Barbara Ann Richman helped launch the Barron Prize in 2001 and has served as its Executive Director ever since. She received degrees from the University of Virginia and the Harvard Graduate School of Education, and taught elementary school in the Boston area for a number of years. When the Rocky Mountains beckoned, she moved to Colorado to direct educational programming at a regional nature center and to teach at Fort Lewis College. She has also developed curriculum for the U.S. Forest Service and numerous environmental organizations. She continues to live in Colorado where she loves to spend time in the mountains with her family.

Gloria Barron, the woman I was lucky enough to know as my mother, never sought fame. She simply lived the life of a teacher who cared deeply about her children and her community. She was always learning: The day before she died, at age ninety-two, she was delighted to discover a new word origin! (The word, by the way, was “spittoon”.) This great old gal never lost her childlike sense of wonder.

My mother believed in the importance of good communication. She encouraged us to write in journals, stories, and letters. Her rule was that a good letter should contain “something funny, something beautiful, and something true.” Beyond that, she continually urged her children to make a positive difference to the world, in whatever ways we chose. She didn’t sermonize; she just lived her own life that way—and hoped that we would, as well.

Her love of children and nature combined to create a remarkable project. For over twenty years, she worked hard to create a unique nature museum at the Colorado School for the Blind—a museum where everything can be touched. Blind kids can experience the grandeur of an eagle by touching its wide wings, just as they can feel a hummingbird’s delicate nest or a polar bear’s rich, soft fur. She never sought any credit for this accomplishment, and the only reward she wanted was the satisfaction of knowing that these kids could now experience some of the wonder and beauty of the natural world. That’s the sort of quiet heroism that countless teachers, parents, and kids show every day. And those people truly hold our world together.

That’s why, when the time came to choose a name for my prize celebrating young heroes, I knew exactly who to name it for—a quiet hero who made a real difference in my life. Someone who never stopped believing in the power of every person to make the world a better place. Someone I loved and admired very much.