Alice Stapp, 1950-2015

Alice Stapp – A Life Shared

Alice graduated from Long Beach State “Magna Cum Laude” with several degrees. She became a high school counselor and then a teacher. She loved teaching ninth grade English. She loved literature, language, even grammar, but mostly she loved her kids. Evenings, she would carry a stack of student essays to Snowcreek Athletic Club and grade them while on the treadmill. She was determined to do the very best for her kids, challenging them to keep up with her, especially the football players. She wanted to learn Spanish so she could better help the Hispanic kids.

In 2000, she fell behind me in one of our runs up at Horseshoe Lake. I looked over my shoulder—she was twenty yards behind, her left foot dragged in the dirt. She tripped and went to her knees. I sprinted back to her. She looked up at me, wounded. My heart sank. I lifted her to her feet, held her. She was later diagnosed with a brain tumor.

That summer, Alice endured eight weeks of radiation therapy and then Gama Knife surgery. The radiation weakened her. After each session, we went for walks. If her shoelace came untied I re-tied it for her. She fought the fatigue that followed each radiation session and was determined to get back to her life—our life.

In 2001, two weeks before school would start we returned to Mammoth; two weeks to get her strength back. The first time she did a set of sit-ups at the club, she was so weak she couldn’t get to her feet unassisted.

The first week of school, she came home after school and took naps before we went to the club. When she was especially tired, we walked around Horseshoe Lake. She pushed herself harder at school—she cared more about her students: grading student essays, giving feedback about the grand lessons in literature, asking her students to step outside themselves. The students considered her strict, a disciplinarian, a harsh grader. Some students saw behind the facade. Life is precious, be all you can be.

We had eight more good years and then the strokes began. We were at the club, her hand curled into a fist. I told her we needed to get to the hospital – 911

Reno—Renown Hospital—a week on ICU—eight weeks of rehab—rented rooms for me—lonely nights. A stroke is insidious. It bleeds into the brain destroying myelan tissue, short circuiting memories and parts of who you are. Her left-side vision blurred, her balance was off; her cognitive skills were still there, trapped in a broken body.

The second stroke further eroded her balance and speech. She refused to give in. Strokes are without mercy. A dark curtain descended over Alice’s field of vision. Muscle cramps accompanied the paralysis on her left side. She doubled her determination, never losing hope or her dreams.

I had to force her into retirement. “If I could just teach one class,” she said. “I’d do it for free.” The strokes came annually, each with its indifference to her hopes and dreams. Her wheelchair became a part of who she was. I made her a promise. “I love you, whatever it takes. We will do this together.”

Lives are shared. Like stones tossed into ponds of still water, our passions and loves ripple out to touch unseen shores. Alice’s love for life and teaching anchored a few of her students who had been set adrift with shipwrecked hopes. She was the occasional tide that washed the beach clean of broken dreams. Determination with love has no final shore.

It was when Alice fought her fate or destiny that I learned to cherish her the most. Her holding my hand, not letting me go, gave me the courage to be her caregiver. When you cherish someone, you embrace your togetherness; you are content, just being. Cherishing deepens love. It builds new dreams and breathes hope into hopelessness. I hope the lives Alice touched find the strength and courage to never accept their brokenness, to never give up, to hold on to their love and dreams.

I shared forty-five years of my life with Alice. She was my wife, much smarter than I—still not sure why she married me. I tried to make myself a better person for her; maybe I was just trying to keep up. She made me work harder, try harder, be more. I loved her and in the end I cherished her. I will never let her go.

-Kirk Stapp

Alice Heida Stapp 

Alice Heida Stapp, 65, of Mammoth Lakes, passed away early Saturday morning, September 5.  She is survived by her husband of nearly 40 years and partner of 45 years, Kirk Stapp, and her siblings, Helen Heida Bunch,  John Heida, Howard Heida, Marti Lavender, Greta Heida, and Geraldine Kruid, in addition to many nephews and nieces.

Alice was born February 2, 1950 in the small village of Barneveld, in the center of The Netherlands. Her given name was Aaltje Geertje Heida. Her parents and 5 siblings at the time, immigrated to the United States in December, 1956, and she was raised in Southern California.

Alice went to Valley Christian High School and then went on to earn 2 Masters degrees at Long Beach State in English and Psychology. After her marriage to Kirk Stapp in 1976, she accepted a teaching job at Mammoth Lakes High School where she was a counselor first before transitioning into teaching ninth grade English. She was completely dedicated to her students and pushed them to be the best they could be.

In 2000, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor and was successfully treated.

In 2008, she suffered a major stroke and for the next seven years she held onto her dream of once again teaching. “If I could teach one more class; I do it for free.”

There will be a private family service on Sunday, September 13. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made in her name to the Mammoth Lakes High School English Department.