United We Read

By Bill Springer

Outside a dog a book is man's best friend. Inside a dog it is too dark to read. -- Groucho Marx

Some people dream the mundane, and some dream the spectacular.

When my friend and colleague presented the idea of a community read to me six years ago, I knew this was a one of those big dreams. I am the sidekick like Gabby Hayes to Roy Rogers, Sancho Panza to Don Quixote, Boris to Natasha and Puck to Oberon. I listened, reacted, suggested and provided comic relief

When my sixth-grade teacher Miss LaSalle Draper walked in the classroom with a big Planter's peanuts box, I thought she had brought us all treats: salty nuts with a picture of Mr. Peanut on the package. I was surprised because Miss Draper took no leave of anyone. (We heard her straighten out Mr. Breaux, the principal, out in the hall several times.) A cat's arch of her eyebrow caused shivers, dread and "daymares" in 38 eighth-graders.

"We are going to do a book report, but I have selected a book especially for each of you."

It was nuts, and I felt assaulted. I hated to read. I received books for every gift-giving occasion from my obsessive librarian grandmother, but I never read them. Bidamn, if I wasn't going to read my grandmother's books, I sure as heck wasn't going to read one from Eva Braun. Of course we were alphabetical and I am an "S," so I had to sit through 34 others being called to the desk, given a book and a brief reason it was chosen just for them. When my name was called, I went like a dead man walking from the wayback of the room to her desk. OK, maybe it won't be thick. Thin is better. Jesus help me! She reached in the book and pulled out a thick one. A real thick one. What good is prayer anyway?

My book was "The Yearling" by Marjorie Rawlins. There were no VCRs or DVDs or Cliff Notes or Spark Notes. Nothing! It was read or fail.

I threw the book on my bed and looked at it. What is a yearling anyway? Who cares?

Why did she choose this book just for me?

Mama said try to read the first five pages, "and then I will help you." By the time I reached Page 5, I decided to read a couple of more but not the whole blasted thing. By Page 27, I was hooked. Mainlined. Addicted. Epiphany time. The heavens opened. Bigolly, I was reading a thick book. And it was wonderful. Mama's homemade chocolate pudding was never as sweet or satisfying. I read all weekend. Cried when Fodderwing died, laughed at the barn dance, wept for Jody at the end. Before I finished, I knew I wanted another piece of the divine. I turned my book report in a week later and got a C. I had too many spelling errors, and I had misspelled "yearling" several times, but aside from that, it was good. Reading is not about book reports. It is a way of life.

Christmas 1962 I received a copy of "To Kill a Mockingbird" from guess who. It had been read hard and put away wet, but all the pages were intact. The library had to replace it, so I got it. Three days later it was finished. Then Mama read it and then Daddy. One night for supper we had "Mockingbird." We talked and talked and talked about Miss Harper Lee's book. I do not remember what Mama cooked, but I know that the discussion was manna from Maycomb.

I teach an advanced reading class, and one of the plethora of reading lists is my "Top 10 Favorite Books of All Time." "Mockingbird" is in the second spot. (Hesse's "Siddhartha" is No. 1, and Kerouac's "On the Road" is No. 3). Most of my seniors read it as a freshman or saw the movie or at least went online to read old Sparky's condensation. So it is a natural model to illustrate the stuff teachers teach that can flat out ruin a good book.

And now -- ta-da! -- it is Cape Girardeau's community read. I have the joy of doing a book talk at Barnes & Noble soon. Problem is, I know this book too well and have a hard time focusing for a 30-minute presentation. I was working on it when I decided to write this. Random Boy strikes again.

If you haven't read "Mockingbird," I encourage you to do so. If you have, read it again as I have. You know, re-reading a book is like returning to a special place and having you memory massaged. I think I now have read all or parts 23 times. When you teach it, you have to know it.

I read Dickens's "Great Expectations" aloud to a group of reluctant eighth graders several years ago (I also read "The Yearling" later). They were intent listeners and told me what was happening on the following day. We had some great discussions. A couple of months passed, when a young man came up and asked, "Mr. Springer, whatchew think Pip is doing now?" What? Who? I am not following. "Pip, you know that guy we read about -- whatchew think he's doin' now?" I was stunned. I asked him what he thought, and he said he hoped he had dumped that Estella and was enjoying his money. Me too. She was no good. There's a word for that. I don't know if he read on his own, but for one brief and shining moment he experienced the grandeur of the written word.

One day, someone may ask you, "Whatchew think Scout, Jem and Dill are doin' now?"

I'd say they're doin' just fine.

Bill Springer of Cape Girardeau is a teacher at Central High School.