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The Most Unforgettable Character I¡¯ve Met
In this short memoir(»ØÒä¼) the author describes his last English teacher in high school, a man whose wide scope of knowledge , whose unique way of teaching, and above all , whose confidence in his students had fascinated the whole class . Read on to find out more about this unforgettable character .
I remember vividly that first English class in the last term of high school. We boys (there were no girls in the school) were waiting expectantly for the new teacher to appear. Before long, through the door came a tall, unimpressive looking man of about 40. He said shyly , "Good afternoon, gentlemen. "
His voice had a surprising tone of respect, almost as if he were addressing the Supreme Court instead of a group of
youngsters. He wrote his name on the blackboard---Wilmer T. Stone --- then sat on the front of his desk, drew one long
leg up and grasped his bony knee.
"Gentlemen, " he began, "we are here this semester --- your last --- to continue your study of English.
I know we shall enjoy learning with --- and from --- one another. We are going to learn something about
journalism and how to get out your weekly school paper. Most important, we are going to try to feel the joy
of good literature. Maybe some of us will really get interested in reading and writing. Those who do, I venture to say, will lead far richer, fuller lives than they would otherwise. "
He went on like that , speaking without condescension , voicing a welcome message of friendliness and understanding.
An unexpected feeling of excitement stirred in me.
During the term that followed, his enthusiasm spread through us like a contagion. He would read one of Keats's poems,
for instance, and then say musingly, " I wonder whether we can say that better. Let's see. " Then we'd all chip in,
and voices would grow high-pitched in the melee of thoughts and phrases. Soon would come a glow of wonderment as we
began to discover that there was no better way of saying it. By such devices he led us to an appreciation of the
beauty and perfection of language and literature.
There was little formality about our sessions, but he never had to discipline us. Since he treated us with unfailing courtesy, we couldn't very well do anything except return it ; approached as adults, we could not show ourselves childish. Besides, we were much too interested and too anxious to participate in the discussion to have time for foolishness.
We would point things out to one another, each contributing an idea, a viewpoint.We examined the subject as a child studies a new toy, turning it over in our hands, peering underneath, feeling its shape and finding out what made it go.
"Don't be afraid to disagree with me, " he used to say. "It shows you are thinking for yourselves,
and that's what you are here for. " Warming to such confidence, we felt we had to justify it by giving more
than our best. And we did.
Mr. Stone abhorred sloppy speech and lazy writing. l remember a book review in which I wrote, "At the tender age of 17, he. . . " Back came a sharp note: " 'Tender age' was a good phrase when first used, but now it's like a worn-out sock. Mint new coins--- your own coins. "
Mr. Stone gave us the greatest gift a teacher can bestow --- an awakening of a passion for learning.
He had a way of dangling before us part of a story, a literary character or idea, until we were curious and eager
for more; then he would cut himself short and say, "But I suppose you have read so-and-so. " When we shook our heads,
he would write the title of a book on the blackboard, then turn to us, "There are some books like this one I almost wish
I had never read. Many doors to pleasure are closed to me now, but they are all open for you! " .
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