My
favorite high-school teacher also
taught English. We students thought this teacher was cool because she
was only eight years older than we were. She was fresh out of college. She was
stylish: her clothes were a bit hippie Bohemian, and she styled her hair in a
long shag. The teacher spoke to us as if we were adults, and she often peppered
her vocabulary with words we hadn't hear before. She moderated the
"Creative Writing Club," which I joined, and she took a group to hear
Germaine Greer speak at the local community college. (What I remember most
about Greer's lecture was how Greer flirtatiously played with her long, silk
scarf throughout the talk).
During
my sophomore year, the teacher assigned Romeo
and Juliet. To test our understanding of the play, she assigned an unusual
homework project. We were directed to create a newspaper that knit the themes
of the play and showed our grasp of its historical setting.
We
received the assignment on a Friday, and it was due the following Monday. When
I returned home from school, I headed that afternoon to my Best Friend's house. My Best Friend
was artistic, and I hoped she'd have some materials with which I could craft the
piece. We found some large sheets of newspaper stock in her supplies. My Best
Friend and I went out to her backyard, where we burned the edges of the paper
to make it appear aged. From there, I spent the weekend writing up stories
about Renaissance Verona on my Parents' Royal
Typewriter. I drew
advertisements, maps, and a comic strip.
The assignment was
the most memorable one I completed. What I learned from this teacher—and from
my other, favorite teachers—was that good teachers don't teach you
material; they teach you to think differently and apply what you've learned critically.
Suburban Chicago, October 12, 1973. A piece of twine originally held the two pages of my newspaper together.
* * * * *
Page 2 featured a column by Margarita's Mouth, "Verona's Galloping Gossip."
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