Heat can destroy. It can also shape and create. Slightly increase the heat inside our bodies and the proteins that make us begin to break down. Greatly increase the heat on some ores and they, too, will break down. But blend the ores and take the heat to incendiary levels and you can craft some of the finest steel or even stronger metals. What happens to them beyond this depends on the blacksmith. Swords and plowshares are birthed by the same forges. Both have purpose.
Most people can point to someone who had a significant, positive impact on who they are as a person, what they have become. Often the one identified is a teacher who guided and encouraged. For me, it is a teacher, but gentle guidance and encouragement was FAR from his style.
Big Al was a crusty old man, even at a young age, his face cragged, his hair prematurely grayed but always neatly combed in natural waves, his voice a coarse baritone that would have been soothing were it not for all those cigarettes and a the remnants of what sounded like a Jersey accent. Smiles were such a rarity I don’t think I ever saw one until I had known him eight months.
I can call him “Big Al” now; he’s not so scary. But to a class of college freshmen, he was terrifying. From the first day of our Introduction to Journalism class he began by slamming the door and banging his books on the table. As people showed up late he would stroll to the door, pointing a long finger at them and growl, “You! You will NOT do that again. You will NOT interrupt me again. Now. sit. down.”
When all were present he began to lay out his ground rules. “You will NOT be late for class. The paper has to be printed and you will start to learn the discipline of working as a professional NOW. One minute past the deadline is the same as 23 hours, 59 minutes past the deadline. At one minute past the time for class to start, I will lock the door. Don’t even bother knocking. There will be no turning in an assignment late. It’s either on time or you failed it, no penalties, no makeup.”
He turned around and began writing on the board: O C C U R R E D. “Get this word down. It is the most often misspelled word in an assignment. If you misspell it, you have failed. In fact, ANY misspelled words and you have failed. I am not here to teach you copy-editing.”
After more harsh rules he drew a long line on the board. At the far left he labeled the start point “Birth,” at the other end, “Death.” He began calling on people to come up to the board. “Mark where you are in life with an ‘X’,” he ordered. After the third person labeled her life about a quarter of the way from the Birth point, he challenged, “Miss Summers, you feel that this is where you are in life?”
Tentatively she replied, “Yes?”
“So you think you might live to be 80?”
“Yes?”
“Miss Summers, would you agree that you might only live to be 50?”
“Yes?” He marked the line almost at the midpoint.
“Miss Summers, would it be safe to say something could happen and you might only live to be 35?
“Yes.” He marked the line closer to the end.
“In fact, Miss Summers, one could even assume you might die within a year? a month, or even a day?”
“Um. Yes.”
He marked the line just before the endpoint.
“So in reality every single moment in our lives we are actually right here, just before death because we don’t know when that will be, but you keep living your lives as if you had all of this time to take care of things. You do not. Start realizing you are living here.” He marked the board again violently at the endpoint. “Sit down.”
I mention it because I tried to see Big Al while I was away a couple of weeks ago. I saw that first classroom where I sat in some fear for weeks. He is still listed in the directory, but hasn’t taught on campus for several years, having retired and moved an hour or so north. Apparently he had a disagreement with some people in the department, but I was able to at least restart conversations with the man. “…when you visit the school, don’t mention my name because they might toss you off the campus. You’ll see that, as Heraclitus said, all is change… (Of course, I still have your gift, “In Our Defense” by Ellen Alderman and Caroline Kennedy, and I treasure it.)”
I had given him that book as a thank you for my graduation and all he did for me. Sitting here tonight, Big Al entered my thoughts again as I typed up a report and almost misspelled “occurred.” I smiled. Though hard to tell at first, Big Al was a man full of love for his students, once they walked through the fire. Many never noticed he was not standing on the other side waiting, but walking alongside them every step of the way. My epiphany about the greatness of the man came later, but that is another story.
… a fitting tribute.. fire is truly the shaping factor… no one ever gets through life without a little brimstone being tossed their way…
.. I wish you’d gotten to see him again this past week..
a very fitting tribute indeed. may i be so lucky as to have such an influential teacher here.
Teachers like that are FAR too scarce on campus.
Or anywhere else, for that matter.
I’m grateful for the few I’ve had.