During Black History Month, we rightly celebrate national figures whose names fill our textbooks and timelines. Yet some of the most profound Black history lives in the quieter, everyday leaders who shape communities through presence, principle, and persistence. For me, Raymond A. Jordan (“the Barracuda”), a family man, former state legislator, and a lifelong resident of Springfield, Massachusetts, is one of those men—an extraordinary local leader whose impact on my life and leadership continues long after my time as Springfield’s superintendent (2008-2012).
Raymond Jordan was not a person of flash or fanfare. He was a man of substance. When I arrived in Springfield, new to the city and navigating the complexities of leading a diverse, historic, and often misunderstood district, Ray became more than an advisor; he became a friend, mentor, and confidant. Publicly, he spoke sparingly but powerfully. In private conversations, he listened deeply, asked incisive questions, and never allowed me to take the easy way out of difficult decisions.
What made Ray exceptional was his blend of moral clarity and compassionate pragmatism. He believed fiercely in Springfield’s Black community and all its children, but he also believed in systems that could work—if leaders were brave enough to confront inequities with honesty and humility. He pushed me to see beyond data and dashboards, reminding me that every policy decision carried real consequences for families who had long been marginalized. “Do right by the kids,” he would say, “and the rest will follow.”
Ray embodied a generation of Black leadership that built institutions when doors were closed, created opportunities when none existed, and mentored younger leaders without expectation of recognition. He understood history—not as a distant story, but as a lived reality that shaped Springfield’s present. Through his eyes, I better understood the city’s racial dynamics, its resilience, and its hope.
Perhaps most meaningful was his personal generosity. In moments of professional isolation, Ray was steady. When the pressures of the superintendency felt overwhelming, he offered perspective rather than criticism. He challenged me, yes—but always with care, always with the belief that I could do the hard work that needed to be done.
As we honor Black History Month, I think of leaders like Raymond A. Jordan—men whose contributions may not be widely documented but whose influence is immeasurable. His legacy lives on in the students and families he advocated for, the leaders he shaped, and the values he modeled: integrity, courage, and unwavering commitment to community.
I am grateful to have walked alongside him, even for a season. Springfield is better because of Raymond Jordan. I am better because of him. And his spirit of principled, compassionate leadership remains a guidepost for my work in public education today. May your soul rest in peace, my brother and thank you for the gift of your friendship, wisdom, and leadership example. “Choose your mentors carefully—they matter.”