Teachers

Last night I thought of Monsieur Garrapon. Perhaps I should not say "last night," but rather this morning. I saw the clock from where I lay in bed, and the time was 4:15 a.m. I was not dreaming, but rather lying there in one of those stretches of time in the night when old men like myself cannot sleep, but rather devote the minutes to thinking over their life, what they have seen and done, and what has been to them over the years.

Monsieur Garrapon was a French literature at the Universite de Caen, in Normandy, France, where I spent about four months studying. I cannot remember a thing about the other three or four instructors I encountered there, and I cannot remember much about Monsier Garrapon except for three or four details. My impression is that he was not tall -- perhaps 5' 10" in height, that he spoke very clear and measured French, and that his medium-length hair was what we would call "dirty blond." Since I was 19 and he was probably in his late forties at the time, and since I am just turning 71, he would now be around 96 years old. It is rather unlikely that he has lived this long. I remember him as the professor who taught a course about the plays of Moliere, the great French 17th Century dramatist.

At French universities, if my experience at Caen is any indication, matters are left very much up to the student. A student took a course, attened classes, and studied like hell in preparation for the final exam. There were no assignment such as "Read pages 200 - 350 for next Tuesday." Since this was a course in the plays of Moliere, I remember Professor Garrapon stating at the first class meeting that there are many editions of Moliere's play and that he recommended 10 or so for various reasons which he explained as he listed them on the board. It was up to the student to decide which edition or editions he was going to study, and to go out and find them. The course was about "the plays" of Moliere -- ALL the plays. And so we were to read ALL the plays.

What I remember most about Professor Garrapon were his lectures. He came to class, opened notes he only occasionally referred to, and delivered brilliant, finely polished lectures that left the class with insights they probably would never have had with his instruction.

It was also Professor Garrapon from whom I learned what the French call "explication de texte." This technique really shows whether or not a reader has worked hard to understand an author's writings. It consists of a very close reading of between half a page and a page of what an author has written, and then analysing what is on the page. How is this typical of the author's writing ? How is it different ? What does it mean ? How does it mean whatever it means ? Are there ambiguities in the writing ? Are these intended. How did the author's life affect what is in the text ?

Professor Garrapon demonstrated the meaning of "explication de texte" by performing a number of these in his classes. He was brilliant. He showed the proper play of intellectual enthusiasm and curiosity in his analyses. I shall never forget them.

In short, he was a great teacher and has undoubtedly been remembered by thousands of his students.

Let me speak of teachers I knew from primary school and junior high. I remember almost nothing about two of them except what they said to me on one occasion each.

The first was my third-grade teacher, Ms. Askew. I recall her as a very prim, upright and prissy lady, middle-aged, and very precise and fussy. The main thing I remember is that several times she said to our class, "The only thing a customer can be short-changed on and never complain is education." In teaching as a substitute teacher at a Bay Area high school, where most of the students behave as though they don't care about their studies at all, I have often thought of her statement.

A teacher who had a considerable detrimental influence on my life as a student was a Mr. Needham, who taught my sixth grade class back East. Mr. Needham made the classic move that no teacher should never make, and that affected my learning abilities for a number of years.

For some reason, our seventh grade class was given a test to determine our language learning abilities. A week after the test, our teacher announced the scores. He went down through the list of pupils present, passing out a little slip of paper with the score on it to each student. When he came to my name he said, "Come and see me at the end of the class." There was no piece of paper, no score.

At the end of class I approached him. When everyone else had left he told me, "You got a very, very low score on that test. It indicates that you would not be able to learn another language. Don't try to, because you will fail."

Since then I have been a Samoan interpreter in court and a French translator for the US government.