I’m not sure I would be where I am today if it weren’t for Mr. Lowe. That’s not hyperbole.

I struggled a lot in my first semester as a high school student; I grappled with sinking grades and dealt with some health issues. For my second semester, I signed up to take Introduction to Journalism as my elective, not really knowing what to expect.

As soon as I walked through his door, Mr. Lowe helped me discover my passion, and it’s one I now intend to find some sort of career in. 

I will never forget that Introduction to Journalism class. Through the current events quizzes that shot his students’ nerves to the moon and the randomest of guest speakers he had us take notes on, my love for journalism formed.

Mr. Lowe was a special kind of man. He was kind, sincere and unapologetically himself. He never backed down from fighting for what he thought was right. His boisterous laughter could make your day. He was more than just a teacher; he was a mentor.

I distinctly remember how he revised one of the first articles I ever wrote for the class. When I got the article back, it was riddled with red ink. Just about every word was either circled, crossed out or underlined. It was a disaster, but it made me get better.

The last time I saw Mr. Lowe was at the IHSA Journalism sectionals in 2019. He was a judge for some of the events, and I was competing alongside some of my fellow Evanstonian writers. The first time I saw him, he gave me a hug and asked how I had been. That was my last lengthy conversation with him, one in which we focused mainly on me.

So scratch what I wrote earlier. I am certain that I would not be where I am today without the help of Mr. Lowe. He introduced me to a passion that I am still with today, and for that I’ll be forever thankful. It was an honor to have him as a teacher and to work with him on The Evanstonian. May he Rest in Peace.