If you walk the halls of Galesburg High School in the early morning, before the students arrive and the bell rings, chances are you’ll find Mike Westfall already hard at work. Floors gleam. Trash is gone. Classrooms are ready.

It’s not magic. It’s discipline—the kind that comes from 28 years of custodial work, most of it right here in the same halls where he once walked as a student.

“I graduated in 1977,” he says, “and I never imagined I’d be back. But here I am.”

And the school is better for it.

Mike started out like most custodians—on second shift, mopping floors and cleaning classrooms long after the building had emptied. But over time, he moved to day shift, where he’s become a familiar, reassuring presence to staff, students, and families alike.

“Now I’m here from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m.,” he says. “I like being around the students, seeing the energy of the place. And I get my steps in—15,000 a day, easy.”

His beat includes the entire high school/junior high complex, including the field house and commons area, where much of the school’s daily life unfolds.

“It’s a lot of ground to cover,” he says with a laugh. “But it keeps me moving.”

Mike grew up in Galesburg and raised his family here. His two daughters both graduated from Galesburg High—one now a history teacher in Mercer County, the other working toward her master’s in counseling. He’s proud of both.

“I was here when they were students,” he says. “That was one of the perks—keeping an eye on things, making sure they were doing okay.”

Before joining the district, Mike served in the U.S. Army and worked in a factory in Abingdon, which later closed. He came to Galesburg Schools looking for something steady—and found not just a job, but a community.

“You get to know the teachers, the staff, the kids,” he says. “They’ll stop and ask how you’re doing, or even offer to help carry something. It means a lot.”

Mike is quick to credit his coworkers—“We’ve got a good crew”—and points out that recent building upgrades have helped. “The new floors are easier to maintain. But the original terrazzo floors from 1959? Still my favorite. They shine up like new.”

There’s pride in his voice when he talks about how the school looks. And there should be. The building is spotless, the halls tidy, the commons inviting. Ask any administrator or teacher—they’ll tell you that Mike and his teammates are unsung heroes of the school’s success.

“You can’t teach in a space that doesn’t feel cared for,” one teacher said. “Mike makes sure ours does.”

For Mike, it’s not about recognition. It’s about doing a job well—and the quiet satisfaction that comes from it.

“You don’t expect the thanks,” he says. “But when someone notices—yeah, that feels good.”

And they do notice. From students who say thank you, to teachers who depend on his quick response when something breaks or malfunctions, Mike’s presence is felt in ways big and small.

“Sometimes it’s a temperature thing,” he says. “Too hot, too cold—I’ll call it in, get it fixed. Or a doorknob comes off, a light needs replacing. If I can fix it, I will.”

He’s not flashy. He doesn’t need to be. Mike Westfall is steady, kind, and deeply rooted in the daily rhythms of a school that means everything to him.

“I see kids who don’t think anyone notices them,” he says. “But we notice. We see. We care.”

And in a place like Galesburg, that kind of quiet vigilance makes all the difference.