After lunch the juniors assembled in the gymnasium for the required physical-
education class.
“Okay, gentlemen,” the gym master shouted, “we’re going to make something
of those bodies yet. Start running around the gym. Stop after each round and
check your pulse. See me if you don’t have a pulse.”
The boys groaned and began jogging around the huge gym. The master
chuckled and walked to the edge, leaning against the wall to observe the runners.
“Hastings, move it. We’ve got to get some of that gut off of you,” he called to
one boy. “Check your pulse.
“Nice run, Overstreet,” he called out. “Good pacing.” Knox smiled and waved
as he passed by the teacher.
None of them thought they’d make it through the class, but by the end of the
period they’d surprised themselves.
“I’m going to die!” Pitts gasped, standing in the shower after the class. “That
guy should head a military school!”
“Come on, Pitts, it’s good for you,” Cameron laughed.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Pitts shouted back. “The guy didn’t embarrass
you to death.” Pitts turned quickly to face the wall as the gym master strolled
through the shower room, monitoring the activity.
“How about a study group?” Meeks called out from the shower. “Right after
dinner.”
“Great! Good by me,” several of the boys agreed.
“Pick up the soap, Harrison,” the gym master called out. “You there,” he
pointed at another boy, “hurry and dry off!”
“Sorry Meeks, I can’t make it,” Knox said. “I have to sign out to have dinner
at the Danburrys’ house.”
“Who are the Danburrys?” Pitts asked.
“Whew! Big alums,” Cameron whistled. “How’d you pull that?”
Knox shrugged. “They’re friends of my dad. Probably in their nineties orsomething.”
“Listen,” Neil laughed. “Anything is better than the mystery meat we get
here.”
“I’ll second that!” Charlie agreed.
The boys finished getting dressed, tossed their gym clothes in their lockers,
and headed out. Todd sat silently on the bench, slowly pulling up his sock.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Neil laughed, as he sat down next to Todd.
“Not even worth that much,” Todd said, shaking his head.
“Want to come to the study group?” Neil asked.
“Thanks, but … I’d better do history,” Todd smiled.
“Okay, you can always change your mind,” Neil answered. He gathered up his
books and headed out of the gym. Todd watched him leave and then stared into
space again. He put on his shoes, picked up his own books, and walked slowly
back to the dorm.
In the distance Todd saw the fiery-red sun sinking behind the green perimeter
of trees that enclosed the sprawling campus. “It’s big, but it’s so small here,” he
sighed, looking around.
Inside the dorm, he smiled at several boys in the hall but walked into his room
and quickly closed the door. He put his books on the desk, sighed again loudly,
and sat down.
“I can’t believe all the work I have to do,” he said as he flipped through the
stack of books. He opened his history book, took out a notebook, and stared at
the first clean sheet of paper. Absently, he scribbled SEIZE THE DAY in big,
black letters.
“Seize the day?” he questioned aloud. “How?” He sighed again, ripped the
page out of the notebook, and threw it into the wastebasket. He turned a page in
the history book and started to read.
“Ready, Overstreet?” Dr. Hager asked, as he walked into the Honors Room,
where Knox Overstreet was once again studying the pictures of old Welton
students.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he answered as he followed Dr. Hager out to the
school “woody” station wagon parked in front of the building. The changing
colors of the Vermont autumn were muted by the darkness. “It’s beautiful when
the colors change, isn’t it, Dr. Hager?” Knox asked enthusiastically.
“Colors? Oh, yes,” Hager mumbled as he drove the old wagon to the rambling
mansion where the distinguished Danburry family lived.“Thanks for the ride, Dr. Hager,” Knox smiled. “The Danburrys said they’ll
bring me back to campus.”
“No later than nine, my boy,” the old teacher said solemnly.
“Yes, sir.” He turned and walked to the door of the large, white, colonial house
and rang the bell. A beautiful girl, maybe a bit older than he was and wearing a
short tennis skirt, opened the door.
“Hi,” she said, smiling. Her blue eyes glowed softly.
