Remembering Jerry

Jerry Rönnlund was part of the beating heart of SIS. His unexpected passing at the end of January came as a shock to the whole community. The release of the news opened a rich vein of affection from past students, and colleagues, past and present, bore witness to a happy, helpful, and creative spirit. Jerry joined SIS in 1993 and, over more than three decades, became a familiar and reassuring presence across our school. Generations of students, families, and staff will remember him for his kindness, his sense of humour, and the steady, friendly way he was simply always there. His loss will be felt deeply across our community. 

Here, we share some of the comments from alumni who learned of his passing through social media, and reminiscences from colleagues who worked with Jerry. They give us some insight into a multi-faceted man who spread good humour and happiness throughout SIS, often captured n the pictures in the photo gallery.

COMMENTS ON SOCIAL MEDIA

SIS won’t be the same without your warmth, your smile, your laughter, and the wonderful stories you shared.
You will be forever in our hearts. 

I will miss his warmth, smile and conversations every day at school. What a sweet man who really shaped our first impression of SIS.
Thank you Jerry for everything, you will be very missed! 

He was the sweetest and most helpful man I ever worked with at SIS. Such sad news, he will be so so missed.

He was such a light at that school. Always smiling, talking about his own kids. What a loss.

Back in 1995 when I was a student at the ISS Jerry would greet us every morning with a smile, and whenever we’d need anything
he’d always do what he could to help - always with a smile. 30 years later as my daughter attends SIS he would still always say hello with a smile, and he still remembered us students from 30 years before. 

FROM HIS COLLEAGUES

"It is hard to find the right words to describe the void left in our hallways. Jerry wasn't just a part of our school; he was the heart of it. Since 1993, he has been a constant source of kindness, talent, and—most importantly—mischief.
Two photos perfectly captured the man we knew and loved. One shows his legendary Halloween spirit (only he could pull off a penguin suit with such grace!), and the other captures that wicked sense of humour we all relied on to get through the day. He had a way of turning a routine interaction into a story, and a simple drawing into a gift. We are all better for having known him, and we will miss his laughter every single day.
To Jerry’s family, thank you for sharing his light with us since 1993. He was so much more than a colleague; he was our resident artist, our storyteller, and the man who could make anyone smile. Whether he was dressed as a penguin or making us laugh with his Facebook posts, his 'wicked' sense of humor made our school a brighter place. He is deeply loved and will be even more deeply missed.

Many Hugs,

Sandra Häger

A Moment with Jerry
I began working at SIS in the autumn of 2007. I had met Rion Farmer while watching Wales play rugby against Australia, and he set me up with an interview with Terry Williams for work as a substitute.

Ironically, the students I teach I&S to now were born in 2007—back when we were all a little less grey and had much suppler skin. My first position as a sub was in facilities, and that is where I met Jerry and Donal. The dynamic was pure gold: Donal was the Irish working machine, while Jerry was the Northern Swedish Lothario. One was a blur of productivity; the other was a master of the languid, self-styled pace.

When Christmas 2007 came to an end, we took down the trees and lights on Johannesgatan. Donal decided it was finally time to tidy the entire workshop, a notion that Jerry found hilarious. Jerry’s organisational skills revolved around a system of "organised chaos" kept entirely in his head. He knew exactly where everything was, but for anyone else, finding a specific tool was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Eventually, Donal had seen enough. We set to work reorganizing the chaos while Jerry just laughed, continuing his tasks at his own speed as Donal had me sorting screws and nails.

By the time the snow cleared in April, the workshop had miraculously reverted to its former cluttered self. We tried one more time in the summer before finally conceding: Jerry had his system, and there was no moulding the man.

What I learned from Jerry was the art of not letting others ruffle you. When a teacher would approach in a panic over a fallen whiteboard, Jerry would remain perfectly calm. He’d laugh, say he’d get it done, and then we would finish what we were doing and get to the job in our own time. I realised then that I was prone to absorbing other people's stress, feeling an urgent need to fix their problems. Jerry wasn’t affected; the stress belonged to them, not him. While I would "own" their anxiety, Jerry left it with them and remained happy and jolly. It is a wonderful trait—that calmness under pressure—and one that is so hard for others to obtain. If we all could, our lives would be much sweeter.

