Archive for category Student Successes

This is the kind of news I seriously love to share: Another of my students has been published.

This particular student is actually a knob (Citadel-talk for “freshman”) in my English 101 class of all things: a jolly good chap named James Tomlinson, who has a brief article in the most recent edition of The Lesser Squawk, the newsletter (circulation over 1200) of the Charleston Audubon Society. His article (you’ll eventually be able to read it online) is a report on simple ways for folks to save energy, a “go green” to save the planet sort of piece. This, in itself, is pretty interesting, since most folks probably think the students at El Cid are card-carrying, hard-right, ultra-conservative right-wing-nuts who’d be liable to deny environmental concerns.

Perhaps more interesting, though, is the story about how this happened, which starts over a beer out at the beach.

No, it wasn’t with young Mr. Tomlinson. And no, I’m not encouraging drinking. The beer was had in a social setting out at The Citadel’s beach house, during our yearly “Welcome Back, Faculty!” gathering. I was talking to people here and there when I happened across Paul Nolan, a clever ornithologist in the Biology Department. We came to El Cid at the same time, so we’ve been friends over the years. Anyway, after a bit of chit-chat, Paul notes that he’s now the president of the Charleston Audubon Society. Quite cool, of course. Then he tells me about The Lesser Squawk, the society’s newsletter. “You know,” he says (or close to it, I’m paraphrasing my memory), “if you have any students who could write something for it, we should talk.”

Well, any student is capable of crafting publishable work. So we talked some more, and eventually I had concocted a plan to have my two 101 classes select subjects for their third essay that would be suitable for an Audubon Society newsletter. We had a simple competition: the best essay would go to the editor of the Squawk.

Well, congratulations to Mr. Tomlinson. He won, and they accepted the essay for publication.

What a busy week! Last night I was the MC for the annual rendition of Patio Performances, in which three talented cadets read their creative writing under the shading oaks of the library courtyard. It is a pleasant 40 minutes, especially on a beautiful spring evening here in Charleston.

The cadets featured were all published in this year’s Shako, and they all did a terrific job. A hearty congratulations to Travis Hedges, Jay Mabry, and Cary McNamara!

Cadet Joseph C. Collins, an upstanding Chemistry major from New York who will join the Navy after graduation, wrote a research paper for me last spring as a freshman (or “knob,” as we call the poor folks hereabouts). This Chemistry major’s topic? Shakespeare’s Othello, by golly.

Joseph is a terrific student, so it was no surprise to find that his research paper was terrific — so terrific, in fact, that I suggested he consider thinking about the possibility of publishing it.

Well, a copy of this year’s Gold Star Journal — The Citadel’s scholarly nonfiction equivalent to The Shako — arrived in my mail today. And what do I find on page 1? Why, it’s Mr. Collins’ paper: “An In-depth Look at Mental Illness in Othello.” And it’s even better than I remembered.

Congratulations, Joseph!

I’ve had the pleasure of teaching quite a few students over the years. Hundreds, certainly. I don’t think I’m up to thousands yet, though that day will assuredly come. I’ve taught at three institutions, with students at all levels of experience: from wide-eyed freshmen to serious-minded PhD candidates to long-out-of-school retirees.

When I was a student I figured that teachers hated certain students, and I hoped I was not counted among them. Yet while I cannot speak for other teachers, I can say that I haven’t really disliked any of my students. Not that I can remember, anyway. So I really do mean it when I say teaching has been a pleasure.

Of course, I would be lying if I claimed that there aren’t students who stand out in my memory. Writing this, my mind wanders to think of…

• the young man who came to my office to work earnestly on his writing almost every day and went from an F- to an A-student in the course of a term;
• the wallflower from the back row who shocked me at the end of a term when she presented an astounding, brilliant, and original final research paper;
• the blind boy who wanted so desperately to experience the Middle Ages that I redesigned my class website with the help of a blindfold, so that the speech software could better parse it for him;
• the girl who fought repeated personal illness and family tragedy over the term, reminding me how utterly unimportant my class can be;
• the polymath who could hardly focus on any one thing, but when he did turned it to brilliant diamond;
• the girl from Hawaii, who despite the bitter cold of a Rochester winter managed to find a fresh flower every day and wear it in her hair;
• the young man who was so casually brilliant but maturely grounded that I hope to see his name in political circles one day;
• the elegant and accomplished female trombonist who, to my continuing astonishment, was a huge Tolkien fan in addition to being a talented young musician;

and so many more. Names, places, faces … memories of a student wearing a Viking helmet, memories of another sitting and laughing in my office, memories of another met in a restaurant, or still another talking about her family in Lebanon during the conflicts there … it’s hard to keep them down once they start churning.

I think of all this now because that Tolkien-loving trombonist, Liza Malamut, dropped me a line a few days ago. Trolling the ‘net after watching Bagby’s Beowulf (oh how the heart races!), she looked me up and found this website.

I’m always thrilled to hear from former students — where they are, what they’re up to, what odd medieval connections they’ve noted in the world — and this was certainly no exception. Liza’s doing great work and seems generally happy in the world, for which I’m very glad. She also notes in passing that she may audition for the Charleston Symphony, who would be foolish not to snap her up at once.

I should note how hearing from her did make me realize what an utterly ignorant man I remain, though. Liza writes:

I’ve actually played Renaissance and Early Baroque music (and some medieval slide trumpet, though this is more recent) for several years now. It’s among my favorite genres, and contains collections of incredible music for brass that is still being discovered today. The quality, as well as the virtuosity, of the music (think Castello, Weckmann, Lassus, Hammerschmidt, etc.) is really astounding.

She means well, I know. By kindly listing some representative composers she intends to help my poor little mind understand the kind of music she’s working with. Only … I don’t know any of these names. Even trying to “talk down” to me, Liza’s mind soars above mine!

On the plus side, the whole thing sounds marvelously wonderful, and it does serve to emphasize one of the great benefits of teaching: I get to meet interesting people in the prime of their lives who teach me far more than I teach them. I mean, if it wasn’t for Liza I wouldn’t be listening to the mid-Baroque sounds of Andreas Hammerschmidt while I grade papers this afternoon.

Thanks, Liza!

PS: Liza links on her blog to an apparently man-snaring recipe for cookies.