Knox hesitated, speechless with astonishment. “Ah … hi,” he finally got out.
“Are you here to see Chet?” she asked. He stared at her for a moment, unable
to keep his eyes from moving up and down her athletic figure, “Chet?” she
repeated, laughing. “Are you here to see Chet?”
“Mrs. Danburry?” Knox stammered as a middle-aged woman stuck her head
around the girl.
“Knox,” Janette Danburry smiled, as the girl moved back toward the huge
staircase. “Come in. We’ve been waiting for you!”
Knox walked in behind Mrs. Danburry, but his eyes followed the girl who
raced up the stairs two steps at a time.
Mrs. Danburry walked into a huge wood-paneled library. “Joe,” she said to a
sharply dressed man who looked about forty. “This is Knox.”
Joe stuck out his hand and smiled warmly. “Knox, good to see you. Come in.
Joe Danburry.”
“Nice to meet you,” Knox smiled, trying to keep himself from looking toward
the staircase.
“You’re the spitting image of your father. How is he?” Joe asked as he offered
Knox a glass of soda.
“Great,” Knox nodded. “Just did a big case for GM.”
“Ah. I know where you’re headed—like father, like son, eh?” Joe laughed.
“Have you met our daughter, Virginia?”
“Oh, that was your daughter?” Knox asked enthusiastically, pointing toward
the staircase.
“Virginia, say hello,” Mrs. Danburry instructed as a cute but rather plain
fifteen-year-old girl stood up from the floor on the other side of the room. Her
books and pages of neatly written notes were strewn across the floor.
“It’s Ginny,” she said as she turned to Knox. “Hi,” she said and smiled shyly.
“Hello,” Knox said, glancing briefly at Ginny, before staring again at the
staircase where his eyes stayed glued on the slender legs he saw standing there.
He heard a giggle come from that direction, and he turned awkwardly back toGinny.
“Sit down, sit down,” Mr. Danburry said, gesturing toward a comfortable
leather chair. “Did your father ever tell you about the case we had together?”
“Pardon?” Knox said absently. The girl in the tennis dress was coming down
the stairs with a tall athletic-looking young man.
“He didn’t tell you what happened?” Mr. Danburry laughed.
“Er, no,” Knox said, unable to take his eyes off the girl. The couple stepped
into the room as Mr. Danburry started to recall the story.
“We were really stuck,” he reminisced. “I was sure I’d lost the biggest case of
my life. Then your father came to me and told me he could weasel a settlement
—but only if I gave him the entire fee from our client! The son of a gun!” He
slapped his knee. “You know what I did?”
“Huh?” Knox said.
“I let him have it!” he roared. “I was so desperate, I let your father take the
whole fee!” Knox faked a laugh, trying to keep up with the hysterical laughter of
Mr. Danburry, while his eyes kept darting to the couple standing in the doorway.
“Dad, can I take the Buick?” the young man asked.
“What’s wrong with your car?” Joe said. “Chet, where are your manners?
Knox, this is my son Chet and his girlfriend, Chris Noel. This is Knox
Overstreet.”
“We sort of met,” Knox said, staring at Chris. “Almost.”
“Yes.” Chris smiled as she answered.
“Hi,” Chet said, totally disinterested.
Mrs. Danburry stood. “Excuse me while I check on dinner,” she said.
“Come on, Dad, why is this always a big deal?” Chet asked.
“Because I bought you a sports car and suddenly you want my car all the
time.”
“Chris’s mom feels safer when we’re in a bigger car. Right, Chris?” Chet shot
her a wicked smile, and Chris blushed.
“It’s all right, Chet,” she said.
“It’s not all right. Come on, Dad …” Joe Danburry walked out of the room,
and Chet followed after him, pleading. “Come on, Dad. You’re not using the
Buick tonight, so why can’t I?”
While the bickering continued in the hall, Knox, Ginny, and Chris stood
awkwardly in the library.
“So, uh, where do you go to school?” Knox asked.
