Did a teacher change your life?
The ones who show us the way, plus my weekly shareables: A long-ago kidnapping, a recent storm, and going inside the head of Nic Cage
My life wouldn’t be the same if not for James Holt.
He died this week at age 69, which means he was only nine years older than me. It seems weird now to think that he was just 23 when I was 14 and a freshman at Brunswick High School. He seemed much older. I guess nine years is a lifetime when you’re that age.
He taught math but I never took a math class from him … what he was really known for was being one of the best debate coaches in the state. He recruited me for the team. I read a lot and talked a lot and didn’t mind getting up in front of people. I guess I was an obvious choice.
Mr. Holt, and his colleague Wayne Ervin, made us into a solid squad. We traveled all over Georgia for tournaments, packing into a short bus for the drive to Quitman or Elijay or Warner Robins. The tournaments themselves I don’t remember much, although we brought home our share of trophies. What I remember is those bus rides, playing 20 Questions, conjuring up elaborate puns, listening to “Super Freak” on repeat, maybe doing a little sweaty teenage groping under a musty blanket. I made lifelong friends and priceless memories.
That was one favor Mr. Holt did for me. The other was getting me a job at the Sunset Drive-In.
I need to write a whole separate piece soon about my time at the drive-in; it was the first real job I ever had, and probably the best. I worked there from when I was 15 until I left for college three years later, then came back and worked summers for a year or two. Mr. Holt’s mom, Tommie, ran the drive-in. She would bring giant bowls of fried rice for the staff to share. James worked at the theater, too, along with his brother, John. They hired a lot of James’ students and John’s friends. I learned so many things there. People will show up for a movie even in a tropical storm. The “butter” on buttered popcorn looks horrendous in its unmelted state. If everyone is high enough, they won’t notice you assembled the movie reels in the wrong order.
Except for my mom and dad, the debate team and the drive-in probably had the most influence on who I am and what I became. And I have James Holt to thank for both of them.
Did you have a teacher who changed YOUR life? I would to hear from y’all on this one. Tell me your story in the comments.
10 things I wanted to share this week:
My weekly for WFAE was about a day at the tip of a smoking gun.
This week’s SouthBound was a replay of my conversation with ESPN’s Ryan McGee. Go buy his book WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS OF BASEBALL. It’s tremendous.
Speaking of tremendous: this piece by Taffy Brodesser-Akner on a long-ago kidnapping, and the victim’s life after that trauma … well, this story goes in some unexpected directions, and gets better with every passing paragraph, and by the end it left me breathless. (NYT)
In related news: I can’t wait to read Taffy’s new novel, LONG ISLAND COMPROMISE, which is tangentially related to the kidnapping above.
My friend Chris Vognar writes about the new TWISTERS movie, and what it’s like when a real storm hits your town. (NYT)
Nancy Brachey, the Charlotte Observer’s longtime garden columnist, died this week; the Observer’s Joe Marusak has an excellent obit. I worked at the paper with Nancy for many years, and for most of those years, I was never sure if she liked me—but one day she came over and started chatting and everything was fine. She was encyclopedically knowledgable, constantly skeptical, master of the side-eye, and possessed a great laugh—but you really had to earn it.
One more RIP: the brilliant Bob Newhart, who created the first blockbuster comedy album AND the greatest final scene in sitcom history. (The Guardian, NYT)
Nicolas Cage talks to Susan Orlean about ADAPTATION, and lots of other things. (And if you haven’t seen ADAPTATION, remedy that right away.) (New Yorker)
Charlotte’s own Joshua Lee Turner, an amazing musician, posted his 500th YouTube video and made it into a look back at how creating videos gave him an unexpected career.
For a great taste of what Josh does, check out this version of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain”:
Have a great week, everybody.
As a former middle school math teacher and then a high school counselor, thank you for this column. I don't know if people realize just how much words like this from former students mean to those of us who work in the profession. Please say them often, send cards, even years later, to let us know how you're doing. It touches our hearts and brings a little tear to our eyes.
Ok, so here's a teacher story that is probably not what you're expecting...a teacher that had such a negative impact on me in my senior year that I dropped out, and, after a bit of lawlessness, was compelled to join the military rather than face the legal system (they were much less picky about recruits in 1973).
I came into my 12th year at Terry Sanford Senior High in Fayetteville with a pretty damn good track record, grade-wise, and a sense of purpose honed by two years at Oak Ridge Military Institute in years 9 and 10. I had visions of graduating and going to the Air Force Academy or my "safety" school, NCSU. Either way, I intended to pursue a career in aviation after a stint in the Air Force.
Then I ran into Wilma Godwin, who was the AP English teacher for Seniors. Mrs. Godwin did not take the view that Seniors should slide into graduation after busting their humps as Juniors. Rather, she took no small delight in taking cock-sure young over-achievers and breaking them down so completely that even the smartest and strongest were left gasping for air. To this day, more than 50 years later, I recall being made to feel like the dimmest bulb in the chandelier for not grasping the finer points of Chaucer and Middle English. That approach may have worked on some of my classmates. It did NOT work for me.
And so it was that by the start of the second semester and despite the encouragement of many of my friends, I left the friendly confines of Terry Sanford to try my hand at self-sufficiency. Needless to say, that didn't sit well with my parents, and after a particular unpleasant exchange one night, I left and went to stay at a friend's house. I worked at various odd jobs and was generally wretched, which led to the aforementioned petty lawlessness followed by enlisting in the Air Force at age 17 with my parents' consent. Like I said, the services weren't picky, what with Vietnam and all.
I had several very positive and note-worthy educators as I came up the grades, but much like Time's "Person of the Year," the most impactful one is not always the best one.