His name was Mr. Crothers, and we called him “The Crud”, or just “Crud”. We called him that to his face. It was a term of endearment, if you can believe it. We loved him. Class would be near its end, and someone would raise his hand. “Crud, will we be quizzed on this?” “Yes,” replied The Crud. We would say to each other, “Hey, did The Crud give homework in the class I missed?” The Crud’s lectures helped make us a group. We were 15 years old but we got into some really deep waters in that class. We had discussions that still reverberate for me. He was a rare rare teacher. I have written about him before. Amazingly, in that post I just linked to, Mr. Crothers himself shows up in the comments section. I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in years. It’s wonderful when you can let someone know the impact that he had on you. Stuff like that makes life worth living. Acknowledgement!
I remember one of our classmates refusing to read The Catcher in the Rye
Some of the books we read in that class I hated and could barely get through. Some I fell in love with.
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now — isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him once — but I loved you too.”
Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.
“You loved me too?” he repeated.
“Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.” In that simple line, a man’s lifelong dream dies. For good. How elegant, how frightening. It is not usually a huge moment that breaks us. It is something small, imperceptible to the naked eye. I re-read the book a couple of years ago, for the first time in ages, and Mr. Crothers’ words all came flooding back, how he pointed out that section, and how he had us talk about it. And what Fitzgerald did there in the language, how simple it was, how he never says “Gatsby felt” or “Gatsby thought” – Fitzgerald just describes a physical response: his eyes opening and closing. Mr. Crothers helped me get how good that was.
He led the way, but he made us discover it ourselves. His lectures were impeccable. He knew what he wanted to discuss beforehand, obviously, based on the chapter we had read for homework, and he honed in on the moments, having us basically rap about them. He led us TO the revelations, so that we had a sense of discovery. I think that’s why so many of his observations have stuck with me. I still remember kids in that class, myself included, making little gasps of discovery when he would point something out (the names at the party, in particular: The entire scene looked different to us once we realized the bitchy sociological points Fitzgerald was making with all of those names.) The book became a puzzle, a mystery to be cracked. We felt like superstars of literature when we would figure something out.
And he wasn’t afraid of controversy, he would face it head on. We talked about racism in Huckleberry Finn, and we talked about why this book may be banned. We discussed the books in their larger contexts – the world from which they were written – which is now way out of style, and that’s a shame. To remove a book from its context castrates it. What do you talk about then? Text? Well, that’s a bit limited. He would make us argue our positions. He would not obviously take a side. He would read out a quote from this or that person stating WHY the book should be banned, and then ask, “What do you guys think?” We were not unanimous in our opinions. There were people who were uncomfortable reading the book, those who didn’t get the big deal, those who were angry that the book would ever be challenged. Crothers didn’t steer the conversation one way or the other, although he obviously was having us READ the book, so that tells you something right there. We would have debates in class that we would have to prepare for. Get up and state your position, then have someone do the rebuttal. He made us argue positions that we ourselves did not hold. “Okay, you argue FOR banning the book, and you argue AGAINST.” It was a brilliant critical-thinking exercise. Whether or not you agree is irrelevant in the context of true debating techniques: you should be able to argue either side, and be able to marshall your forces in either direction. He made us do that.
But he didn’t just discuss context. He also discussed Text. If you only discuss context, then each book has a tendency to become a pamphlet of the views/mores of the time, and that’s all you talk about: the misogyny/racism/social problems of the world of the book … which is fine, interesting and all, but can also cut off the greatness of a book (and also make the book seem incredibly boring to young teenage minds). Mr. Crothers talked about language itself. The ways in which writers used symbolism, metaphor, analogy. The narrative devices in any writer’s arsenal.
