“THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING IRIS”

Iris Lestani, Lincoln’s high school secretary from 1964 to 2007, passed away in September, 2023. Former director of Programas Nacionales, Raymond McKay, shares his memories of one of our most beloved professionals.

By Raymond McKay

What made Iris Lestani so important to so many Lincoln people for so many years? What explains the importance of being Iris? This is an attempt to explain my own immense admiration and gratitude with that larger question in mind.

Nelson Mandela nicely defined what gives significance to a life. “What counts in life,” he said, “is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others…” Iris always knew what difference within her reach was needed and proceeded to make it. She had a hard head and a soft heart like nobody else. And her reach was always surprisingly long. 

Iris was deeply intelligent and highly perceptive. Self-effacing but far from timid. She was egalitarian in her treatment of others. As she herself put it, she made no distinction between capitán and marinero. Thanks to my journalistic background, I had the great good fortune to start my career at Lincoln working with Iris. We got to know each other by putting out a periodical news bulletin – The Lincoln Letter. My job changed many times, but Iris never stopped being my friend and mentor.

When I became Guidance Director, I soon realized Iris was the best counselor of us all. Not just for the students but also for me as well as for many of the staff, teachers, parents, and, on occasion, the Board President. Iris had an office next to mine, small but always with something going on. It was not unusual to see a student taking refuge on the floor next to her desk while Iris helped or advised someone by phone.

Iris was the chief go-to person for Lincoln people young and old and the chief come-back-to-person for alumni. In the launching of an alumni association, she was a driving force, the Buenos Aires base, and the indispensable godmother.

Making the kind of difference Iris made often means getting personal. I will end with two examples of Iris rescuing me by getting personal. The first is a minor but picturesque prank I call The Trojan Cake. The second, a major turning point in my life I call Lunch with a List.
 

THE TROJAN CAKE

In my second year at Lincoln, I was made sponsor of the Class of 1981. As graduation time was approaching, Iris offered to help me organize a senior trip. I said yes, and she essentially did the whole thing. Perfectly. Free flights to Ushuaia and free dormitories when we got there. Iris went on one flight and I another.

When the plane assignments were made, some of the more philosophically minded seniors arranged to go together on the same flight. I was on that flight, but before boarding I got a message last-minute from Iris not to eat the cake some of the non-philosophical seniors on the other flight had thoughtfully sent over. It was a delectable chocolate cake laced with a laxative. 

Before the message could be delivered, a number of hungry adolescents had already wolfed down slices of the Trojan cake. The Iris intelligence network had saved me, and I believe some others. I was not among the unfortunate passengers who had a long, uncomfortable flight from BA to Ushuaia.

Good times for all quickly returned when we arrived at our destination and immediately had an all-inclusive snowball fight. The yellow boots Iris had given me, especially for the senior trip made me an easy target. Iris thought of everything.

LUNCH WITH A LIST

After a couple of decades in Argentina, my wife Michele went back to the U.S. to finish her doctorate. She finished and let me know she had decided not to return. She could not stay away from her Texas home, and I could not get away from my Argentine projects. We parted but have remained good friends and see each other every year when my second wife Andrea and I stay at Michele´s home in Austin.

After I had lived alone, working 15 hours for almost a year, Iris collared me one day and invited me to meet off campus for a talk. Over lunch at a nearby resto, she began by telling me it was time for me to get a life, and she had the connections to make it happen. She alluded several times to a list of candidates and suggested I provide some specs to facilitate the selection. I began with “probably not an American” and concluded that an Argentine psychologist might be nice.  Like magic, Iris promptly introduced me to Andrea, and the rest was a long, happy ending. After everything was settled, Iris confessed there were really only two ladies on her list, and one lived in Pinamar. No matter. Meeting Andrea was the best move anyone ever motivated me to make. And Iris lo hizo.

Like many other Lincoln people for close to half a century, I was lucky to have Iris around at the right time to make a crucial difference in my life. Iris was Lincoln's coast guard. She defended us against all comers and rescued countless capitanes and marineros who might otherwise have run aground or been lost at sea. And while she was doing that, she also raised five children of her own. In reality, we were all her children. And how lucky we all were!