Thank You To A Teacher

At first, I was going to post this with the name of the professor, but my daughter Rae convinced me it would be as powerful if it were anonymous. Several years ago, I quoted a teacher friend of mine by name in this column and she was furious. I removed her name from my site and almost learned my lesson. As Rae said, "You don't want to anger someone to whom you are grateful." She is right. So, I have removed the identifying details. But minus a few words, this is the letter I sent last week to an old professor.

Dear Professor

After 30 years as a journalist, I cannot help myself; I have to write this as an inverted pyramid.

Thank you. The brief time I spent as your student was valuable to me and improved my life.

I would be flattered and surprised if you remembered me from your playwriting course… but I sure as heckfire remember you. I felt compelled to write because I am now a teacher, with a fuller realization that, since we're clearly not in it for the money, we must be in it for the psychic rewards. I would like to offer you what I hope will be a small psychic reward--you made my life better.

I am constantly amazed (and sometimes either disappointed or downright shocked) at the things my students remember from my class, so I will tell you what I remember from my time with you. I remember you gave us a reading of your one-act play… It may even have been a work in progress when you read it to us. My vision of the scene is one of rapt attention by the students and a fantastic reading by you. I remember you allowing me to read my execrable play Sam Patch (actually, the book for a musical produced at the MIT radio station, the master tape for which I just rediscovered) to the class. As I recall it, you gently pointed out to me that the play lacked an antagonist, and that an antagonist was a fairly critical element of most plays. My memory tends to be epigrammatic, so I remember the advice you gave about playwriting: "Good versus evil is a comic book. Good versus good makes an interesting play."

I came to MIT intending to become an electrical engineer. Once I arrived, however, I found myself so distracted by non-academic activities that, in the words of my freshman advisor, I was in the "twilight of a mediocre academic career." The best way to decide on a career path, I felt, was to look at my teachers and ask, "Who seems to be enjoying themselves the most?" My science, engineering and math teachers seemed happy enough, for the most part, but I was bowled over by the joie de vivre of only two teachers: my late mentor, former Newsweek senior editor Edwin Diamond--and you. I loved writing Sam Patch and working for The Tech and was utterly disinterested in nearly everything else I was doing. That cinched it for me. I would write for a living.

I only wrote one more piece for public performance, a four-part series of 15-minute (incredibly derivative) radio sketch programs for the MIT student radio station. After that I was a full-time professional journalist for three decades. Every word I wrote was ephemeral, as evanescent as baby's breath, and had the shelf life of fish. In my 50s, I decided to leave a more permanent mark on the world, and that's how I came to teach 8th grade U.S. History. Once more, you were an influence; as I contemplated the career change, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the numerous fine teachers who helped me become the happy and successful person I am. Alas, many of those teachers are no longer with us, but I have thanked as many of them as I can find. I realized at about 4:30 this morning that I had not thanked you. You may be happy to hear that I spent a delightful two hours composing this letter in my mind before I got up. I am particularly proud of the descriptions of the permanence of my journalism.

In addition to mailing you this in care of your agents at William Morris, I am posting it on my blog because I am proud of having been your student. Also, one of the most interesting aspects of the blogosphere is that someone will stumble across this someday (possibly as soon as next week), and be inspired to write to one of their teachers--maybe even me. Let the chain remain unbroken!

Yours truly,
Paul Schindler