Listen and Write It Down

My father's family moved quite frequently after my grandfather's business failed in the Great Crash of 1929. I know that my father felt he didn't get a good foundation in reading and writing because he was in and out of so many different schools. He didn't have confidence in his ability to write "important" letters or minutes of meetings. And yet he was a voracious reader, a well-spoken man, and a fountain of knowledge such as I have never met in any other person. His practical and theoretical mathematical and engineering expertise were amazing. (My sister and I would never have gotten through geometry in high school without him!) Needless to say, I thought he knew everything (and still believe he pretty much did). Both of my parents strongly supported their children's quest for education. The value they placed on learning permeated my whole life and still does.

Because my father attended so many different schools, he didn't have a group of school friends that grew up together. Every year or so there were new faces and he was, of course, the 'new boy'. I don't imagine this was easy. I can picture him, a little, shy fellow, trying to pick up the atmosphere of a new school, trying to figure out what this new teacher expected, trying to read all the 'clues' which would help him do well. I'm sure he paid very close attention, both in and out of class, lest he miss something important.

This leads me to my favorite story about my father's school career. His senior year in high school found him at Woodrow Wilson High School in Portsmouth, Virginia. He was there only that year. How challenging to be the 'new kid' in a class of seniors! I don't think he worried too much about the math and science courses at all, and if he took a history or government course, he would have been confident about that, too, because he loved history. His senior English Literature class, however, cowed him. As he told the story, on the very first day of class, his teacher (as all teachers do) gave the students an overview of the semester, including her expectations. I can just picture him writing down everything she said. At one point in that class, his teacher said "Your final examination for this course will be a detailed outline of the history and development of English literature." My father wrote that down and underlined it.

His teacher never mentioned that examination topic again. My father, however, began to work on his outline. He kept up with his daily assignments, but also toiled away at that outline. He revised it, organized it, and memorized it. All semester long. When examination day rolled around, he was ready. The class sat down and waited for the teacher to pass out the exam. Sure enough, the only question was "Write a detailed outline of the history and development of English literature." My father began to write. The work and study of the whole semester poured out of his pen. He wrote and wrote and wrote. I think he required the entire time period to complete his outline. At any rate, he handed in the exam and went home. When his class met again to receive their exam grades, his teacher gave back his exam and looked at him "oddly". She asked him where he had gotten the outline. He explained how he had followed her advice from the first day of classes and had worked on his outline all semester. She touched his shoulder and told him he had done well. In fact, he was the only one in his class to pass the exam. Everyone else had to re-take it.  She couldn't give him a 100%, she said, because he'd forgotten John Wycliffe, but she told my father that his was the best outline of the history and development of English literature that she had ever seen.

My father was so proud. He told us this story many times over the years, and I hope he knew how proud we were of him and how he inspired us.