Books |
Teacher of the Year
Lawrence Meyers
By
Published: Apr 16, 2009
Category:
Biography
Well, here’s a first — five years into HeadButler.com, and I’m finally recommending a self-published book.
Does it need editing? Badly. If I cut 50 pages out of this 300 page paperback, you’d gain an hour and never miss a thing. But then I could say that about almost any book from the most distinguished “professional” publishers.
Does the writer take liberties? Many. Like leaping into the main character’s head and telling us what he’s thing. But then Lytton Strachey did this a century ago, and brilliantly, in the final paragraphs of Queen Victoria.
Does the book look cheesy? A little. But the cover is attractive and witty, and the binding’s a lot better than some books I’ve recently received from “real” publishers.
And the writing? Sincere. To a fault. But that sincerity is the reason for the book. It’s the strength of this project, and its glory — this is a labor of love that was worth undertaking.
Consider: the best teacher you ever had. And, at the same time, he’s the teacher you know least about. Where does he live? What does he do outside of school? And, most of all, why does he both terrify and inspire you — why, decades after you graduate, can’t you get him out of your head?
For 36 years, Edwin Barlow taught math — calculus, mostly — at Horace Greeley High School in Chappaqua, New York. He sat in the back on the classroom; students went to the board and worked out problems. When they faltered, he could be withering. When they were late….well, here’s an account of the first class of a new school year:
Everyone spoke in quiet voices, warily eyeing their instructor, who sat motionless in the back of the room, reading Alice in Wonderland at his desk. A few boys whispered nicknames they thought suited Mister Barlow best. "Blackie" proved to be the most popular, and the name stuck for decades thereafter.
Tom watched with astonishment as the classroom clock’s minute hand struck the exact moment the class was to begin, and Mister Barlow slammed and locked the classroom door — preventing six or seven students from attending this first class. He glowered at us and announced, ‘This class begins at nine A.M., not 9:05 or 9:03 or 9:01 — it starts, with you or without you, at nine A.M.’. He waved away those staring incredulously and slack-jawed in the window of the locked door, as they realized they were to be hopelessly abandoned in the hall.
Then he said seriously, ‘Some of you may inadvertently survive this year-long test of your puny intellectual capacities, a test for which you are poorly equipped and unlikely to wish repeated’. We were mesmerized. We were in absolute awe. We were scared shitless and listened to his every word from that moment forward."
Mister Barlow had everyone open their notebooks, and on the front cover asked them to transcribe this dictation: "The Boy Scouts have their motto, "be prepared". We will use the same motto. This always means that our notebooks will always have sufficient vacant paper for our uses in class, before we start class. We always, further, have our pencils sharpened, our pens full of ink, before the class starts. The reason this teacher objects to our preparing ourselves in any way for work after class starts is that the number of individuals who have the habit of so preparing themselves is always less than the number who are prepared, and therefore it is impolite for us to demand that a whole group wait for us."
The math class departed in haste at period’s end. By the time Mister Barlow’s first physics class began — at exactly the appointed hour — word had already spread not to be late to Blackie’s class.
Edwin Barlow graduated from Holy Cross and the Harvard Graduate School of Education. He died in 1990, leaving $478,000 to the Horace Greeley Education Fund. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Those are the key facts of his life — indeed, they were, until Lawrence Meyers began this project, pretty much the only known facts about him.
Meyers took math from Barlow in the 1980s. He went on to write and produce dramas for network television. But the “mystery” of Edwin Barlow gnawed at him, so he began an epic investigation — 500 interviews of former students and teaching colleagues. In Teacher of the Year: The Mystery and Legacy of Edwin Barlow, he satisfies his curiosity and discovers what drove Barlow to demand the impossible from his students.
It’s a curious thing. You won’t find Barlow lovable, yet you may love him. And — this goes without saying — you will probably think more of him than he thought of himself.
Read it fast. Skip the digressions. And then ask yourself: Was Edwin Barlow a teacher who would have brought out the best in you? And — the extra point question — if he had been less damaged, would he have been so good a teacher?
To buy “Teacher of the Year” from Amazon.com, click here.
To visit the web site for the book, click here.
