insisted on teaching those students whom he characterized as ‘doomed to succeed,’ and those whom he said had convinced themselves, falsely, that they were doomed to failure. “There are few people whose words stay with you 40 years later. Fewer still whose words continue to inspire throughout those years. Mr. Lewis was one of those few.”
After college and a life-changing bike trip in Europe, Mark married high school girlfriend Irene Hack, and the family moved to “The Rock,” aka Staten Island. They had two children, Eric and Lisa, and thankfully managed to never deeply-root in the outer borough. On a block of spanking new, little box houses (but not on a hillside), the Lewis’s were the one with overgrown trees and a Saab out front.
During these decades, Mark commuted over the Verrazano Bridge, teaching Coney Island kids to question what they thought they knew, and challenge what they perceived as the boundaries of their world. He saw history in human terms, and that helped make him such an excellent teacher. Mark concocted a fake 19th century American war, based on a Marx Brothers movie, to drive home to his AP history class not to blindly take notes and regurgitate “knowledge.” He finagled free tickets to the Met and brought a class of students who had never crossed borough lines to an opera matinee. (“Mr. Lewis, that was beautiful.”) That was Mark, always finding an angle, an in, to build trust and ignite thinking. “Mr. Lewis literally changed my life. He made many attempts to convince my father to let me go away to college. He called and called to no avail and then finally rang our doorbell. He was so passionate that I go to college. He believed in me at a point in my life that was massively instrumental. I’ve learned I wasn’t the only person he did this for. I’ve loved him deeply over all these years and still do and will.”
By the 1980’s even the indomitable Mr. Lewis began to feel the shift in public education, away from pedagogic inspiration and autonomy, towards test-driven, bureaucrat-saturated expectations. Irene was battling cancer, and they left the city and moved to Vermont’s Upper Valley where they had summered for decades. (Mark had to finally settle up 20+ years of NYC parking tickets; he got a kick out of disobeying authority whenever possible.) Retired life never really fit his frame, and Mark itched to teach, to contribute, to make some waves. But these years were devoted to family and worrying about the political, moral, and social direction of the country. The historian could read the signs of the times, and his family had to convince him to stop consuming news that darkened and dominated his spirit.
Just shy of turning 60, and now a widower, Mark joined Single Volunteers of the Upper Valley, where he took on, and transformed, big community meals for the Listen Center. He met Marilyn Terry, the poised, smart, generous woman who was the nonprofit’s President, and fell in love. This unlikely pair were a glove-match, huge heart meeting huge heart. They married, created a beautiful home in Grantham, and for over 20 years shared a rich life.
Mark is survived by his wife Marilyn; son Eric Lewis and wife Marguerite and their children Theo and Clara of Montreal; daughter Lisa Espenshade and husband Peter and daughters Eva and Lillian of Shelburne, Vermont; sister Lynn Lewis of West Virginia; step-children Trina Lambert, Lynette McGee, Renae Terry and wife Nicole Loughnane, Brent Terry and wife Pam; step-grandchildren Brandon, Jordan and Morgan Terry, Holden and Jenna Lambert (and their father, Albert), Noah and Julia Terry-Loughnane. And scores of loved nieces, nephews, cousins (once, twice, and three times removed), and friends and former students around the world.
A celebration of Mark’s life will be held in July 2021. His family and colleagues are working to create a high school scholarship award. If you would like to be informed about honoring Mark in this way please email: espenshadelisa@gmail.com.