In the summer of 2008, when the rest of the staff had gone on holiday, we stayed behind to work. My favourite part of the day was lunchtime. Jerry would open a hatch in the roof, and we would sit up there with our coffee (and a cigarette) while Jerry read a book. He would help me with my SFI homework, laughing at my attempts at Swedish. I worked three summers with Jerry, and those times on the roof will always be cherished. He eventually introduced me to the Swedish classics like Doktor Glas and Kejsarn av Portugallien.

I will miss his emails, his demeanour, and most of all, his laugh.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Michael Parry

The Light in the two Schoolhouses
When I was a new hire at the school, an email arrived from the caretaker regarding a delivery for me from the Swedish Government. Before I—surprised and confused—had time to reply to the message about this shipment, a flushed, red-haired man stepped into my office on Luntmakargatan carrying a large box. This was Jerry. The package was almost as big as the "shoebox" of an office that I shared with three colleagues. Inside, carefully packed, were fifty copies of Hédi Fried’s Questions I Am Asked About the Holocaust, which the government was distributing to all upper secondary students in Sweden that year, 2017. Here, this slim but vital book proved invaluable for our ninth graders.

For over thirty years, Hédi Fried had traveled around Swedish schools to speak about the Holocaust. In this book, she collected a selection of the questions she had received from students over the years. For example: What did it mean to have your sister with you in Auschwitz? Were you hungry all the time? When did you realize a genocide was taking place? Why didn’t you resist? The purpose of the book was to ensure that something like the Holocaust could never happen again. Hédi Fried (1924–2022) was a trained child psychologist and the author of many books. This little volume became a classic—the most important book of the year. Since then, the book has lived in my heart, and I share it like a light with my students.

Jerry and I often bumped into each other in the cramped elevator of the primary building on Johannesgatan, where I was helping lower-grade students with reading comprehension. He would stand there, huffing and squeezed in with heavy packages in his arms; I would be there with unplanned lesson plans swirling in my head as I muttered the title of author Pär Lagerkvist’s short story, The Lift That Went Down into Hell. Jerry laughed behind the cardboard boxes: "But we’re coming back up again!"

"By the way," he said as we stepped out of the elevator, "would you like to read some short stories I’ve written?"

Jerry quite literally ran around our schoolhouses carrying the light. When we finally moved into our office spaces up in the attic of Norra Latin, desk lamps were missing. In a tentative email, I asked Jerry if lamps might eventually arrive, thinking to myself that it would take a hundred years. The very next day, Jerry had installed a neat lamp at my desk.

In the winter darkness where Jerry disappeared, that lamp shines as a reminder of what matters most: laughing together, sharing writing, and taking care of the words, the gestures, and the light.

Nina Rebecka Kaltiala

Jerry loved talking about his daughters, who are/were gymnasts. He always talked about how he enjoyed supporting the twins on their gymnastic journey and how proud he was of them. 
Floor ten Haaf Moore

Jerry is one of the most talented people I have ever met. I was fortunate to work with him for almost 20 years. He was a dedicated writer and reader. Whether he wrote short stories for "The Man in the Yellow Raincoat", about everyday activities with his girls or injustices in the Swedish society. The written word was his weapon and way of communication. One time, when Science Fiction became very popular in Swedish youth literature, I was teaching the book "Cirkeln". I felt a little insecure as the genre is not one of my personal favorites, but I knew that Jerry was the expert to go to for advice. He was a frequent visitor in the SCI -FI bookshop in Gamla stan. I asked Jerry for advice and invited him to come and join my Swedish literature class in grade 10. He attended one lesson per week and held book circles with me and my students and  taught us so much about the book and the SCI-Fi genre. This shows his character so well, sharing, knowledgeable and a lover of literature. 

Anna Söderström  

It is hard to put in words what Jerry was for me he was so much:

This was Jerry for me

A happy soul with a wicked sense of humor
I can still hear his bubbly laughter in the hallways
He was a kind soul with a golden heart
He was a very warm hearted father and he took very good care of his family
He always made sure that we knew the old stories from SIS without him telling us we did not know SIS history.
He was a caring colleague
He was always helpful
Without Jerry SIS will never be the same.....

Ylva Alhberg