By the end of the year, we felt like old pros. We started the year baffled by Moby Dick (we had had to read it over the summer), and through The Crud’s careful and yet passionate lectures, we got to see what Melville was getting at. By the end of the year, he didn’t even have to prompt us. We were noticing everything that the writer was doing, and even though we may not have understood why, we at least recognized that there was something more to know. We did not dismiss something because it wasn’t immediately clear or perceptible. We knew that something MORE was going on, and we needed to understand why, whereas with Moby Dick, we all just groaned openly about how boring and pointless it all was. “WHO CARES ABOUT BLUBBER? GET BACK TO QUEEQUEG!”
An example of my own growth as a student in his class, in this regard, was when I got to the part in Catcher in the Rye about what happens to the ducks in the Central Park pond when it freezes over in the winter. If I recall correctly, Holden is chatting with a taxi driver about this issue. It goes on for some time. They speculate, they agonize, they wonder about the ducks frozen into the pond. I was in love with the book from the very first sentence, so I read it straight through, not waiting for the assignments of specific chapters. I do remember reading that “what happens to the ducks” section and feeling a strange prickle on my neck. It was the prickle of knowing that something was being expressed, something important, and I couldn’t figure it out. What does it mean?? I agonized to myself, and thought about it and thought about it, coming up with my own ideas. But I remember dying with impatience for Mr. Crothers to reach that section of the book in our class, because I NEEDED to hear what he had to say about it. We all walked into class that day, and I remember saying to The Crud as I passed by him, “Please talk about the frozen ducks – please! What IS THAT??” And he threw back his head and laughed and promised that he would. Mr. Crothers was younger than I am now at the time, but I imagine that seeing teenagers so excited and into works of literature must have been thrilling. He got off on it.
He was a tough teacher, too. I had always been ‘good at writing’, but in The Crud I met my match. I had written papers ever since junior high, but he is the one who taught me how to write. I got A’s on my college papers because Mr. Crothers had taught me how to formulate one. But it was not easy. On my first paper, I got a D. A D? In writing? I was devastated. I was used to struggling in math, but I always was the star of the class in English. A D? He had marked it up in red pen, with huge arrows, showing me where my thesis statement needed to be (not buried in the third paragraph, or not the final sentence of the thing), and how I needed to back this up, or that up, provide examples, whatever. I was so upset. Everyone got Cs and Ds on that first paper. We talked about it in class. I was sullen. Everyone was sullen. He broke it down for us. Here is how you do it. Here is how you guys need to think. It was scientific in its structure. My next paper? I worked my ASS off, and I got a C. I was not used to seeing anything even close to a “C” on anything I wrote, and it was a humbling and terrible experience. I still wasn’t getting it. I still wasn’t understanding the structure. This was early on in the class. It was one of the hardest classes I had ever taken, not because of what we were reading, that was easy, but because of the writing aspect of it, and that was a rude awakening. I knew I could write – but I was not getting the validation I was used to getting. It was horrifying. I kept working. I would read my papers out loud to my parents. I would sit and sweat it out. I got another C. And then another C. I got Cs on my papers for a month. I felt like my personality was breaking down. I was starting to get used to seeing Cs on my papers. I had become a C student in my mind. I ached for a B. Then I would at least recognize myself again! Mr. Crothers was brutal. He wasn’t just teaching us. He was training us. It was Theme Paper Boot Camp. I remember one night at home, working on a paper, knowing it was due the following day, and I completely short-circuited. I was unable to write a WORD on the page, I had become so self-conscious and so unsure of what I was doing. All I had for two hours of work was a bunch of crossed-out half-sentences. I knew, in my heart, that I would not be able to do it, I would not be able to get it done, and I threw myself on my parents’ bed sobbing, as my mother comforted me. It’s hilarious to think about. I was literally writhing about sobbing.
Thanks, Crud!
