When I was an adolescent, I never thought I would enjoy writing as much as I do now. I had poor reading and writing skills. Intellectually, I was math loaded. After junior high school, I received a scholarship to attend a private school in the suburbs of Detroit, Cranbrook High School. My first D in academics came in my freshman year during English class. My English teacher, Mr. John M. Geoghegan was a hard-driving perfectionist: He dressed perfectly sloppily, he was a perfect chain smoker, he had perfectly greasy hair, and he was perfect for the seventies. He also held the power to grade his students perfectly. He did it without any emotional connection to his students. He seemed to be a man on fire. He seldom had comments that were encouraging in any way. I can hear his words now, this writing stinks. He did not hold back.
When I arrived home with a D on my first paper, I made a once in a lifetime mistake; I asked my father to help me rewrite my paper to get a better grade. The subject was the rock opera Tommy, performed by the Who. My English teacher played the album in class and asked each of us to create a story from the lyrics. It was my first exposure to rock music. I could not understand the words, much less pick out a storyline.
My father read the paper. “This is pure gibberish. How in the hell did you write this? You’re so damn stupid. It makes no sense at all. No wonder you got a D. I would have given you an F. You better get with it son. Or your gonna be a loser.” The lecture went on and on. He did not help me. I attempted to write a better paper. I rewrote it several times, each time the story had minor improvements. My final grade for the project was a C. I was so excited to get a C. I made a C for the class. I felt I barely got through the course, perhaps by the skin of my teeth.
I took Latin during my freshman year at the same time. I learned to write from translating Latin passages. Romans used a lot of passive voice. I became an expert in passive voice which helped me received an A from Mr. Hoffman. However, the passive voice was and is not well received by English teachers. It was a Cardinal sin to write English papers in the passive voice.
I broke my little finger on my right hand while playing football in my freshman year. Cranbrook required all freshman to take typing. I took typing and English at the same time. After my finger was set and splinted, I was told to stay off the typewriter for at least six weeks. The teacher gave me an F because I couldn’t type when I attended class. I argued with her about my injury and her harsh response to the physician’s request. She denied me access to the Spring semester class to complete my work. She later changed my grade to a Withdrew Passing. Mr. Geoghegan wanted our papers typed. I handed in handwritten ones, physically unable to type because of my broken finger. He was not pleased with me.
My next experience with English teachers was during my Sophomore year. I took a class taught by a Southern gentleman from Georgia, Mr. John W. Hazard. He required students to read several classics which included Frankenstein, Withering Heights, and Catcher in the Rye. He, too, graded me harshly. I did not agree with Mr. Hazard’s interpretations of sexual perversion and disturbed psycho-social behaviors in almost every book we read. The only A I received was an A- for a poem I wrote fashioned in Gothic tones. I struggled through his class, realizing that my vocabulary was far below my fellow student. I bought the self-help book Thirty Days to a More Powerful Vocabulary. I learned new words, but I had no context in which to use them. The well-intended exercise was not very rewarding. I received a B- for the year. He was a Georgia football fan. He owned an English Bull Dog. I am sure that reciting the Georgia football scores each week helped me.
In my Junior year, the most significant English teacher of all time, Mr. Templin R. Licklider, taught me creative writing. He was a tall and gangly gray-haired man with a deep and resounding voice. Our first assignment: write a short story. My first grade from him was a C. When I asked him what I could do to get a better grade, he replied, “Write better.” I replied, “How?” He said, “Come to my office after school for a few weeks. I’ll show you.” And I did, and he did.
He was a very patient man. I took to his instruction like a duck to water. I received an A for the course. I realized I could write. I just did not know how. He taught me the basics of grammar. He helped me to get out of the passive voice. However, I did not find my writing voice until I was fifty years old. There’s more to come!
Kevin S. Merigian © March 2019