We should raise statues to Mr. Lockhart - and my Mr. King in 9th grade, who told our class the first morning of my first day that we were going to learn how to WRITE.
Teachers should be celebrated - and this piece is everything, his methods, his simplicity, his appreciation and finally that visit you had an opportunity to experience and kindly report.
Reading your writing is a tribute to him. And Lucien, thank you for sharing your life experience with us.
It’s such a disgrace how some politicians speak of such a valuable resource - teachers who are passionate about their subject and love teaching for its own sake.
The last thing that politicians want is an educated public that knows how words are used and mis-used. They need people to be stupid and/or indifferent.
I had THREE teachers who taught me how to write. Mrs. Fail, my fifth grade teacher, who had us writing creative writing stories nearly everyday. Mr. Mann, my sophomore English teacher, who taught us about grammar and syntax, but also took us to plays and taught us about poetry. Mrs. Kitty Barnes, who taught us about writing a good research paper and giving book reports, which terrified me as well as all my junior classmates. One boy, a good student, was so terrified of speaking in front of the class that he was willing to take an F. Mrs. Barnes had him come back to her classroom during her planning period when things were quiet. Then, to her alone, he gave his book report. She was a TOUGH, but basically fair teacher, who showed that student compassion.
Yes, Sandy, I think there must be a master plan that places the right people in our life at exactly the right time. (Of course this doesn't explain why the wrong people show up every now and then :) But maybe negative experiences are also there to teach us something.
My Mr. Lockhart was Mrs. Martin, fourth grade teacher at Francis Parker in Chicago. We studied ancient Greece. We read Homer, Aeschylus, Plato. She believed children could do anything. We lived and breathed Greek history and Greek gods. There was a loft in our classroom with costumes and props. We learned to love learning; the greatest gift a teacher can give to a student.
Truly a gift from the Gods, Lore. My earliest memory of a wonderful English teacher named Mr. Underwood that would read us a story once a week, usually fiction like King Solomon's Mines, that really stirred the imagination. I credit him with my life-long love of books.
Yes, for sure, Lore. My daughter was a preschool teacher and now teaches second grade and gets so many appreciative letters from parents and very sweet notes from the children themselves. It is not an easy job, but very rewarding.
No Euripides? I studied Greek at Cal, and we read the Bacchae during Peopleʼs Park. It wasnʼt planned, but thatʼs how it happened. Fourth grade is the time to read the Iliad. I read it at home, and spent the the next 10 years determined to read it in Greek, and in 1969, I did.
Lucian, There aren't many things bringing me moments of pure joy these days, but one of them is always your newsletter. Even when it's angry, cursing, mystified, etc. And especially when it's a gem, like today's. Somehow your sentences convey your love of words, your respect for the reader, your skill at writing, and your intangible mastery and magic of creating meaning and significance. Hooray for you and Mr. Lockhardt!
Goddamn, Lucian, you did it again! This one brought tears to my eyes. I had exactly that same kind of teacher in the seventh grade. Her name was Mrs. Pirennian. After experiencing her teaching, I too had learned to write.
How I wish I could point to a Mr. Lockhart. When I started in the news business I just ... wrote. I was polished up by good editors, of course, and a beau, Tony Lukas. But I just wrote as I spoke. Odd, perhaps, but that's the way it was. The same was true of a close relative of mine. Go figure.
I didn't run into my Mr. Lockhart until sophomore year English in the fall of 1957.
He was Mr. Gould, and I don't think I ever learned his first name. Mr. Gould's big quirk was that he demanded our papers be grammatically correct. He gave two grades for our weekly essays and pop in-class writing tests. The top grade was for content and the bottom for grammar; for example, A/C. He would then treat both equally and average the result.
He read everything we wrote with the greatest care. Though I didn't like him much, I've never forgotten him.
My father told me that he considered business letters to him or anybody that were poorly written to be disrespectful to the reader. Bearing that in mind, who would blame me for not writing home much?
Oh man Lucian, back in sixth grade, I was the ace at diagraming sentences. It almost looked like long division, but actually meant something, if you took your time, line by line.
Lucian, your human interest stories are a welcome change from the deadly serious and sometimes frightening Trump related stories. But on a lighter note I am reminded of a funny expression I heard II'm sure 80 years ago as a youth in England. It roughly translates to "Shut your mouth or I'll bash your face in." (It helps if you imagine an upper class English accent as you read it: "Do you insinuate that I should tolerate such diabolical insolence as yous? Please abbreviate your own verbosity you unsophisticated lump of animosity, or I shall have the unpleasant necessity of placing my hand upon your obnoxious dial."
It’s difficult to spell out the sound that escaped from my mouth after reading this many-faceted gem. Add your own
luster and polish; there are no wrong answers.
Mrs Innerfield comes to mind.
