The Great Ones: An Appreciation

Humanities Professor James Zaharek is so good he could teach a blind man to see. On a typical day, he does an even better trick: he teaches spoiled freshmen at a community college to appreciate the History of Western Civilization. News of the pending fate of two thousand LAUSD teachers forced me to reflect on the great ones, teachers I had that made me a better learner and a better person. The wave of student appreciation at Citrus College seemed to carry Dr. Salwak to the greatest heights and he in fact is very good. But only one professor at Citrus College brought the class to its feet almost every session, laughing, fully engaged and alive. Zaharek is that professor and I personally witnessed him single-handedly turn an apathetic bunch of 18 year olds into a Reformation and Renaissance loving mob, engaging each other with questions such as “Into what political climate did John Calvin introduce his Institutes?” Now, speaking as a teacher myself, that’s good. When I moved onto Long Beach State, Dr. Donald Weinstock replaced Zaharek as my new mentor and teacher. As he looked on at the sea of young faces in his class, Weinstock was like Dicken’s Gradgrind, “a kind of cannon loaded to the muzzle with facts, and prepared to blow them clean out of the regions of childhood at one discharge.” Weinstock sneered at the cultural forces that were pulling his students away from his beloved Keats, Shelley, and Byron. And Weinstock was never satisfied. I’d turn in an essay and he would say it was too little. I’d give him another and he said it was too much. I could picture him now, sitting on a desk Indian style like a Jewish Buddha, reading my paper with suspicion and ready to unload. But he usually unloaded wisdom. From him I grew a love for the Romantic and Victorian poets who became like sages to me. When Keats wrote, “My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains,” I almost felt that same sweet melancholy that haunted the good doctor and poet until his death at age twenty six. When Christina Rossetti brushed off a potential suitor with “I’d rather answer no to fifty Johns than answer yes to you,” I felt the rejection palpably and seemed to share in its humiliation. And that’s the strength of a good teacher: their passions become your passions, their ideas adopted into your own, and their favorite authors suddenly end up on your shelves, too. And while you seek your voice through your essays, poems, and stories, you cannot help but in the meantime sound like someone you know, your mentor and teacher.
Steve Shade, a man with so much ability and wisdom, students were known to take and re-take his class just to listen to him. He’s the only teacher I had who I never called "Mr.” or “Professor” or “Dr.” He was just Steve. His vast knowledge in the art of writing is legendary and Steve, if given enough time and materials, could teach a Labrador how to write a one-act play or short story. He once helped me fashion a play for a whole year even though the semester was only three months long. To help me get it right, he was willing to answer my calls, texts and e-mails with the patience of a shaolin monk. Why? Because he’s a professional. He’s a teacher. The play turned out well but without Steve’s guidance, it didn’t stand a chance.
The profession of teaching has taken a beating lately and not just the college ranks take the hit. When scores are low teachers are blamed. But the great ones press on and give no quarter. Sixth grade teacher Jack Halboth was a master of discipline but taught with effortless and breezy skill. He taught us spelling, writing, and prepositional phrases. More important, he taught us to love learning.
6th grade is no piece of pastry but with the great ones, it’s just more hearts and minds ready to ignite. Students who previously hated books suddenly grew fond of Greek heroes and Newbery Award winners. Pedagogy, the art or science of teaching, cannot be acquired through teaching credential programs. It probably starts early and has something to do with an unquenched zeal for life. Halboth, who is no longer with us, had it in spades. The great ones usually do.