And when I got my first B on a paper I wrote for The Crud, it was a truly triumphant moment. It really meant something, that B. I had earned it, fair and square. It was the breakthrough. After that, I got my first A (which was meaningless compared to the first B), and then I just soared. No more problems. I knew what I was doing. It wasn’t the writing that was difficult for me, I had that down. It was the structure, and it was the thinking behind it. I could vomit out my “feelings” fine, but to gather my forces together and prove my thesis statement, with examples 1, 2, and 3 was not how I operated – I could not get my head around it. But once I figured it out, forget it. It would never leave me. I credit Mr. Crothers with my having taken a huge leap forward in my writing, something that I use to this day (and probably could use a refresher course from time to time), and something that I would go back to again and again in college, when I had big serious theme papers that were 40% of my final grade. It was especially helpful when the final for a college class was having to write a paper, with a time-limit: ie: In the 3-hour final, write a paper on the uses of symbolism in The Scarlet Letter
I never would have gotten it without that cold splash of water of getting a D first. A D, Crud?? Are you kidding me?
I have written before about my project, beginning in around 2001, of going back and re-reading every book I had had to read in high school, even Billy Budd, which I despised. That was the whole point: to revisit the books that my young mind had taken in, and see what I thought now. I had read a lot of books in high school, not only with Mr. Crothers as a teacher – I only had him in 10th grade. But it was only with the books from The Crud’s class where I remembered his lectures, where actual words he had said to us came up in my memory, where passages reminded me of something he had said or pointed out.
This is the impact a good teacher can have.
Mr. Crothers came up again this past week when I re-read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
He goes to getting ready for bed, pulling off his clothes. The shorts under his work pants are coal black satin covered with big white whales with red eyes. He grins when he sees I’m looking at the shorts. “From a coed at Oregon State, Chief, a Literary major.” He snaps the elastic with his thumb. “She gave them to me because she said I was a symbol.”
Way to show your cards, Kesey.
But with 15 year old readers, these things are not always obvious. Crothers pointed it out. He didn’t start off ponderously with, “What is he a symbol of?” which would have been boring, to me then, and to me now. He just asked us to think about it, and what it could mean. It took us a while to get it, and then after that it took us a while to really let it land.
“What could that Literary co-ed have meant?” he asked.
We in the class mumbled and stumbled. “I don’t know, Crud.” “He’s a symbol of what, Crud? I don’t get it.”
Crothers let us bluster about like that for a while, and then said, “What could she have been referring to?”
“No idea, Crud.” “Beats me, Crud.” “Why don’t you just tell us, Crud,” we replied.
“Is it the underwear that’s the symbol or is it something else?” he asked.
“Can underwear be a symbol, Crud?” “I don’t understand this book at all, Crud.” we said.
Finally, someone in the class said, “Is it because of the whales, Crud?” Mr. Crothers leapt on that: “‘Is it because of the whales?’ What do we think about that?” We knew we were onto something. “What could whales symbolize?” he asked us. We rapped about that. “They’re big …” “They’re scary …” We had taken field trips on whale-watching boats. We came from a fishing town. We knew about whales.
Mr. Crothers reminded us pointedly, “Remember, though: The Co-ed wasn’t a marine biology student. She was a Literature student.” The light then cracked in from above, and, the book being fresh in our minds, a couple of us shouted, “MOBY DICK!” Mr. Crothers almost jumped up and down in excitement. “Yes! Moby Dick! Okay, so what do we know about Moby Dick?” and then we were off to the races. Once that connection was made, we couldn’t stop seeing it. Moby Dick was everywhere in that book, and we all felt so smart once we figured it out. (Again, it is so obvious once you see it – but remember: we were 15. We were teenagers. We were obsessed with “Rock Lobster”, neon leg warmers, the Sadie Hawkins Dance and Adam Ant. Thinking in this way, an investigative patient way, was not in our makeup.) When it came time in Cuckoo’s Nest for the inmates to go on the fishing trip, all we could talk about was Captain Ahab. What Mr. Crothers had helped us do was see what Ken Kesey, the author, was doing. It was like cracking a code.
I haven’t thought of that discussion in decades. I didn’t even know it was still in my memory banks, but it came roaring to the surface, totally intact, when I re-read the book last week. Amazing.
