Standing Beside Them: Knighting, Mentorship, and the Formation of Young Men at Stuart Hall

9/17/2026

Mr. Byron R. Arthur

I taught at Stuart Hall School for Boys in New Orleans from August 1999 until May 2004. More than two decades have passed since my last day there, yet my memories of Stuart Hall remain remarkably vivid. I remember the classrooms, the young men, my colleagues, and especially a tradition that captured something essential about what the school was attempting to accomplish: Knighting.

Before reflecting on that tradition, however, I must begin with gratitude.

I will always be thankful to Kevin Avin for extending to me the opportunity to work in such a unique and very special place. Stuart Hall became much more than another stop in my professional career. It became one of those places that helped shape my understanding of what education can be when a school concerns itself not simply with what a student knows, but with who a young person is becoming.

I am equally grateful for the example of Margaret d'Hemecourt. She came to Stuart Hall each day and modeled what it looks like when an educator takes seriously the Gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Hers was not a faith confined to words or reserved for particular occasions. It was expressed in the daily work of educating children - in expectations, relationships, patience, service, compassion, accountability, and love.

In many ways, Knighting embodied those same principles.

During my years at Stuart Hall, each young man approaching Knighthood had the opportunity to choose an individual to stand with him as his sponsor. I was always humbled by the significant number of young men who chose me.

Being selected was never something I took for granted. There was something deeply personal about a young man deciding, among the adults in his school community, "This is the person I want to stand beside me." But standing beside him at the ceremony was only part of the responsibility.

The sponsor helped the young man develop his motto and shield. That process created opportunities for conversations that rarely occurred during the ordinary course of a school day. We talked about values. We talked about character. We talked about identity and aspirations.

Each experience was distinct.

As a teacher, I might have thought that I knew a particular student quite well. I knew how he performed academically. I knew how he interacted with his classmates. I knew his strengths and, frequently, the areas in which he needed to grow. But the Knighting process allowed me to see something more. Through conversations about a shield or a motto, I often gained insight into a young man's hopes, insecurities, ambitions, loyalties, values, and emerging understanding of himself.

Perhaps that was one of the great gifts hidden within the tradition.

The Importance of “Not Yet”

Knighting at Stuart Hall was not automatic. That fact gave the honor much of its meaning.

There were young men who wanted desperately to be knighted but who had not yet met the expectations the school had established for them. They sometimes had to hear a word that is difficult for any young person to hear: no.

Part of my responsibility as a sponsor was helping some of those young men understand that "no" did not necessarily mean "never." Sometimes it meant not yet.

There is an enormous difference.

"Not yet" does not pretend that a young man has met a standard when he has not. It does not diminish expectations merely to spare him disappointment. But neither does it allow a temporary failure to become a permanent definition of who that young man is.

"Not yet" says: There is more expected of you. But it also says: We believe there is more within you.

That is a difficult balance in education. Young people need adults who love them enough to encourage them, but they also need adults who respect them enough to maintain meaningful standards. Genuine formation requires both.

I remember the disappointment. I remember helping a young man navigate the emotions that came with being told that he was not ready. And I remember the extraordinary satisfaction of eventually standing beside a young man who had persevered, grown, and finally met the goals that Stuart Hall had established for him.

When I stood beside such a young man, I knew something about the journey that others watching the ceremony might not have known. I knew that the shield represented more than an assignment. The motto represented more than words. And his presence at that ceremony represented considerably more than participation in a school tradition.

He had been disappointed. He had been challenged. He had been given another opportunity. And he had risen to meet it.

In those moments, Knighting became a lesson in perseverance, accountability, grace, redemption, and growth.

Standing Beside Them

I am blessed that my relationships with some of those young men did not end when my time at Stuart Hall ended in May 2004. More than twenty years later, some of those relationships remain. I treasure that.

Time has also allowed me to understand something about Knighting that I may not have completely understood while I was participating in it. The ceremony was never really the whole point.

A young man chose someone he trusted to stand beside him. Together, they considered what his shield should represent and what words were worthy of becoming his motto. Adults established expectations for him. Sometimes he met those expectations immediately. Sometimes he did not. And when he fell short, the community did not necessarily tell him that the journey was over. Instead, someone could stand beside him and help transform "no" into "not yet."

Eventually, if he did the necessary work, that same adult might have the privilege of standing beside him when "not yet" finally became "now." That is formation.

And perhaps that is why my memories of Stuart Hall remain so meaningful to me.

I remain grateful to Kevin Avin for opening the door that allowed me to become part of that community. I remain grateful to Margaret d'Hemecourt for demonstrating, day after day, an understanding of education rooted in the Gospel and lived through service to children. And I remain profoundly grateful to the young men who trusted me enough to ask me to stand beside them.

They probably did not know what they were giving me when they asked.

What I could not have fully understood then was that, decades later, I would still remember those conversations, those disappointments, those victories, and those young men.

The shields eventually went home. The ceremonies ended. The boys grew into men. But some of the relationships endured.

And perhaps that is the greatest lesson Knighting taught me: the most important thing an educator can sometimes do for a young man is simply to believe in what he can become - and then be willing to stand beside him while he becomes it.

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