Brother Laurence Allen’s Seven Years at De La Salle, A Legacy for Generations 

There are some people whose impact cannot be measured in years.

They may serve only a short time in a place. They may leave behind fewer years than others, fewer titles, fewer headlines. Yet decades later, their names are still spoken with reverence. Their memory still moves grown men to tears. Their influence still echoes through friendships, values, and lives forever changed.

At De La Salle High School, one of those people was Brother Laurence Allen, FSC.

Brother Laurence served at De La Salle from 1973 until his tragic death in May of 1980. Though his time on campus lasted only a short time, his influence proved extraordinary. Today, the Laurence Allen Student Services Building stands as a visible reminder of a man whose greatest legacy was never bricks or walls, but the countless young lives he helped shape.

For John Burk, Class of 1980, that truth is deeply personal.

Burk, a longtime music executive, producer, and co-founder of Concord Records, would go on to help build one of the most respected independent music labels in the country. His career includes work with legendary artists such as Ray Charles, James Taylor, George Benson, and Al Jarreau. He won multiple Grammy Awards as producer of Ray Charles’ Genius Loves Company, including Album of the Year, and in 2017 was honored as De La Salle’s Alumnus of the Year.

Yet when Burk reflects on the people who shaped his life, his success begins not in the recording studio, but in the halls of De La Salle.

“There’s been no more influential person in my life,” Burk said recently. “Not because he was there a long time. Because of how deeply he cared.”

A Different Kind of Presence
Burk entered De La Salle in the fall of 1976. Coming from Oakland, and later Dublin, with no Catholic school background and few connections, he arrived not knowing what to expect. What he found was something he had not experienced before. “It was smaller then,” Burk recalled. “Everybody knew everybody. Even though people had their groups, there was a brotherhood there.” 

For a young man trying to find his footing, that sense of belonging mattered. “Day one,” he said with a laugh. “I met a group of guys, and we became friends immediately.” But Burk also carried burdens common to many young men and rarely discussed at the time. He described himself as angry, guarded, and always ready for conflict, a product of growing up around violence and instability. “I had a huge chip on my shoulder,” he said. “I thought I had to be tough all the time.” That was the version of John Burk who first walked into Brother Laurence’s office.

Called In And Truly Seen
As Dean of Students, Brother Laurence often met students at difficult moments, when they were in trouble, struggling, or needing direction. That was how Burk first came to know him.

“I got called in after I had done something stupid,” Burk said. “I walked in expecting punishment. That’s what authority figures did in my life.” Instead, Brother Laurence did something unexpected. “He asked me why.” No lecture. No anger. No immediate judgment. “He wanted to understand what was going on with me,” Burk said. “That was completely different than anything I’d experienced.”

That moment stayed with him because it revealed something rare. Brother Laurence saw behavior as a signal, not a sentence. He recognized that anger often masks fear, rebellion often masks pain, and that struggling teenagers usually need understanding before correction. “He wasn’t there just to hand out punishment,” Burk said. “He was there to solve the problem.”

Why Students Loved Him
Nearly everyone from that era seems to tell the same story, that students loved Brother Laurence. He was young enough to relate, wise enough to guide, and genuine enough to earn trust. He understood teenagers not as problems to manage, but as young people trying to become themselves. “He was cool,” Burk said. “You could tell he understood what was going on with kids.”

Brother Laurence had a particular gift for reaching students who were hurting, drifting, or acting out. Long before modern language around mental health and student wellness, he practiced it naturally. “There were a lot of drugs around back then,” Burk recalled. “He talked about it not with judgment, but as escape. That was the first time I’d heard it explained that way.”

He challenged students while still caring for them. He held standards while extending mercy. “He wasn’t soft,” Burk said. “He was strong. But he showed that strength and love can exist together.” For many teenage boys learning what manhood meant, that example mattered. “He broke stereotypes for me,” Burk said. “He showed you could be respected and still be kind.”

A Life Redirected
For Burk, Brother Laurence’s impact became transformational. As trust grew, Brother Laurence encouraged him to seek outside counseling. Because the recommendation came from someone he respected, Burk listened. “That changed everything,” he said.

Through that process, and through Brother Laurence’s steady mentorship, Burk confronted years of anger and pain. He began to let go of the defensive posture that had defined much of his youth and found a healthier path forward. “He got me off a destructive path,” Burk said. “I don’t know where I would have ended up otherwise.”

That may be the clearest measure of Brother Laurence’s legacy, not only the students he helped in the moment, but the course of lives he quietly redirected.

May 24, 1980
On May 24, 1980, only weeks before graduation, Brother Laurence invited a group of 18 students, mainly seniors, on a river outing to the Mokelumne River. Many remain close friends to this day.

Burk remembers the cold water, the spring runoff, and the excitement of a final shared adventure before commencement. Before starting their trip down the Mokelumne, Brother Laurence showed the students where to exit the river and warned them not to drift under a bridge where the current became dangerous.

As the group was finishing their trip down the river and approaching the bridge, in a matter of moments, everything changed. Burk remembers seeing Brother Laurence help push a student toward safety before being swept into the current himself. Students ran the riverbanks searching. Emergency crews arrived. Helicopters circled overhead. Search and rescue teams combed the water. Weeks later, his body was recovered. “It was surreal,” Burk said quietly. “We didn’t know how to process it at all.”

For a senior class already bonded by four years together, the loss was profound. For graduation, Burk and two other classmates, Steve Hockel and Ray Constantian, wrote a song written in Brother Laurence’s memory. “Every single person in the class learned it, and the class sang it together during the ceremony because every one of us felt so connected to him.”  

The Friendships That Remain
Of the students on that trip, nine still stay in close contact today. “Daily,” Burk said. “We text every day.” Their friendship is not defined only by tragedy, he explained, but it was undeniably strengthened by shared experience and by the man who brought them together. “We’re all getting together for golf next week,” he said with a laugh. Nearly five decades later, Brother Laurence still connects them.

More Than a Building
The esteem students held for Brother Laurence was already clear long before the tragedy of May 1980. In the 1980 De La Salle yearbook (which was written before his passing), the seniors in the Class of 1980 penned a tribute to him: “Through his years here at De La Salle, Brother Laurence spread much love and understanding. For many of us, he was a sympathetic friend, one in whom we could confide our innermost feelings. He knew our happiness and our pain and helped us better understand ourselves. But above all, he was a close friend.”  Senior Dedication, De La Salle Yearbook, 1980

Today, students may pass the Brother Laurence Allen Student Services Building without knowing the full story behind the name. But the building is fitting. Student Services is where young people go for help, guidance, support, and direction, the very things Brother Laurence offered so many students during his years at De La Salle.

He did not leave behind championships or headlines. He left behind transformed lives. In schools, legacy is often measured in years served. Brother Laurence Allen reminds us that legacy is better measured in lives changed. “He genuinely cared about every kid,” Burk said. “And they knew it.” There may be no higher tribute.

What Today’s Students Should Know
If today’s Spartans could know one thing about Brother Laurence Allen, it is this: One person who truly cares can change everything. He reminds us that education is not only about classrooms and grades. It is about relationships. It is about seeing the student others overlook. It is about offering second chances. It is about helping young people believe they are worth more than their mistakes.

Brother Laurence served De La Salle for only seven years. But some lives are so full of purpose, so rich in love, that seven years become enough to last forever.