Her teaching method was implacable and has never left me. When l went off to college in Franconia, New Hampshire-
the idea of reading Plato was intimidating. But when l dreamed a perfect sentence, my fear evaporated and my anxiety became a tool. What a relief! Adversity is a challenge and not a threat to your existence. Accept it, befriend it, but never underestimate its value!
Take what fits and wear it with style and grace. And when necessity calls, respond accordingly. Anything else would be preposterous!
Your "carpenter-words as nails" metaphor is too humble. You are an inspired architect of poetic literary space. You create cathedrals made of words, ("Dress Gray" comes to mind and your essay about going to Plimpton's party in taxi with Mailer) you are a designer/conceptual artist of mind-spaces that are resonant, bold and clear as the Pantheon in Rome or Fallingwater.
What a beautiful wonderful story. I had a high school English teacher named Miss Whitten. She looked very stern but was really a big softy. She inspired me to be an English lit major in college. I was a senior in 1968 so we are close to the same age. We had to memorize passages from MacBeth and come in and stand in front of her desk
and recite. I stole my English book and stil have it. She had a precious gift like your teacher did and she gave it to us like your teacher did. I knew her as a grownup and found out she really liked me. This story of yours made me remember my joy at being her student. Thank you for sharing with us in your community.
I read this twice now. Time well spent. My Seventh grade English teacher, Miss Byer, taught grammar. She was 70 and thought little of us flunkies. She was stern and excellent. Every time she comes to mind I remember her correcting one of my classmates, telling them they could enjoy their time but should not enjoy themselves in public.
What a compliment to you that he had saved all your articles! I’m glad you were able to locate him to close the circle.
We should raise statues to Mr. Lockhart - and my Mr. King in 9th grade, who told our class the first morning of my first day that we were going to learn how to WRITE.
Teachers should be celebrated - and this piece is everything, his methods, his simplicity, his appreciation and finally that visit you had an opportunity to experience and kindly report.
Reading your writing is a tribute to him. And Lucien, thank you for sharing your life experience with us.
“Teachers should be celebrated”
Yes!
And paid rather than denigrated like many cheap politicians do.
Wish I had had a teacher that taught me how to write.
It’s such a disgrace how some politicians speak of such a valuable resource - teachers who are passionate about their subject and love teaching for its own sake.
You mean those liberal Democrats and Cultural Marxists who are destroying 'Merica and corrupting the youth?
The way the Trumpists and other wingnuts attack our dedicated, hard-working teachers at all levels is a national disgrace.
I’m all for corrupting the youth, Richard
Yeah that was the charge against Socrates, right along with teaching disrepect for The Gods. Fits right in with your Greek roots!
That’s a compliment, thank you Richard.
The last thing that politicians want is an educated public that knows how words are used and mis-used. They need people to be stupid and/or indifferent.
Looks like they’ve made quite the dent..
I had THREE teachers who taught me how to write. Mrs. Fail, my fifth grade teacher, who had us writing creative writing stories nearly everyday. Mr. Mann, my sophomore English teacher, who taught us about grammar and syntax, but also took us to plays and taught us about poetry. Mrs. Kitty Barnes, who taught us about writing a good research paper and giving book reports, which terrified me as well as all my junior classmates. One boy, a good student, was so terrified of speaking in front of the class that he was willing to take an F. Mrs. Barnes had him come back to her classroom during her planning period when things were quiet. Then, to her alone, he gave his book report. She was a TOUGH, but basically fair teacher, who showed that student compassion.
Hooray for Mr. Lockhardt! Without him we wouldn't have your stories. At least not as well written.
Yes, Sandy, I think there must be a master plan that places the right people in our life at exactly the right time. (Of course this doesn't explain why the wrong people show up every now and then :) But maybe negative experiences are also there to teach us something.
My Mr. Lockhart was Mrs. Martin, fourth grade teacher at Francis Parker in Chicago. We studied ancient Greece. We read Homer, Aeschylus, Plato. She believed children could do anything. We lived and breathed Greek history and Greek gods. There was a loft in our classroom with costumes and props. We learned to love learning; the greatest gift a teacher can give to a student.
Truly a gift from the Gods, Lore. My earliest memory of a wonderful English teacher named Mr. Underwood that would read us a story once a week, usually fiction like King Solomon's Mines, that really stirred the imagination. I credit him with my life-long love of books.
Great dinner table conversation starter: Who was your favorite teacher and why. Almost everyone has a teacher that inspired them.
Yes, for sure, Lore. My daughter was a preschool teacher and now teaches second grade and gets so many appreciative letters from parents and very sweet notes from the children themselves. It is not an easy job, but very rewarding.
No Euripides? I studied Greek at Cal, and we read the Bacchae during Peopleʼs Park. It wasnʼt planned, but thatʼs how it happened. Fourth grade is the time to read the Iliad. I read it at home, and spent the the next 10 years determined to read it in Greek, and in 1969, I did.
