An obituary ran last Saturday about former Federal Way Public Schools teacher John Metcalf, who passed away two weeks ago at age 87.

At Decatur High School in the 1980s, he was known as Federal Way’s strictest teacher. This was a determination sometimes, though not always uttered lovingly. Outside the classroom, John Metcalf was a prince of human kindness — and a pillar of civic activity for a community he loved.

Neither the obit nor this column can do justice to a man who lived his life so fully in service of others, both as a teacher and as a neighbor and citizen. But I will try.

John was the kind of teacher you either hated or loved. During his more than 20 years teaching, first at Thomas Jefferson High School, then Decatur High School (where I had him for French and history), he inspired, informed and infuriated thousands of students. He was, indeed, strict. And old school. Entering his classroom, I always felt that I had traveled through time to an earlier, more formal era of public instruction.

And yet, he was the kind of teacher who could make a subject come alive, often dramatically. I will never forget our lessons on ancient Persia when, demonstrating how the emperor’s subjects had to prostrate themselves for their ruler, he dropped to the ground and wriggled on his belly across the floor.

Another time, while discussing the death of a king, he dropped to the floor in mid-sentence as if struck dead. We thought he had a heart attack — and if we’d had cell phones back then, there would have been a few 911 calls.

He pulled stunts like this to grab his students’ attention, and we remembered the lessons vividly. But we could also see the twinkle in his eye that revealed his sense of humor and his joy in the joke.

Most of all, he wanted his charges to learn to think for themselves, and to learn to excel. When he taught at Thomas Jefferson in the 1970s, one of his classes complained that a test was too hard. He responded: “I will not lower my standards. You will have to raise yours.”

I dare say John’s attitude is exactly what education needs today.

But the story of John’s contribution to Federal Way, and to this world, goes far beyond teaching. At the core of his soul was a great compassion for his fellow human beings. The list of his acts of compassion and his civic activism is long, indeed. He was an active volunteer and/or board member in food banks, FUSION, Friends of the Hylebos, Operation Nightwatch and many others. He was involved in the efforts that brought St. Francis Hospital to Federal Way, as well as Federal Way’s incorporation efforts. A longtime, passionate Democratic activist, he ran for a seat in the State House of Representatives and narrowly lost.

If you’re getting the picture that John was fully engaged in building the community of Federal Way, you’re right. It’s hard to imagine Federal Way today without the efforts of John Metcalf.

St. Francis recognized his good works and awarded him the St. Francis Humanitarian of the Year Award in 1997. It was a fitting award, as humanitarian is as good a description of John Metcalf as any. He cared deeply about his neighbors and fellow humans and never shied away from helping those in need.

I know this from personal experience. Before he was my teacher, John was a family friend. After my father passed away when I was a young boy, John appeared more in my life, offering friendship and providing me a positive male role model. He took me to countless Sonics games during the mid-1970s, though he had no interest in the NBA.

He was there as well in a more difficult time: During the summer after my high school graduation, when my mother was terminally ill. John helped with her care, so that I could take breaks from the hardest task of my young life. He knew that an 18-year-old boy’s psyche could only stand so much. In some ways, I think he possibly saved my life, or at least my sanity. His life was sprinkled throughout with such acts of generosity, grace and compassion.

He said that he wanted his last words to be “Never mind, I’m biodegradable.” The Vonnegut-style sense of humor was certainly intentional. But aside from the joke, I think it also had a deeper meaning, a challenge for us to live as he did; to care about the lives of our neighbors and our fellow humans, and to put those principles into action with deeds.

Thanks, John, for everything you taught me.