“Ridgeway High,” Chris said. “How’s Henley Hall, Gin?”“Okay,” Ginny said flatly.
“That’s your sister school, isn’t it?” Chris said, looking at Knox.
“Sort of.”
“Ginny, are you going out for the Henley Hall play?” Chris asked. “They’re
doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she explained to Knox.
“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged.
“So, how did you meet Chet?” Knox asked Chris. Both girls stared at him. “I
mean, er …” he stammered.
“Chet plays on the Ridgeway football team, and I’m a cheerleader,” Chris
explained. “He used to go to Welton but he flunked out.” She turned to Ginny.
“You should do it, Gin, you’d be great.”
Ginny looked down shyly as Chet came to the door. “Chris,” he smiled. “We
got it. Let’s go.”
“Nice meeting you, Knox.” Chris smiled again as she walked out, hand in
hand with Chet. “Bye, Gin.”
“Nice meeting you, Chris,” Knox choked out.
“Might as well sit down until dinner,” Ginny suggested. An awkward moment
of silence followed. “Chet just wanted the Buick so they can go parking,” she
confided with a blush, not being able to think of anything better to say.
Knox watched through the window as Chris and Chet got into the Buick and
kissed, long and hard. His heart was pounding with envy.
Two hours later, Knox staggered into the lobby of the dorm where Neil,
Cameron, Meeks, Charlie, and Pitts were studying math. Pitts and Meeks
worked on assembling a small crystal radio as the study session progressed.
Knox collapsed onto a couch.
“How was dinner?” Charlie asked. “You look shell-shocked. What did they
serve, Welton Mystery Meat?”
“Terrible,” Knox wailed. “Awful! I just met the most beautiful girl I have ever
seen in my life!”
Neil jumped up from the study group and ran over to the couch. “Are you
crazy? What’s wrong with that?”
“She’s practically engaged to Chet Danburry, Mr. Mondo Jocko himself,”
Knox moaned.
“Too bad,” Pitts said.
“Too bad! It’s not too bad, it’s a tragedy!”
Knox shouted. “Why does she have to be in love with a jerk?”“All the good ones go for jerks,” Pitts said matter-of-factly. “You know that.
Forget her. Take out your trig book and figure out problem 12.”
“I can’t just forget her, Pitts. And I certainly can’t think about math!”
“Sure you can. You’re off on a tangent—so you’re halfway into trig already!”
Meeks laughed loudly.
“Oh, Meeks! That was terrible,” Cameron said, shaking his head.
Meeks grinned sheepishly. “I thought it was clever.”
Knox stopped pacing and faced his friends. “You really think I should forget
her?”
“You have another choice?” Pitts said.
Knox dropped to his knees in front of Pitts as though he were proposing.
“Only you, Pittsie,” he implored, with an exaggerated sigh. “There’s only you!”
Pitts pushed him away, and Knox slumped into a chair in the lobby as the boys
resumed their math.
“That’s it for tonight, guys,” Meeks said, breaking up the study group.
“Tomorrow will bring more work, fear not.”
“Say, what happened to Todd?” Cameron asked as they gathered up their
books.
“Said he wanted to do history,” Neil said.
“Come on, Knox,” Cameron said. “You’ll survive this chick. Maybe you’ll
think of something to win her love. Remember, seize the day!” Knox smiled, got
up from the couch, and followed the boys to their rooms.
The following morning John Keating sat in a chair beside his desk. His mood
seemed serious and quiet.
“Boys,” he said as the class bell rang, “open your Pritchard text to page 21 of
the introduction. Mr. Perry”—he gestured toward Neil—“kindly read aloud the
first paragraph of the preface entitled ‘Understanding Poetry.’”
The boys found the pages in their text, sat upright, and followed as Neil read:
“‘Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evan Pritchard, Phd. To fully understand
poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then
ask two questions: 1) How artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered
and 2) How important is that objective? Question 1 rates the poem’s perfection;
question 2 rates its importance. Once these questions have been answered,
determining the poem’s greatness becomes a relatively simple matter. If the
poem’s score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph and its
importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poemyields the measure of its greatness. A sonnet by Byron might score high on the
vertical but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other
hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total
area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great.’”
