Just so you know from the start, this is another column about someone dying. But it’s OK because I’ve never mentioned him before, and it’s unlikely that you ever knew he existed.

I knew he existed because he was a teacher and vice principal at dear ol’ St. Augustine High School in San Diego. His name was John Glynn, preceded by “Father,” as he was a Catholic priest from the Order of St. Augustine. I especially knew that he existed because for some unexplainable reason, he and I crossed paths way too often, mostly because as vice principal he was in charge of discipline.

Humm, let’s review. Smart-mouth student with odd sense of humor placed in fairly strict Catholic boys school. Add to the mix that the student often spaced-out (day-dreamt) resulting in his missing (not hearing) directions, instructions, admonitions and other assorted words of wisdom and instruction. Enter Father Glynn, who, I must admit, I called “Father Glenn” all through high school. It was not insolence on my part; I just couldn’t hear the difference between Glynn and Glenn.

The reverend in his black attire and looped belt was not real tall physically. I recall him as approximately 5-6 or 5-7. But because of his fiery blue eyes, Irish temper and Big Dog attitude, he seemed much taller. Plus he had the power to dock your quarterly 100 points, as did all teachers at “Saints.” If you dropped below 85 points during a quarter, writing “codes” was required. A code consisted of perhaps the preamble to the Constitution; one hand-written copy for each point below 85. Talk about writer’s cramp.

We could be docked with “greenies,” as the small forms were called, for infractions including being late for class, open carrying of cigarettes, being out of order in class -- you get the idea. If you amassed a max of five points in one class, you were sent out of the class to the VP’s office, and had to attend “Jug,” which meant staying after school and doing homework.

I had Father Glynn for only one class, and it had to be geometry. I am geometrically challenged. He did his best to teach the subject, but I recall that the best compliment he could give me was that I drew nice circles. I escaped the class with a “D,” which was typical of all my math grades. Well, I did gain a few “C’s” here and there. “A’s” in English, of course.

Anyway, I liked Father Glynn because although he seemed mean, he really wasn’t: He was simply trying to save us from ourselves. He kept a watchful eye out so that if one were headed for trouble, he’d strive to counsel you.

Father Glynn died late last year, although my alumni newsletter only recently related the passing. He served at “Saints” 19 years (1940-‘59) after taking his first vows in 1932 and being ordained in 1939. He was a tough cookie, as the saying goes.

It was a pleasure to be acquainted, “greenies” notwithstanding.