I took English courses in college, but they paled in comparison to the vibrant argumentative ALIVE energy that was in Crothers’ class. I don’t remember anything said to me in English classes in college, but I remember the entire class devoted to Doctor T.J. Eckleberg’s eyes, and how it suddenly made the book come alive in a new way. And those lessons still reverberate. I don’t need Mr. Crothers to lead me by the hand, I now can figure stuff out for myself, although sometimes I still need help, but the help first given to me in 10th grade English has lasted a lifetime. I am a different kind of reader now, because The Crud taught me how.
It’s sad that more teachers don’t recognize the incredible opportunity they’ve been given, but it makes the ones who do all the more special. An exceptionally vivid, passionate homage.
I still have fond memories of the HS history teacher who returned a paper to me with the comment ‘unsubstantiated generalizations are bullshit.’
Dan – ha!!! That’s great!
My friends from high school are commenting on this on Facebook and it is awesome to see what they remember. My friend Beth also remembers the lecture about the “names” in Gatsby and how to this day she still looks at character names and tries to figure out what the author is trying to say by choosing such-and-such a name. My friend Trav remembers that Mr. Crothers was reading part of Macbeth out loud to the class, and did the “drunken page” part in a WC Fields impression.
This is a thrilling post to read. It so reminds me of my high school 20th Century Novel and Short Story teacher, Mr. Allen. I thought he was kind of “prissy,” and didn’t like him at all–but, whoa, he overwhelmed me with his teaching. I never had any Lit Class half as demanding, interesting, or entertaining in college. I still look back at regret towards that class. I wasted the first month determinedly not liking him, and resisting his enthusiasm. We actually read Salinger’s Nine Stories early in the class, and I barely participated–skipping several classes. You know how badly that pains me now, Sheila. I could talk about those stories for months. Anyway, a fun post.
DBW – Oh, how touching and totally human. I get it, I really do. When you’re young, you often think you know best. Or you resist something not knowing why. Fear, someone is different – whatever.
Do you remember some of the things he taught? Or gems that have stayed with you? I would LOVE to hear.
Oh, we did Gatsby, too. That’s why this post hit home with me. That was really the first time I ever had someone(someone very, very bright)do a detailed discussion of symbolism, imagery, metaphor, etc. in a major piece of literature. As you described, as we began to make our own discoveries, it was like having a whole new world of meaning and depth opened up to you as a reader. Very exciting. Then, we did lots of Salinger, which I loved. Unfortunately, I am at work, and they are going to send me packing if I don’t get back to work. I’ll have to continue later.
Yes, it’s like light breaking in through the clouds. I could understand the language fine, but not what the author was doing, and it was so exciting to have someone show us all of that!
One other thing. I still have the notebooks from his classes(I ended up taking a Poetry class from him because I enjoyed the first class so much). We butted heads a lot, and it wasn’t until years later that I ran into him, and was able to share HOW MUCH I got out of his classes.
I love that you were able to share it with him! Was he all knowing, like, “I knew you loved it, silly goose” – or was he surprised to hear it?
I think teachers often love the students who push back. It suggests at least involvement, struggle. It’s the apathetic ones you have to worry about.
He was definitely surprised. I was frustrating to him because he sensed I loved reading, was obviously excited to be in the class(when I was there), but didn’t put the effort into homework, etc. Plus, I was a “rebel,” and everything that means with a 17-year-old. LOL. I have a great story about a project I didn’t turn in on Gatsby. I was going to flunk. That is, until my Mother(Phi Beta Kappa–had one B her entire life from 1st grade through Grad School)found out. She wrote a research paper on Fitzgerald’s use of Zelda as the model for all of his major female characters, citing most everything he ever wrote. It took her about 2-3 days, which is all Mr. Allen gave me to turn it in. It was damn impressive. He came to me a week after I turned it in, and said, “OK. I’m going to give you a good grade on this, but I know there is no way you wrote this in that short period. I have looked everywhere I can think of to find where you got this. Just tell me where it came from.” I told him my Mom wrote it, and he said, “Please introduce me to her. I want to meet her.”
hahahahahahahahahaha
Great story!!!!
