Positive Disruptor: Father Gale

Positive disruptors are people who by their very nature not only influence their environment, but do so in a progressive manner. They are the calm head in the storm, or the leader by example, or sometimes just the person willing to do the hard thing. There are plenty of people who set about the course of their day on their terms; a positive disruptor does this in a manner which challenges the status quo to innovate rather than stagnate or decline.

In 1995 my 6th grade social studies teacher at the private Catholic school in town fell ill early in the first semester of the school year; enter Mr. H, now Father Gale in 2025. Gale Hammerschmidt came into my life as a substitute teacher in the midst of a crisis, filling educational shoes no one could think to fill, while inspiring positive disruption in my hometown, around the world, and in the lives of the countless members of the community of Manhattan, Kansas for the last two decades.

The teacher he replaced, the person who fell ill and has since gone on to survive and live happily, never returned to their position at Luckey Junior High, where I would be spending the rest of my middle school life, and so Mr. H became a very imminent male role model. In addition to his social studies teaching duties, H filled in all over the Catholic school; coaching essentially all sports, refereeing teenage religious debates in daily Catholic-based classes, substituting for other teachers, etc.

By 1996 I was turning 13 years old and, as a Catholic, preparing for Confirmation in the faith; a decision often made at an early age of the Catholic person when life begins to change for everyone, as occurs to us in the puberty of our teen years. After less than a year of his tutelage, I requested H perform as my confirmation sponsor. By 8th grade I had finagled my person into the position of President of the local parish’s Catholic Youth Organization. My religious story would halt there for some time, at least with regard to Catholicism. My faith in a higher power was replaced by every other option for belief which our world may provide.

In July 2015 I was to be Best Man in my brother’s wedding in Knoxville, Tennessee. At that time I was working for an archive outside LA. Two days before the wedding I was flown from LA to Nashville, picked up at the airport and driven across the mountains of Tennessee to Rocky Top; Knoxville. There is always a party happening at Rocky Top. My brother and new sister did it well, I must say, even if as Best Man I am required to say this, not just in writing.

By 2015, however, H had transitioned significantly from the middle school teacher who ended our last day of the school year with a viewing of the film “Footloose” (1984) to a full-fledged Catholic Priest; he would be presiding over the ceremony. I could not recall when last I had spoken to my former teacher and Confirmation sponsor, but it had been a long time since I had lapsed as far as a Catholic may so do. Best Man or not, I was not a practicing Catholic in 2015. H is gonna H, however, and the day before the wedding Father Gale, my little brother, and I were part of a 4-man shotgun-start golf scramble.

Golf being what it is as a sport, my lack of experience in the game since last I spoke with H (now Father Gale) was rivaled only by my lack of practice in Catholicism. H did not waste a breath on religion with me. We were playing golf afterall, H was not in his collar, and pride was on the line. He brought the long game of a young Tiger, or at least played as if he did, the two others kept our 4-man team together, and I shot well in my own short game over the first 9 holes. At the turn, however, my father asked for help picking up supplies for the next day’s reception.

TJ, a punk who has been hanging around for years, offered to help with the pick up but I stepped up as Best Man, handed TJ my clubs, and told him “Bring your short game.” TJ listened to orders, our team won the scramble, and the pick up with dad was a success. The rumors abound the Rocky Top bar districts that evening of the Catholic Priest from Kansas who had come to town to officiate a wedding and set some kind of distance record at a local course.

The wedding went off without a hitch the next day, Father Gale being as gracious as ever a man can be, and my brother and his new wife afforded every opportunity to celebrate with family and friends later that evening. I myself enjoyed everything Knoxville could afford any Best Man attending his brother’s wedding stag. My confidence abated early in the night, however, after the standard celebratory dances of your standard wedding reception.

A mason jar of moonshine was procured for this very occasion and as I took sip I was caught by surprise and coughed up; not due to the white lightning but by the scene across the way on the dance floor. Moonshine notwithstanding, H was also not standing still. Father Gale was clearing the floor, arms parting the partiers, as to summon the celebrants to attention. Then, with only sleekest ease, H dropped to the ground and began The Worm.

There I was, my life being relatively calm and stable to most any other time, surrounded by family and friends from across the world, Best Man to my little brother, and my former 6th grade substitute teacher-turned-Priest was performing The Worm before an audience breath-taken as much, or more so, than myself. While it is no Moon Walk, Cupid Shuffle, or even The Macarena, The Worm whether performed well or not demands total commitment. 

As a person who has been committed more than once, I have never seen fuller commitment to the task at hand than Father Gale Hammerschmidt at task, even if only to show everyone else on the dance floor how it is to be done.

In 2025, in my MHK neighborhood near the campus of my alma mater, I can now walk up to the parrish where my confirmation sponsor is a rather active campus-community Priest. Even if I were not now actively practicing Catholicism again as a faith, a decision I choose for the sake of needing a faith I can trust above the beliefs I myself can create or find, I would still take a heavy dose of comfort knowing H is still out here showing us all how full and joyous life can be lived.