Something happened when I was in elementary school. A Disney

The director and artist Robert Stromberg, recalling the path of his own beginnings, once said: “Something happened when I was in elementary school. A Disney artist named Bruce McIntyre retired, and he had done drawings for Pinocchio and Snow White that was just classic stuff. He moved to the town I grew up in, Carlsbad, and he became a part-time art teacher at our elementary school.” In this memory lies not only nostalgia but also the eternal truth that the lives of children are often transformed by unexpected mentors, whose presence breathes destiny into the ordinary.

For Stromberg, the arrival of Bruce McIntyre was nothing less than a visitation. Here was a man who had worked on Pinocchio and Snow White, timeless films that carried the dreams of generations. And yet, in retirement, this master did not vanish into obscurity. Instead, he came to a small town, entering the humble setting of an elementary school. There, he passed on not fame, not riches, but the quiet fire of artistic inspiration. This is the origin of Stromberg’s journey: the greatness of one artist sparking the imagination of another.

There is a kind of poetry in mentorship, for it binds together different seasons of life. McIntyre, seasoned with the wisdom of years, had nothing left to prove to the world. But in teaching children, he planted seeds that would grow far beyond his own lifetime. Stromberg would rise to create visions for films like Avatar and Maleficent, carrying forward the artistry that once flowed through the pencil of a Disney animator. Thus the chain of creativity continued: Snow White’s forest, Pinocchio’s village, and Stromberg’s own enchanted landscapes were bound together by a single thread of influence.

History shows us many such moments. Consider Plato and Aristotle: the teacher’s wisdom became the soil from which the student’s philosophy grew, shaping Western thought for millennia. Or remember Michelangelo, who as a boy studied under Ghirlandaio, learning techniques that would later blossom into the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. In each case, a great teacher appeared not by chance but as if sent by fate, leaving an imprint on a young soul whose gifts would shape the world.

The meaning of Stromberg’s story is clear: greatness is not only inherited through bloodlines or discovered through solitary effort. It is often given through encounters, moments when an elder’s passion meets the open heart of the young. In those encounters, destinies are shaped. McIntyre may have thought he was simply teaching art, but in truth he was awakening vision, courage, and the belief that imagination has power.

The lesson for us is both humbling and urgent. We must recognize the power of influence—how even the smallest act of teaching, sharing, or encouraging can alter the course of another’s life. Teachers, parents, mentors, and even strangers carry within them the possibility of igniting genius. Therefore, let no one underestimate the importance of showing up with kindness, with passion, with willingness to share.

Practically, this means we should honor those who taught us by becoming teachers ourselves, whether in classrooms, workplaces, or simple daily encounters. Share your craft, your stories, your mistakes, and your victories. You never know who listens, who will take the ember of your words and carry it forward as flame.

Thus Stromberg’s words live as more than memory—they are a parable. A Disney artist came to a small town, and in his humble act of teaching, he set in motion another artist’s journey to greatness. So it is with all of us: the legacies we build are not only in what we create, but in what we awaken in others. And this, perhaps, is the truest form of immortality.