Mr. Tofthagen

Christ the King School is a small Catholic elementary school in South Bend, Indiana- a faded industrial town nestled in the southern bend of the St. Joseph River. The town, settled by Polish and Irish Catholics, has never lost it's devotion, and many of its citizens still frequent Sunday mass, although only a select few can afford to send their children to a private religious school. Christ the King is a large domed building located off Route 933- its incongruous surroundings include an empty lot where a shopping center once stood and a cavernous Walgreen’s store, whose sign casts a red glow onto the street twenty four hours a day. Not much has changed in South Bend since the factories shut down, and that Friday began the same as any other day for Christ the King students. Children climbed from their parent's cars, and lined up outside the glass doors at the front of the building, waiting for the bell to ring. But there was a crackle in the air, a tension that only grew as the day went on. The teachers seemed distracted and flustered. Mr. Tofthagen was conspicuously still absent.

A tall, lanky man whose shoulder length hair suggested a disciple more than a hippie, Tofthagen was perhaps the most beloved teacher Christ the King had seen in many years. He has an infectious geniality, a way of putting anyone at ease. Tofthagen was something the students had never dreamed existed- a 'cool' teacher. He taught history and science, but he also taught Karate in the gym after school. If you were having a problem, you could come talk to Mr. Tofthagen after class. The year before, he'd won the Golden Apple teaching award, nominated by students and parents. But Mr. Tofthagen had been gone since June. A few days before summer break began, Tofthagen walked into his class and announced, "I can't tell you why I'm leaving, but I love you all," and his desk was cleaned out by the end of the day.

His mysterious departure was a blow to the students, and they weren't adjusting well. The principal called a staff meeting on how to deal with this delicate situation. No one wanted to be the one to announce it. The night before, the police discovered Mr. Tofthagen's body in a ravine off of Mayflower Road and 23, dangling from a tree. He had been dead for two days. Tofthagen had cut his wrists, and when that failed he hung himself with a garden hose. No one had to wonder why he killed himself- those who hadn't heard read it in the paper that morning. One of the girls making allegations against him described Tofthagen as "an affectionate, friendly teacher who encouraged girls who felt lonely to withdraw from their parents, then molested them." He often invited female students to his home for dinner, took them to the beach, even on a trip to Florida where he allegedly had sex with two of his eighth grade students in a tent. "I'm not saying he's innocent, but who can say he's guilty?...Suicide does not make him guilty. He was no ordinary teacher. He was THE teacher," Maureen Mattheos told the local paper. She felt that Tofthagen had helped her shy son come out of his shell. "I don't know why this could happen to such a good man," added Angie Battista, another parent of one of Tofthagen's former students.

Several parents publicly accused the girls of being liars, but the investigation went on all the same. A few months passed. And just like that, it was as if Mr. Tofthagen did not exist. He was never mentioned again in public by teachers or the principal. There were no follow-up stories printed in the newspaper. An obituary ran in the South Bend Tribune titled “Tofthagen is remembered as ‘a magician at teaching’”. Even years later, the mention of his name to the head of the records department at Christ the King School brings a cold chill that one can feel through a telephone. “A Mr. Tofthagen worked here, yes. His first name was James. He won a teaching award in 1992. That’s all the information I have.”