Keating rose from his seat as Neil read and went to the blackboard. He drew a
graph, demonstrating by lines and shading, how the Shakespeare poem would
overwhelm the Byron poem.
Neil continued reading. “‘As you proceed through the poetry in this book,
practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this manner
grows, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry.’”
Neil stopped, and Keating waited a moment to let the lesson sink in. Then
Keating grabbed onto his own throat and screamed horribly. “AHHH-
HGGGGG!!” he shouted. “Refuse! Garbage! Pus! Rip it out of your books. Go
on, rip out the entire page! I want this rubbish in the trash where it belongs!”
He grabbed the trash can and dramatically marched down the aisles, pausing
for each boy to deposit the ripped page from his book. The whole class laughed
and snickered.
“Make a clean tear,” Keating cautioned. “I want nothing left of it! Dr. J. Evans
Pritchard, you are disgraceful!” The laughter grew, and it attracted the attention
of the Scottish Latin teacher, Mr. McAllister, across the hall. Mr. McAllister
came out of his room and peeked into the door window as the boys ripped the
pages from their books. Alarmed, he pulled open the door and rushed into
Keating’s room.
“What the …” McAllister said, until he spotted Keating holding the trash can.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you were here, Mr. Keating.” Baffled and embarrassed, he
backed out of the room and quietly closed the door.
Keating strutted back to the front of the room, put the trash can on the floor
and jumped into it. The boys laughed louder. Fire danced in Keating’s eyes. He
stomped the trash a few times, then stepped out and kicked the can away.
“This is battle, boys,” he cried. “War! You are souls at a critical juncture.
Either you will succumb to the will of academic hoi polloi, and the fruit will die
on the vine—or you will triumph as individuals.
“Have no fear, you will learn what this school wants you to learn in my class;
however, if I do my job properly, you will also learn a great deal more. For
example, you will learn to savor language and words because no matter what
anyone tells you, words and ideas have the power to change the world. A
moment ago I used the term ‘hoi polloi.’ Who knows what it means? Come on,Overstreet, you twerp.”
The class laughed. “Anderson, are you a man or a boil?” The class laughed
again, and everyone looked at Todd. He tensed visibly, and, unable to speak,
jerkily shook his head. “No.”
Meeks raised his hand. “The hoi polloi. Doesn’t it mean ‘the herd’?”
“Precisely, Meeks,” Keating said. “Greek ‘for the herd.’ However, be warned
that when you say ‘the hoi polloi,’ you are actually saying, ‘the the herd,’
indicating that you, too, are hoi polloi!”
Keating grinned wryly, and Meeks smiled. The teacher paced to the back of
the room. “Now Mr. Pitts may argue that nineteenth-century literature has
nothing to do with business school or medical school. He thinks we should study
our J. Evans Pritchard, learn our rhyme and meter, and quietly go about our
business of achieving other ambitions.”
Pitts smiled and shook his head. “Who, me?” he asked.
Keating slammed his hand on the wall behind him, and the sound reverberated
like a drum. The entire class jumped and turned to the rear. “Well,” Keating
whispered defiantly. “I say—drivel! One reads poetry because he is a member of
the human race, and the human race is filled with passion! Medicine, law,
banking—these are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, romance, love, beauty?
These are what we stay alive for!
“I quote from Whitman:
“O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, …
What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer
That you are here—That life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse!”
Keating paused. The class sat silent, taking in the message of the poem.
Keating looked around again and repeated awestruck, “‘That the powerful play
goes on, and you may contribute a verse.’”
He stood silent at the back of the room, then slowly walked to the front. All
eyes were riveted on his impassioned face. Keating looked around the room.
“What will your verse be?” he asked intently.
The teacher waited a long moment, then softly broke the mood. “Let’s open
our texts to page 60 and learn about Wordsworth’s notion of romanticism.”
