After high school, many entered the military or college - including those who, before JROTC, never thought they were college material. And they stayed in touch with Worley, inviting him to their graduations, weddings and kids' christenings, their photos crowding Worley's desk.
"He loves the kids; they love him," says Mackey, 51. "I knew he was the guy to learn from."
The reason I feel bad for Mackey is that Worley, 60, who founded Franklin's JROTC program in 2003, has resigned. Today, he'll collect the last of his things and take another round of hugs from students who say he's the best teacher, role model and/or father they've known.
Which means that there will be a Worley-size hole at Ben Franklin that everyone will look to Mackey to fill. Not that Mackey has any illusions that it's possible.
"There will never be another Master Gunns," he says.
One of six sons born to a Bridesburg military father and homemaker mother, Worley was a bright, underachieving troublemaker at Mastbaum High School.
Drafted after graduation, he says Vietnam grew him up in a hurry. Twice wounded, he couldn't speak for years about the injuries that earned him two Purple Hearts. He stayed in the military, earned commendations for multiple military operations, and figured he'd enjoy his hard-earned retirement with his wife, Terry, in Lebanon, Pa., about 80 miles northwest of Philly.
But he was bored.
"I need to be needed," he says.
So he leaped when he was asked to create a JROTC program at Ben Franklin. Even though it was a two-hour commute each way from home. Even though he'd be working with kids for whom authority is often a problem. Even though his own upbringing by two parents in a stable, all-white neighborhood was so different from the hard adolescence his students would be experiencing.