He sounds like a great guy. Still laughing. Your mother sounds tops, too.
You, on the other hand ….
(no, just kidding)
You’ll enjoy this – I’ve never forgotten it. I wrote a post on Animal Farm (here it is) – and a regular commenter named “otherstevie” left a story about teaching the book in his high school English class, and one kid – a rebel, etc. – who really clicked into it. I LOVE the story.
Sheila, did you have any contact with him after he commented on your last post?
Just reading his comment made me tear up a little. I imagine him retired, still living with a undeniable passion for literature. He must be so proud of you!
De – I have seen him a couple of times since! I saw him at a couple of weddings, and we slugged back some cocktails and had a great talk. He’s a very nice man. He made me call him by his first name, which was TOTALLY weird. I’ve seen him at church, too, when I go when I’m back home. But for years I didn’t see him. It was so cool to have him “find” that post – and not only that – but to STILL be teaching in his comment on that post. See how he’s doing that??
I know that in his retirement he was teaching acting at the University where I went in their big freshman class. he was also an amazing director. He directed me in our high school production of The Fantasticks.
An amazing teacher. He really had a calling.
Oh wow…..I think I love him!
Wonderful man!!
De – you work with high schoolers, too, right, in your job?
Also that he was cool enough to accept our vaguely hostile nickname, knowing that we meant it as an endearment.
Sheila. You could be a Mr. Crothers. Wow – would you light a fire for great literature. Or films.
Oh, man. This is the kind of teacher I dream of being, the kind of thing I hope one day to give to even one of my students.
I really wish I had had this experience back when I was in school. I never really picked up this kind of enthusiasm or understanding from any of my Literature teachers. I don´t resent them at all, they were probably doing their best, they tried to teach the class what they knew, but it didn´t go further than what was most visible.
Sheila, you and your classmates were blessed. I SO wish I´d had a Mr. Crothers in my life.
Hi Sheila! I remember the names lecture, too and I remember falling in love with A Tale of Two Cities. That class was hard for me; that year was really hard for me. I have one great memory though. We had written an in-class essay on Catcher In the Rye. Mr. Crothers came to class a few days later, and said something along the lines of “you have some people in class who you think are just sitting there not doing much, and then they surprise you” and he started reading one of the essays out loud. It took me a minute or two to realize that he was reading mine! It was one of the few times in high school where I believed in myself academically. I treasure that memory.
Anne – Hi, you! Tears came to my eyes when I heard your Mr. Crothers story, and his announcement to the class. What an important moment, vivid to you after all these years. God, that’s so so great. It was a hard class. He really worked us.
I love how everyone remembers the “names lecture” – Man was on fire with that shit!!
Alessandra – we were so so lucky. I am not sure, I may be projecting backwards – but I think I was aware of it at the time. Not consciously, as in, “When I’m old, I will realize how great this guy was” – but I knew I was excited by it, by how he helped me see how to read. Even with the books I didn’t like.
Good luck with teaching. You have the passion for it. Those kids will be lucky to have you.
This whole post and the comments have me so filled up with emotion…my God I miss visiting your blog Sheila.
Little behind on my reading. That’s a great post. I had a couple teachers like that. I still have my first D paper, with Ms. Godsey’s warning in purple ink: “I am not bedazzled by your writing. Do not turn something like this in again.”
Got a similar warning from Dr. Kerrick in college “I have no qualms about failing you.”
Both of them great….
Tommy – hahahahaha I love Ms Godsey! “I am not bedazzled” – OUCH!!! Those good teachers, though, they really make you want to rise to the challenge, don’t they?
Shit, I suck as a commenter.
I commented then blew out of here not checking back! Sorry.
I do work with middle school and high school aged kids…it’s not REALLY my job but since I’m the one that created the journal club and I run it…it’s become part of my job. ;)