Trust and tireless commitment — the story of how one man made a big difference
As a journalist, you get an immediate sense of a story’s impact when you return from the field and tell your colleagues about it. It’s not a good sign if their eyes glaze over. If, on the other hand, their eyes well up with tears, you know you’re onto something.
That’s what happened when I recounted the story of Andre Spies from Newcastle, a neatly laid-out town in KwaZulu-Natal, roughly equidistant from Johannesburg and Durban.
Newcastle, the third-largest city in the province, was named after the British Colonial Secretary, the fifth Duke of Newcastle, in the late 1800s — before coal was discovered there in the early 1900s. Power struggles have long defined the town, then and now.
Set in the foothills of the northern Drakensberg near the Ncandu River, Newcastle is known for its apartheid-era black-designated townships of Madadeni and Osizweni. Originally called Post Halt Number 2 on military maps, it served as a stop for postal coaches travelling between Durban and Johannesburg in the 1840s. It was later renamed Waterfall River Township, then Newcastle.
During the Anglo-Boer War in 1899, Afrikaner commandos invaded and renamed it Viljoensdorp after General Ben Viljoen. The British later reclaimed the town and restored its name. In 1920, the Union Steel Corporation built the province’s first steel plant, later ISCOR, turning Newcastle into an industrial powerhouse.
Today, after years of political dysfunction, Newcastle is economically precarious. When I visited in 2019, the municipality was teetering on the brink of collapse, and political murders had stained the town’s recent history.
I was on assignment for New Frame, writing about murder and mayhem, when I met Andre Spies.
He made a profound impression on me, as he has on countless others.
My interview with him was the last of several that day, and I briefly considered cancelling. I was exhausted, my head swimming with grim stories. The idea of changing into shorts and takkies and going for a long walk to decompress was tempting. But I had pestered Andre for the interview, so I waited at the school reception where he was headmaster.
Eventually, I was ushered into his office.
Let me rewind to give you a sense of my mindset. I was in Newcastle to report on political violence, misappropriation of municipal funds, rising debt and near service-delivery collapse. I later wrote how the town’s litter-free streets and smooth tar masked its deadly politics. There were vicious ANC factional battles over municipal spoils. One mayor, a media darling, reportedly bought a $1,000 pair of shoes before relocating to Dubai. Another, a young medical doctor, was investigated for murder and later moved into higher office.
None of this had anything to do with Spies.
I wanted to meet ordinary residents to understand how the town might recover from the brink of bankruptcy. Residents had recently blockaded roads with burning tyres, demanding answers about service failures and rising utility bills.
It turned out Andre Spies was anything but ordinary.
At first, he was wary, like many people dealing with journalists, especially outsiders. A long-time resident and headmaster of one of Newcastle’s nine primary schools, he spoke carefully but with quiet optimism.
“I’m happy here. I am optimistic,” said the Comrades Marathon veteran.
Much had changed since Andre arrived in Newcastle in 1981. Where there were once three supermarkets, there were now three malls. Industry had fuelled growth, and although businesses were struggling and property prices had dipped, there was still a critical mass of significant firms and government departments.
But there were worrying signs. Ten families from his church had left town in the previous two years — people his age, in their 60s, who saw no hopeful future. Four of the town’s five municipal swimming pools had closed. “These are facilities for the people of the town to use together,” he said.
As I mentioned, this was my last interview after a long day of grim stories. But something about Andre made me want to linger.
Here was a principal at a state school still working into the early evening with a handful of committed staff. He said he was simply trying to do his job with pride and conviction. In reality, he did far more.
On weekends, rather than hire a driver, he drove the school bus to sports events. During holidays, he drove the tractor to mow the sports fields.
He woke up every day at 4:30am to run at least 10km to train for Comrades — 30km on Saturdays. By the time I interviewed him, he had completed 300 marathons.
He was always the first to arrive at school and the last to leave.
“Hard work is the only answer,” he said. “We were not meant to be lazy. We weren’t placed on this Earth to rest. I need to be an example to children and staff of what they are capable of. When times are tough, you must vasbyt (hang on). You will get through.”
Listening to Andre was deeply inspiring. I couldn’t help contrasting his selflessness with the greed and incompetence that had come to define so many public officials.
He spoke without bitterness. He wasn’t critical or resentful. He carried himself with discipline, but beneath his Spartan lifestyle was great kindness.
“I come to school with one mission every day. I ask myself: who can I help?”
After our interview, I met a man in Newcastle who had been taught by Andre. He and his peers regard him as a legend.
Later, when I told a colleague about Andre Spies, he wiped tears from his eyes. Another friend, an Afrikaans speaker, listened quietly and then exclaimed: “Wow! Die man met die snor en die stewige handdruk.” The man with the moustache and the firm handshake. “You need to write a story about him.”
In 2022, Andre Spies retired at 65, but he continues to teach part-time.
I asked him what he believes is fundamental to teaching.
“You must have respect for others, or they won’t respect you. When disciplining a pupil or a teacher, deal with behaviour and never undermine someone’s character. Be positive in your criticism.
“Pupils don’t remember what you teach them; they remember how you made them feel. I tried to make a positive impact on at least one child every day. Some children have no role models at home, so they look up to their teachers. If you disappoint them, you lose them.
“Your behaviour, your conduct and your demeanour are everything. Walk the talk and keep your word, or they won’t trust you.”
