He would sit on the desk, feet dangling, coffee in hand, and say, "Where did I stop yesterday?" And then he’d just… go.

If you were lucky enough to be in Bob Dodge's history class, you probably remember such moments. A story would unfold—sometimes outrageous, always fascinating—and without realizing it, you'd find yourself transported to ancient Greece, feudal Japan, or behind the scenes of some obscure treaty negotiation that suddenly felt relevant and real.

While Bob was on stage in his high school classroom, his wife, Jane Dodge, was growing a community of learners in third grade. Jane was the kind of teacher who didn’t just teach lessons—she cultivated curiosity. Her first year at SAS? A combined classroom with no walls. “It was chaos at times—one class would be chanting in French next to you, while another was in the middle of a large group project, and the curriculum jumped all over. But we made it work—we always made it work,” Jane says.

For 31 years, the Dodges did more than make it work. They helped weave the fabric of SAS.

Their decision to teach overseas in the first place was driven more by heart than financial benefit. "My take-home pay was £400, and our rent was £200. We spent all our savings, but we had a great time," Jane laughs, remembering their early days in London. That spirit of adventure and a willingness to embrace the unknown helped take them to SAS.

They arrived in 1983 after four years in London (and, in one unforgettable story, being told by their for-profit school’s headmaster to fake a pregnancy to avoid British back taxes). Bob joined the high school and Jane taught in the primary school at Ulu Pandan, back when Holland Village was still the heart of the expat scene. They became part of a tight-knit group of colleagues who would become lifelong friends, raised their daughter Anne in the SAS community, and shaped generations of learners along the way.

“We came with this great group of people in the ‘80s,” Jane recalls. “And we just… stayed. We had our kids here. Some of our friends’ kids came back to teach here. Our daughter Anne came back to teach here. It became our life.”

When Bob started teaching at SAS, he didn't get the courses he wanted right away. One year he was teaching Japanese history, which wasn’t one of his core areas of expertise, Jane admits with a grin. A student came up after one class and said, "Mr. Dodge, that name you were talking about, it's a city, not a person," Jane says with a laugh.

But what Bob lacked in certain content early on, he more than made up for in storytelling. He was a performer. He loved the spicy bits of history—Catherine the Great and her horse stories, the defense of the fortress of Prague. He had a remarkable memory, and he brought history to life for his students with flair and depth.

What many didn't know was that Bob also faced a series of significant health challenges throughout his career, including epilepsy and multiple brain surgeries. Jane believes those experiences sharpened his gifts. “The seizures rewired something in him,” she explains. After the surgeries, he became a sieve for facts. He could just hold on to everything.”

Outside the classroom, Bob quietly modeled what it meant to serve others. He volunteered for many years with the Leprosy Home in Singapore, spending weekends listening, laughing, and learning with residents whose stories were often overlooked. It wasn’t something he ever broadcast, but those who knew him best say it deeply shaped his empathy, his humility, and the gentle way he connected with students and colleagues alike.

"He wasn’t afraid," Jane says. "He was willing to touch them, hold their hands. That kind of presence meant everything."

Jane’s third grade students also visited the Leprosy Home to sing songs, share cards, and play bingo with residents.

Throughout the year, they would raise funds to help pay for meals provided by Mr. Hoe and for other items needed by the residents. When asked why they stayed so long in Singapore, Jane doesn’t hesitate. "It was a four-letter word—A-N-N-E," she says. Their daughter, adopted from Taipei after two years in Singapore, became the heart of their world.

The Dodge’s home life was as entwined with SAS as their professional life. “We'd all go to school together and come home together,” Jane remembers. “Anne danced, we had these great helpers. Our friends lived nearby. It was the best of every world.” Jane’s own legacy is profound—decades of elementary school teaching, mentoring younger colleagues, and anchoring a joyful, close-knit team. “My colleagues were just so much fun; we really enjoyed each other and laughed a lot,” she says. “And the kids? Oh, the kids were just so great!”

The move from Ulu Pandan to the Woodlands campus brought some welcome changes, like actual walls between classrooms. But the heart of the community didn’t change. “I think that's what kept us,” Jane says.

“It wasn't just the job. It was the people. It was feeling like this was a place where you could grow old with your friends.”

For those who knew the Dodges, that's exactly what it felt like. A place where learning was vivid, human, and a little unpredictable. Where stories mattered. Where teachers didn't just instruct, they inspired.

Ultimate Eagles? No question.

But more than that: they were steady, kind, and relentlessly committed to making SAS a better place.

“We never thought we'd stay this long,” Jane reflects looking back, “but it was home. It still is.”

And for the rest of us, it still is because of people like Jane and Bob Dodge.