My writer friend Paul Engleman says that one of the very best things about publishing a book is that it gives you a moment to thank all the people who helped or inspired you along the way.
The trouble is, you’re often only partially aware of who helped and inspired you along the way, and how. And some of the people who helped you in the most understated ways, helped you the most.
My English teacher in my freshman year of high school was not the Robin Williams character in Dead Poets Society. Mrs. Greer had prematurely gray hair and she was warm but also kind of reserved, as I remember.
There was a deep-down confidence, though, that gave me the impression when we read To Kill a Mockingbird and she told us what the author wanted us to think about Boo Radley, she had it on good authority. Like maybe she knew Harper Lee personally. (Doesn’t she look like she might?)
There were things on Mrs. Greer’s classroom walls that weren’t on the walls of other teachers in this WASPy little Ohio town called Hudson. The abolitionist John Brown had lived there, and it had been a stop on the Underground Railroad; but there was only one Black person in my high school class. And my Democrat mother complained that all the liberals in town could fit into the phone booth in Saywell’s Drug Store.
And yet Mrs. Greer had a Pete Seeger concert poster on the wall. I knew Bob Seger. But who was Pete Seeger?
Mrs. Greer had another poster on the wall. This was not a popular sentiment in Hudson, Ohio during the Reagan administration, and I wonder if she took some guff about it from young Alex P. Keatons, or during parent-teacher conferences.
I remember two things most personally about Mrs. Greer’s class:
Diagramming sentences with the supreme confidence of a mathematician, and realizing that was as close as I would ever get to technical mastery of anything.
And, once, Mrs. Greer telling me in her straightforward way, that maybe I should think about a career in writing.
Which I hadn’t been doing, to that point, despite the fact that my parents were writers. (Because they were writers?)
Mrs. Greer didn’t rave about my writing, didn’t tell me I was the second coming of Ian Frazier (another Hudson product). Just said I ought to think about it, as a possibility.
It meant something, coming from a third party. “When an adult names you, before the wax is completely dry,” writes Rebecca McCarthy, about being called a poet as a teenager by the writer Norman Maclean, “the name becomes part of who you are.”
And so, by the time I applied to Kent State University and declared a major, English, it was. Not because my parents wanted me to do it, but because at least one of my English teachers had suggested it.
To promote An Effort to Understand, I’m going on radio in Cleveland and in Kent this month, and doing a virtual book talk at Hudson Library & Historical Society in May. I thought on Monday night to reach out to Mrs. Greer on Facebook.
I told her I’d become a writer, after all. And that I remembered the “bake sale” poster. And that I have a Pete Seeger poster on my office wall. And that my 17-year-old daughter is named Scout.
Mary Z. Greer was delighted. She read one of my blog posts, and confirmed that I am a good writer. She ordered my book. She’s going to read it and listen to my radio interviews and we’re going to talk on the phone before the Hudson Library book talk. I hope she’ll come on and ask me a difficult question, like she used to do in class.
It’s often said of teachers that they’ll never know the influence they had on their students.
Often, the students never know the influence their teachers had, either. But when we catch a glimpse, we should let our teachers know, in full.
Boy, does it feel good.
Postscript: I don’t remember these classroom rules, but Mary sent this along yesterday, and it squares with the Mrs. Greer I remember.
P.P.S. And as part of her comment here, Mary Greer demonstrates what a fine writer she is herself. “Your memories remind me of how our kids are half asleep and half on fire—how we need to help them wake up gently and at the same time, protect them from scorching!”
No wonder you’re a writer. This essay sums up Mary so beautifully. Thank you.
That’s good to hear. Her vividness is part of the reason. She’s still so clear even after 35 years!
David! Your words (yes, so well-written!) honor what I wanted to be and do as a teacher—to pass on the gifts of awareness and affirmation I received from my teachers! Your memories remind me of how our kids are half asleep and half on fire—how we need to help them wake up gently and at the same time, protect them from scorching! Love to you, and thanks to all our teachers who open the way—and our students (like you) who gather it all together and make it so much more than it was in the beginning. I thank you.
Great tribute to OUR Mary. Long May she reign. Used to walk to Saywells ( from my cousins on Stow Rd.)for blue marker pens.
“Half asleep and half on fire.” I see that in my own kid, so clearly. And now I see it in my young self, as you once did. Thanks, Mary.
Mrs Greer is my mom and i was very pleased to read this. Also, fun fact for you.. not only was John Brown a resident of Hudson, but the house that my mom and dad bought in 1968 or so (7153 Valley View Rd, also known as Echo Hill) is on what’s called Lot 75, in Hudson. I recently acquired a very direct history of Lot 75. First owner of Lot 75 was John Brown and his brother Owen…they didn’t build the house I grew up in, they sold it prior to that, but I sure am fascinated by the thought that John Brown was traipsing around that land that I later played on..:-) I ‘ll check out your book!
That is way, way cool, Jim. You might have been playing, but Old John Brown—he was not.
Wow.
Links to Ohio events, please!!!
I’ll be on WCPN Tuesday during their 9:00 hour. All else coming soon!
Thanks for your interest, Lisa.
This reminded me of my own Mrs. Greer. He was a teacher at Brush, Mr. Oliver. I carry him in my heart every day. I’ve never been able to find him to thank him. But I do thank him. For his encouragement. For seeing me. For telling me I was special.
It was something I needed so much. And all these years later, it means more and more to me every day.♥️
Mrs. Greer was one of my favorite teachers. I have told both of my college age kids stories about her classes and how much she meant to me. Thanks for sharing this!
Thank you, Mrs. Greer. Thank you, Harvey Shumaker. Thank you to so many Hudson teachers. I, too, became an English major knowing that I would grow in immeasurable ways. I knew I’d be prepared for post grad whatever. Ultimately, I found my path as a teacher for English language development for 6th graders. For a next career, I hope to pursue my talents to write engaging and accessible texts for my students. I adore the quote too. The ripple effect is real. Many people thank you.
I loved you essay on mrs. Mary Greer ! She was a wonderful force when I took her created writing course my senior year. Hopefully , I’ll be able to listen and read your book.
Kind regards,
Monica barth
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Thank you for this wonderful story about Mary Greer, my best friend. She and George Sosebee inspired me to become a teacher. She once told me that you may never know which student in your class needs you the most, but to trust that someone will. From that, I learned to view each student as “the one.” Thank you again for this tribute to a compassionate and wise teacher.
David, thank you for your tribute to Mrs. Greer, an excellent teacher. When a teacher successfully guides a student to find power in his words, joy comes for both student and teacher. On my way to Amazon, and I look forward to reading what you have to say.
Patricia Picard
Thanks, Patricia—and thanks all, for this terrific outpouring for Mary Greer, my old teacher and my new friend.