We read Odyssey. Later on when I read Iliad my fourth grade lessons served me well.
Congrats on reading Iliad in Greek. A real achievement.
Lucian, There aren't many things bringing me moments of pure joy these days, but one of them is always your newsletter. Even when it's angry, cursing, mystified, etc. And especially when it's a gem, like today's. Somehow your sentences convey your love of words, your respect for the reader, your skill at writing, and your intangible mastery and magic of creating meaning and significance. Hooray for you and Mr. Lockhardt!
Goddamn, Lucian, you did it again! This one brought tears to my eyes. I had exactly that same kind of teacher in the seventh grade. Her name was Mrs. Pirennian. After experiencing her teaching, I too had learned to write.
How I wish I could point to a Mr. Lockhart. When I started in the news business I just ... wrote. I was polished up by good editors, of course, and a beau, Tony Lukas. But I just wrote as I spoke. Odd, perhaps, but that's the way it was. The same was true of a close relative of mine. Go figure.
Different cognitive styles!
“A close relative!” Cute and cheeky!
I didn't run into my Mr. Lockhart until sophomore year English in the fall of 1957.
He was Mr. Gould, and I don't think I ever learned his first name. Mr. Gould's big quirk was that he demanded our papers be grammatically correct. He gave two grades for our weekly essays and pop in-class writing tests. The top grade was for content and the bottom for grammar; for example, A/C. He would then treat both equally and average the result.
He read everything we wrote with the greatest care. Though I didn't like him much, I've never forgotten him.
My father told me that he considered business letters to him or anybody that were poorly written to be disrespectful to the reader. Bearing that in mind, who would blame me for not writing home much?
Thank you Mr. Lockhart.
One of my favorites Lucian. Thank you for explaining why I also hate crossword puzzles and word games.
Enjoy your weekend with Tracy and the Fluffalettas and Ruby.
Wow. Such a great tribute to your teacher Mr. Lockhardt.
Hey Robert. Fancy meeting you at Lucien’s place!
It's a great place to meet, sharing mutual intellectual interests.
Oh man Lucian, back in sixth grade, I was the ace at diagraming sentences. It almost looked like long division, but actually meant something, if you took your time, line by line.
Now back to reading.
Seventh grade for me, Miss Alma Loll
Fifth grade for me, Miss Redman in Greenville SC. She taught me everything I know about writing.
Lucian, your human interest stories are a welcome change from the deadly serious and sometimes frightening Trump related stories. But on a lighter note I am reminded of a funny expression I heard II'm sure 80 years ago as a youth in England. It roughly translates to "Shut your mouth or I'll bash your face in." (It helps if you imagine an upper class English accent as you read it: "Do you insinuate that I should tolerate such diabolical insolence as yous? Please abbreviate your own verbosity you unsophisticated lump of animosity, or I shall have the unpleasant necessity of placing my hand upon your obnoxious dial."
It’s difficult to spell out the sound that escaped from my mouth after reading this many-faceted gem. Add your own
luster and polish; there are no wrong answers.
Mrs Innerfield comes to mind.
Her teaching method was implacable and has never left me. When l went off to college in Franconia, New Hampshire-
the idea of reading Plato was intimidating. But when l dreamed a perfect sentence, my fear evaporated and my anxiety became a tool. What a relief! Adversity is a challenge and not a threat to your existence. Accept it, befriend it, but never underestimate its value!
Take what fits and wear it with style and grace. And when necessity calls, respond accordingly. Anything else would be preposterous!
Your "carpenter-words as nails" metaphor is too humble. You are an inspired architect of poetic literary space. You create cathedrals made of words, ("Dress Gray" comes to mind and your essay about going to Plimpton's party in taxi with Mailer) you are a designer/conceptual artist of mind-spaces that are resonant, bold and clear as the Pantheon in Rome or Fallingwater.
Wonderful memories cotents and style and teacher
Thank you Lucien and Mr Lockhardt!
What a beautiful wonderful story. I had a high school English teacher named Miss Whitten. She looked very stern but was really a big softy. She inspired me to be an English lit major in college. I was a senior in 1968 so we are close to the same age. We had to memorize passages from MacBeth and come in and stand in front of her desk
and recite. I stole my English book and stil have it. She had a precious gift like your teacher did and she gave it to us like your teacher did. I knew her as a grownup and found out she really liked me. This story of yours made me remember my joy at being her student. Thank you for sharing with us in your community.
I read this twice now. Time well spent. My Seventh grade English teacher, Miss Byer, taught grammar. She was 70 and thought little of us flunkies. She was stern and excellent. Every time she comes to mind I remember her correcting one of my classmates, telling them they could enjoy their time but should not enjoy themselves in public.