After thirty-three years shaping young minds and leading a celebrated Atlanta elementary school, David White discovered that retirement offered not rest but absence — a quietude that felt less like peace and more like disconnection. At fifty-eight, he returned to Burgess-Peterson Academy not as its principal but as its site manager, trading administrative authority for a mop and a toolbox, and finding in that trade something closer to what he had always been seeking: a place where his presence still mattered.
Atlanta Principal Retires, Returns as School Handyman to Stay Connected
I still feel like I'm contributing meaningfully to a place I really care about
Mark
When you say retirement felt lonely, were you surprised by that? You'd earned the right to step back.
Mimi
I think I expected the relief to last longer than it did. But after a few months, the quiet stopped feeling like a gift and started feeling like a void. I missed the rhythm of the school, the people, the sense that I was part of something.
Mark
So you came back. But not as principal. That took a different kind of courage, didn't it?
Mimi
Not courage, exactly. More like clarity. I realized the title was never the point. Being there was. And once I accepted that, the handyman job made perfect sense.
Mark
Do you think other people in your position would make the same choice?
Mimi
Probably not many. There's a lot of ego tied up in how we see ourselves professionally. But if you can get past that—if you can see the work itself as valuable—it changes everything.
Mark
What do you do on a day when you're cleaning gutters and you think about the years you spent in the principal's office?
Mimi
I don't think about it as a step backward. I think about the fact that those gutters keep the building dry, that the bathrooms I maintain are where kids wash their hands before lunch. It's different work, but it's still the school. I'm still part of it.
Mark
Has anyone else at the school struggled to adjust to seeing you in this role?
Mimi
Holly, the new principal, was nothing but supportive. And the staff—they know me. They know why I'm here. There's no awkwardness. If anything, it's been a relief for everyone.
El Pulso
- A decorated principal retires at fifty-eight expecting relief, only to find the silence of inactivity more disorienting than any crowded school day.
- Months of open hours and a quiet house reveal that identity and purpose had been quietly threaded through the institution he led — and without it, something essential went missing.
- When a site manager opening appears at his former school, White applies without hesitation, unbothered by the dramatic shift in title or the raised eyebrows it might invite.
- The new principal welcomes him back without ceremony, and White takes on the unglamorous work of keeping a building alive — gutters, fire extinguishers, power-washed bathrooms.
- He now occupies what he calls 'one of the bottom rungs,' and finds in that position not diminishment but a quieter, more durable form of belonging.
After thirty-three years shaping young minds and leading a celebrated Atlanta elementary school, David White discovered that retirement offered not rest but absence — a quietude that felt less like peace and more like disconnection. At fifty-eight, he returned to Burgess-Peterson Academy not as its principal but as its site manager, trading administrative authority for a mop and a toolbox, and finding in that trade something closer to what he had always been seeking: a place where his presence still mattered.
David White gave thirty-three years to Atlanta's public schools, the last fifteen as principal of Burgess-Peterson Academy — a tenure distinguished enough to earn him Principal of the Year recognition from his district. When he retired in September 2025 at fifty-eight, he expected the open calendar to feel like a gift. It didn't.
Within months, the freedom he had imagined curdled into something lonelier. The school had moved on, installing a new principal, Holly Brookins, in his place. There was no going back to what he had been. But when a site manager position opened up, White applied — and Brookins, without hesitation, encouraged him to do so.
The job is unglamorous by any measure: power-washing bathrooms, checking fire extinguishers, cleaning gutters, keeping the physical body of the school in working order. It is the kind of labor that goes unnoticed until something breaks. White does not seem to mind the invisibility. 'I still feel like I'm contributing meaningfully to a place I really care about,' he said, with no trace of performance in the words.
What his story quietly illuminates is how much of a person's sense of self can live inside a community rather than a title. White didn't return to Burgess-Peterson to reclaim status — he returned because the school still needed someone, and he still needed to be needed. The tools changed. The reason for showing up did not.
David White spent thirty-three years in education. The last fifteen of those years, he ran Burgess-Peterson Academy, an elementary school in Atlanta, with enough distinction that the district named him Principal of the Year. In September 2025, at fifty-eight, he decided he was done. He imagined retirement would feel like relief—open time, no meetings, no decisions landing on his desk. It wasn't.
Within months, the freedom he'd anticipated began to feel like absence. "I thought it would be blissful and easy and joyful," White told CBS News. "It wasn't quite." He found himself at home with his cat, the hours stretching in ways that didn't feel restful anymore. The school had already hired a new principal—Holly Brookins—so returning to his old job wasn't an option. But when an opening appeared for a site manager position, White didn't hesitate. He applied.
Brookins, the incoming principal, remembered the moment White told her. "I said, 'Hmm, OK, that's interesting.' I said, 'Absolutely, apply,'" she recalled. There was no irony in it, no sense that a former principal was stepping down. It was simply a man finding his way back to a place that mattered to him.
The work itself is unglamorous. As site manager—essentially the school's handyman—White power washes bathrooms, inspects fire extinguishers, cleans gutters, handles the physical maintenance that keeps a building functioning. It's the kind of work that most organizations treat as invisible, the scaffolding nobody thinks about until something breaks. White thinks about it differently.
"Yeah, I'm one of the bottom rungs, if you look at it in a hierarchical way," he said. "It doesn't bother me at all. I still feel like I'm contributing meaningfully to a place I really care about." There's no performance in this statement, no false modesty. He means it. The shift from principal to handyman isn't a fall in his mind—it's a recalibration. The title changed. The purpose didn't.
What White discovered in retirement, and what brought him back, is something many people spend their whole lives chasing: a community that needs you, work that matters, and the freedom to show up for both without the burden of being in charge. He gets to be part of Burgess-Peterson again, to know the staff and students, to see the school function day to day. He just does it from a different angle now, with a different set of tools. And that, it turns out, is enough.
Citas Notables
I thought it would be blissful and easy and joyful. It wasn't quite.— David White, on his initial experience of retirement
I'm one of the bottom rungs, if you look at it in a hierarchical way. It doesn't bother me at all.— David White, on his new role as site manager
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