Ever wonder about the life of college counselor Mark Clevenger?

Davis Rich | Co-News Editor

Mark Clevenger has a large office. His seven years of hard work in the college counseling department should merit – among other things – a healthy-sized workspace.

On the surface, the room could seem mundane, even boring, when compared with colleague Brad Ward’s office across the hall. Ward’s office is an abstract painting- pennants, maps and mantras clinging to the surface of the small space.

Upon first glance, Clevenger’s workspace is a minimalistic painting- undecorated walls, a nondescript table, a mahogany desk sparsely populated by papers. It is a house before the personalized distinctions are implemented.

However, look left, and one learns more about Clevenger’s workspace and Clevenger himself.

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Looking out upon Clevenger’s expansive office are nine bobble-head dolls. Each has a head more than half the size of its body; a spring in the thin neck allows the head to move about fickly like a weak tree on a windy day. The dolls’ bodies are contorted into several positions: stretching for a catch, bat cocking back in anticipation, body winding up to deliver a fastball. They wear different jerseys and played at different times. However, all nine jerseys are emblazoned with the same six letters – G-I-A-N-T-S, in black with orange trim. 

Clevenger has lived in the Bay Area almost as long as the Giants have. He attended bat giveaway day at Candlestick Park, trading bats with friends giddily the way children trade Halloween candy. Clevenger recalled watching Hall-of-Famers Willie Mays and Willie McCovey play Santa Clara University in a scrimmage – evidence of a more intimate time in baseball.

When his own children started playing baseball, Clevenger’s passion for the game was rekindled. Several of his bobble heads indicate a recent interest: Cody Ross after his home run in the 2010 NLCS, Freddy Sanchez snaring a line drive in the World Series, Pablo Sandoval crushing a home run.

Obsolete stadiums provide fond memories of past decades for Clevenger. He vividly remembers the “freezing cold” of Candlestick Park and splinters in his backside at the old Stanford Stadium. The now-remolded playing fields are just a couple indicators of Bay Area’s transformation in Clevenger’s life.

“Since 1964, I’ve seen a lot of changes in the area. I grew up in Santa Clara. The house where we lived, there used to be orchards around that area and we had a cherry tree in the backyard. Now it’s all Silicon Valley,” Clevenger said. Once surrounded by foliage, Clevenger can now only find pockets of green paradise in his hometown. Apple’s headquarters dominate the backdrop of Clevenger’s alma mater, Cupertino High School.

“Then, it was all trees,” Clevenger noted.

It’s no surprise that Clevenger’s favorite place to vacation is the Royal Hawaiian in Honolulu. Full of calming palm trees, soft sand, and an endless ocean, it is the antithesis of the hustle and bustle of the sprawling technological metropolis back home.

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A shelf presides over a corner of the room. It’s not fancy. It looks like an elongated file cabinet turned on its side. Rows of books line the shelf, shoulder to shoulder like a crowded subway car. Stranded on a deserted island for a week with this shelf, one might get through a single row. On top of the shelf, among other framed pictures, is a diploma from Santa Clara University.

Clevenger fulfilled his college education without leaving the friendly confines of Santa Clara County. After earning a master’s degree in education from Stanford, he started a job in the admissions office at Santa Clara University. During his thirteen years at Santa Clara, Clevenger frequently encountered Menlo students. When a job opened at Menlo, Clevenger jumped at the opportunity. What sold him were the students.

“Sometimes you’ll go to a high school and the kids […] won’t talk, but, here, they seemed to be really […] interested in what I had to say.”

In addition to directing the Menlo college counseling, Clevenger teaches a senior English elective. Coincidentally (or maybe not), the title of the class he teaches- baseball literature- discloses Clevenger’s passions aptly.

“I’m a big, big reader. I read a lot and when I’m not reading for […] my own pleasure, it gives me a really bad feeling. It feels like I’m letting a certain part of my life languish that shouldn’t be languishing.”

The highlight of the past evening was getting some time to explore a lengthy historical volume. Clevenger prefers fiction, but will delve into non-fiction as well, a sign of a truly passionate reader. He enjoys writing as well. Before kids and work occupied the majority of his day, Clevenger spent time writing short stories.  

“I had a few published and that was cool,” he mentions in a tone saturated with humility, his body language unreactive to this nonchalant fact.

His work was published in Stanford’s Sequoia magazine and the San Jose Daily Journal, among several other local publications. The inspiration for his stories often stemmed from experiences he had as a child. Oftentimes, mothers would dominate the plot of the stories. These works of fiction helped Clevenger unpack his childhood.
“[Writing the stories] was subconsciously to understand better what happened when I was growing up. Whenever you write fiction, there’s some kernel of truth in it.”

* * *
The interview over, I look around Clevenger’s office again. Upon first impression, Clevenger’s room could be underwhelming, but just like a modern painting, what first meets the eye isn’t necessarily the most significant. Clevenger’s room is the painting where one stares for a while. It could take some time, but ultimately, one walks away with a deeper understanding of each paint stroke and its significance to the painting and the painter himself.

This piece was written as part of an assignment for Maura Sincoff’s AP English Language Class.