During a routine morning at the office five years ago, my phone rang. “May I please see you in my office?” said the principal of my kids’ elementary school, her tone serious.

My children weren’t in trouble; I was. That week, I’d written a newspaper column criticizing a school policy. My sarcasm had offended a teacher, the enforcer of the policy.

Twenty minutes later, I sat between the teacher and Roxann Hall, the principal of Cache La Poudre Elementary School. Outflanked, I braced myself for a verbal assault in stereo.

But that wasn’t what happened. The teacher passionately spoke her mind. I listened, defended my column and apologized for hurt feelings. Referee Hall kept things professional. The encounter was painful for both sides but necessary. The teacher deserved respect as did my right to express my views. Hall knew these things. I left the school chastened and impressed.

As a small-business owner, I’m glad when employees fulfill the requirements of the job description. But when someone blows past the fundamentals into unexpected achievement, that’s something special.

The 2012 High Park Fire clobbered many towns northwest of Fort Collins. No single mayor could throw a blanket of calm and comfort over so many diverse communities. But a school could, and Hall knew it. For weeks, she and her capable team became the strongest voice of hope and support for the affected families.

Not in the job description.

Then the floods came. The southwest corner of her school under water, Hall shifted into high gear with creative classroom reassignment, fast-track repairs, and constant communications to her students’ families. “Fires. Floods. Nothing keeps CLPE down!” she wrote in an email. “Our ship sails on.” Again, not in the job description.

Hall was busy in the minutes, hours and days following the murders of schoolchildren in Newtown, Connecticut. First priority, school security. Second, addressing the emotional impact. She met individually with each staff member. She communicated with families and deftly respected the blurry line that divides teacher responsibility from parental responsibility. “Our purpose will only be to reassure our students of our love and care for each of them,” she wrote in an email to parents. “Every day, we will do everything in our power to protect them. However, we will not live in fear.”

On the last day of this school year, Hall performed a routine duty. Final bell rung, she stepped among the crowd of parents waiting out front, walkie-talkie in hand. As she made eye contact with each parent, she radioed the corresponding kid’s name to a teacher indoors who then dispatched the child to the proper exit. Kids without pickups made it safely onto school buses. No child left behind, community style. According to the job description, a principal should know every kid on sight, but Hall also knows every parent and guardian.

That particular day was also Hall’s last day overseeing school kids. She’s retiring, so she radioed each child’s name with tears in her eyes. Her affection for the kids is genuine.

A few days ago, we received one last email from Hall. CLPE had just successfully made the grade to become an International Baccalaureate World School. The rigorous five-year application process was all under Hall’s leadership and, as usual, far beyond a principal’s job description.