Former middle school students remember teacher
Tears of joy and sorrow were shared by hundreds who honored the memory of a beloved Santa Monica teacher on Saturday.
Family, friends, colleagues, neighbors and former students — almost half of whom were wearing Hawaiian shirts — filled Lincoln Middle School’s auditorium on Saturday afternoon to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Stephen Max Kramer.
Kramer, 63, died suddenly on Thursday, Nov. 10, due to complications from a heart irregularity, attendees said.
He taught history for 35 years at Lincoln and had been retired for two years at the time of his death.
At his wife Bonnie’s request, friends and colleagues were invited to wear Hawaiian shirts, a Kramer fashion favorite.
An upbeat buzz stirred in the auditorium building up to the service. Old acquaintances and colleagues — some of whom said they had reunited for the first time in decades — gathered around several collages situated on the stage, containing photos and newspaper clippings.
The photos, many of them black and white, followed Kramer through the years of his life. They included a toddler with a missing tooth, a youngster with brownish hair and freckles, and an adult resembling actor Richard Gere teaching his first classes at Lincoln, back in 1969.
The photos also included a mature man with silver hair escorting his daughter, Stephanie, at her wedding.
Newspaper clippings, concerning Kramer’s educational exploits, also appeared.
Kramer — known for his remarkable ability to captivate and inspire students — was described as humorous, kind-hearted and an extremely well-read educator who had a handyman’s skill.
Terry Frank, a student of Kramer’s 30 years ago, said her mother had read about his death in the newspapers and informed her about the service, prompting her to attend.
“She asked me if I knew him, and I said ‘of course,’” Frank said. “You always remember your great teachers. And Kramer was one of the great ones, that’s for sure.”
Born on April 20, 1943, in Berlin and sharing the same birthday as Hitler, German authorities attempted to name Kramer “Adolf,” as required by law, but his family refused.
Kramer’s father, a scientist, emigrated to the United States in 1948, settling with his family in Pacific Palisades in 1951.
Kramer and Bonnie have lived in Brentwood for the past 33 years. He retired from Lincoln in 2003 and has since been enjoying life with his wife and friends.
He is survived by Bonnie and their children, Chris toph er Kramer and Stephanie Bowen. He also enjoyed spending time with his grandchildren, Max and Amara, friends said.
Eight people spoke during the service, relaying tales about Kramer and the impact he had on their lives.
Neighbor Lance Kinsey talked about how the Kramers quickly befriended Kinsey and his family when they moved in across the street.
The Kinseys’ own children, when they weren’t at home, were often visiting the Kramers.
“The Kramers were our family, too,” Kinsey said.
Kinsey said his only contention with Kramer had to do with the teacher’s amazing ability to fix things. It made him a little jealous, he joked.
“He had a tool for everything,” Kinsey said.
Kinsey relayed how he often heard Kramer working on his home across the street during the weekends. Kinsey said his wife would often gaze through the living room window.
She watched Kramer and sighed.
“She said, ‘I wish you could be more like Steve,’” Kinsey said. “I said to her, ‘I can’t be like Steve. I don’t have any tools.’ Then we’d both hear Steve yell from across the street, ‘You can borrow mine.’
“That’s just the kind of guy Steve was, always thinking of others,” he added, followed by a round of laughter from attendees.
Colleague Gene Bream talked about Steve’s appetite for knowledge and adventure. Bream talked about the class trips he and Kramer led to Europe.
“Every year we’d go to Munich, and every year we’d go to this one antique shop where Steve knew the owners and spoke to them in German,” Bream said. “The antique owners would save things all year long that they thought Kramer would like. When Kramer and I arrived, they showed him what they saved. He always had this strange gleam in his eye going through the antiques. When he found what he liked, he would turn to me and say, ‘This is for Bonnie.’”
Former student Anthony Paul Diaz, now an attorney, said Kramer’s ability to teach history helped him become the person he has.
“Steve didn’t teach me how to write brilliant legal briefs,” Diaz said. “He taught me things only good teachers can, things I’d never forget, like the difference between right and wrong.”
Diaz described how Kramer was about to begin teaching him and his fellow classmates about the Holocaust. Kramer came into class one morning and insisted the fair-skinned students move to the front of the classroom and all of the darker skinned students move to the back.
“I usually sat in the front of the class, and like all of Steve’s students, I thought I was his favorite,” Diaz said, who is dark-skinned. “Then he told me to move to the back of the class, and he had this cold look in his eye.
“That turned out to be my first lesson in discrimination.”
“That turned out to be my first lesson in discrimination.”
Diaz explained that Kramer had treated his students in the same manner citizens, depending on race, had been treated in Nazi Germany. Later that week, Diaz said Kramer brought a guest to class. This special guest was a concentration camp survivor who showed Diaz and his classmates a tattooed number code that had been branded into his arm by the Nazis for identification.
“As long as I live, I will never forget that tattoo,” Diaz said.
Some of Kramer’s friends had not been prepared to speak but did so upon request. One of these men said, “Long before Seinfeld, Lincoln had its own Kramer.” He then described how Kramer, full of life and mirth, once held a party at his home, during which the cops arrived because of noise complaints.
“Kramer opened the door, and I remember he looked at this police officer and said, ‘James?’” the speaker said. “And I remember the officer said, ‘Mr. Kramer?’”
Kramer was allowed to continue his party, on the condition he turn the music down, the speaker said.
When the speakers were finished, a video played that showed footage of Kramer and included scenes from his daughter’s August wedding. After the video, attendees were invited to enjoy cake and coffee, and walk along a red ribbon through “Kramer’s Meadow,” a garden behind Lincoln named in his honor.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on November 21, 2005. Read the original PDF.