Editors Note: Although the following story of crossed paths will slightly differ from the previously posted examples of unplanned encounters, I’ve never felt that the hopeful expectation & possible potential that fueled the following memory detracts from the overall impact of meeting such a massive personal hero and literary influence. Spoiler alert though…this week’s entry proved to be more personal than i was giving it credit for and a much bigger bite than I could chew. So much so, that this week’s posting turned out to be part 1 of an unexpected 2-part tale. I got a bit carried away on the backstory but quickly realized it was as essential to explain as the reveal of part 2 will support. So stay tuned!
Before I start-in on recanting the evening in question, a bit of backstory is required to flesh-out the full momentum of motion leading up to it. Without warning or forethought, I found myself suddenly writing poetry shortly after the start of 11th grade. The catalyst (catali?) for my new activity are too numerous to speculate and futile to explain in detail. Personally, this challenging time in a teenagers life is best exemplified by David Bowie’s classic song “Changes”…and specifically the timeless refrain of…”Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes”…a truly relatable lyric that simply explains it all. My time was split equally between playing pick-up basketball and writing free-verse poetry during those last two years of high school. Certain that i’d never become the first player awarded a full-ride basketball scholarship to Michigan based on the marginally average skills displayed during the Sunday night round-robin tournaments at the local Y…and fearing that a collegiate pursuit in writing would not be met with support, either emotionally or financially, by my parents…I enrolled in the fall of ’93 for my freshmen year of college at Roberts Morris, with the ridiculously malleable major of “communications”. My stint at Bobby Mo only lasted freshman year and was mostly unfulfilling to me academically, with the only and most important exception being my first semester English class…but even more specifically, it’s instructor - Professor Bernard.
(Side Note - To all teachers…the power and potential you have to make a difference and be a positive influence in a studentslife cannot be taken likely or be overstated…you participate in a profession that is historically under-appreciated, criminally underfunded and continually taken for granted…yet, the expectations and responsibility to produce a fully-educated and well-balanced adolescent continue to grow as the resources to accomplish it dwindle…and while the ratio of good teachers to bad will sadly always be unbalanced, the enormity of life-changing influence I received from the 2 great teachers I had out of a total of at least 50+ cannot be understated either. Bottom line…teachers are the cape-less unsung heroes that can’t give up on their cities despite the tyranny of public stupidity and misinformation waiting to take over like the next villainous crime wave. You should be regarded as much as celebrities, paid as handsomely as athletes and have parades held in your honor on a regular basis. - END RANT)
In less than 4 months, Prof Bernard quickly bolstered my limited high school curriculum-fed level familiarity of literature and my own independent but equally limited diet of Bukowski with a bevy of books by beats, bodhisattva bums and other historically dangerous freaks & radicals of the written word. Feminist poetry…religious philosophy…existential prose…tales of struggle and degradation…outlaws and outliers…sinners and saints…and the timing was ideal for my bone dry sponge of a brain to experience such a soaking. By looking at him, you’d never guess that such an unassuming man, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the husband of your mother-in-law’s best friend at work, would contain such critical and life-changing multitudes. Every single book he recommended, every author he applauded, every poet he praised…every thought, rule and convention he urged me to question…all of these influences were quickly interwoven into the essential threads that formed of my eventual fabric. Three of my strongest life-long foundational threads were spun together from the strands of my two new literary heroes - Jack Kerouac (for his essential spontaneous prose) & Allen Ginsberg (for his poetic & high holy visions)…and from my introduction to Buddhism by way of books like Kerouac’s classic “On The Road” (more in style & feel) & “The Dharma Bums” (dripping with it) and Ginsberg’s poems “Wichita Vortex Sutra”, “Gospel Nobel Truths” & “Father Death Blues”.
Professor Bernard wasn’t just unlike any other teacher I had ever experienced…he was unlike any other adult I had ever met…but more importantly, he was the first person to hip me to the idea that “normal”, “conventional” and “as expected” weren’t the only roles to play in the great big picture show of life. I looked forward to every class that semester…devoured every book listed on the syllabus (syllabi?)…aced every test…and continually banged-out the weekly written assignments that burst with the kind of unabashed over-exuberance that only the young can pull-off as “sincere” during a very small & limited time-frame of their lives. At the sad but eventual close of his final class, I hung back to let the classroom empty, wanting a chance to personally thank him for everything I absorbed in the last 16 weeks. Not surprisingly, he had a list of additional books to devour to give me…along with a pamphlet for a buddhist-run writers retreat that involved a week-long vow of silence, that was a bit more surprising…but, in retrospect, perhaps wasn’t. We parted ways with what felt like a hearty handshake between teacher & student that instantly evolved into, what I now realize, was a hug of gratitude between peers.
I spent the entire winter break breezing through every book on that list, plunging deeper into my self-imposed Beat-inspired world and preparing to experience the new year with an intense literary vigor. And in another 16 weeks, that same unbridled enthusiasm would be the driving force behind what might be the most impactful chance encounter of my life…which I will thoroughly cover in next week’s entry.
Till then…be kind to yr’selves as well as to others.
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