In addition, Mr. Harvey had also written the following quotation on the inside cover of the book, for me to ponder: “In times of danger and change when there is a quicksand of fear under men’s reasoning, a sense of continuity with generations gone before can stretch like a lifeline across the scary present.” –John Dos Passos
Mr. Harvey was the most outstanding, demanding and humane teacher I studied with during my four years of high school. His course in world history first opened my eyes to the excitement of historical studies, to discussing the interpretation and meaning of historical developments, to independent and critical thinking, and to the challenge of writing [my historical essays] well. He would write copious comments on my papers, counseling me, e.g., to choose words wisely, especially verbs — remember what Voltaire said, he reminded us: “the verb is the soul of the sentence.” Receiving this recognition from him was so unexpected and so wonderful; the way I felt you might have thought I had won a Nobel Prize. And as part of this gift, he offered his final unexpected insight, with that quote from John Dos Passos. He was sharing another idea, giving me yet another view — a long and capacious view — of how and why the study of history is so valuable and important.
At the end of my sophomore year in high school, during the awards ceremony in June, I received my varsity letter for playing football. And then my history teacher, Mr. Harvey, got up and gave three academic awards. To my complete surprise, I received one of those prizes. It was a book of Plutarch’s Lives, which was inscribed to me in part as follows: “This book ... represents his persistent toil toward clear, precise and meaningful expression in history at the Paris American High School.”
In addition, Mr. Harvey had also written the following quotation on the inside cover of the book, for me to ponder: “In times of danger and change when there is a quicksand of fear under men’s reasoning, a sense of continuity with generations gone before can stretch like a lifeline across the scary present.” –John Dos Passos
Mr. Harvey was the most outstanding, demanding and humane teacher I studied with during my four years of high school. His course in world history first opened my eyes to the excitement of historical studies, to discussing the interpretation and meaning of historical developments, to independent and critical thinking, and to the challenge of writing [my historical essays] well. He would write copious comments on my papers, counseling me, e.g., to choose words wisely, especially verbs — remember what Voltaire said, he reminded us: “the verb is the soul of the sentence.” Receiving this recognition from him was so unexpected and so wonderful; the way I felt you might have thought I had won a Nobel Prize. And as part of this gift, he offered his final unexpected insight, with that quote from John Dos Passos. He was sharing another idea, giving me yet another view — a long and capacious view — of how and why the study of history is so valuable and important.
My beloved Latin teacher Dr. Fiveash soon introduced me to “Helen,” a play by the Greek playwright Euripides. The Trojan War is said to have started when Helen runs away to Troy with a prince named Paris. But in “Helen,” the story is turned on its head; she never goes to Troy. Instead, a cloud that resembles her was placed at Troy while the real Helen lived in Egypt and wondered when her husband could come to pick her up. I realized the story of the war is so complex that even the most fundamental aspects can be reinterpreted.
The beautiful thing about the humanities is that the search for truth need not be a matter of “right” or “wrong” — there is room both for the mastery of facts as well as for creativity and innovation. Through Euripides’ play, I realized that the story of the war really belongs to everyone; if even the ancient Greeks had creative and radically different versions, that frees up modern classicists to similarly transcend the traditional narrative. This experience invited me into the field because I could finally see myself doing something new within the discipline, and I was eager to be part of a long tradition of reinterpreting the story in a way that resonated with my own experiences. In the years that followed, I have written poetry about mythological subjects, and the process of writing about mythology helped me see connections across the disciplines of the humanities. From history to literature and art to music, the myths of ancient Greece continue to be reinvented and Euripides’ imagination has passed on to a new generation of artists, scholars, and thinkers.
While taking Latin in high school, I became fascinated by the story of the Trojan War. I loved the interconnected perspectives of soldiers, royalty, deities, and ordinary people. The family trees and catalogues of soldiers seemed endless, and I was thrilled to discover that each individual inspired stories, plays, and art. As I began to master the intricacies of the myths, I prided myself on recognizing the differences between movies like “Troy” or Disney’s “Hercules” and the original story. I watched eagerly to notice what they got wrong or right about the myth.
My beloved Latin teacher Dr. Fiveash soon introduced me to “Helen,” a play by the Greek playwright Euripides. The Trojan War is said to have started when Helen runs away to Troy with a prince named Paris. But in “Helen,” the story is turned on its head; she never goes to Troy. Instead, a cloud that resembles her was placed at Troy while the real Helen lived in Egypt and wondered when her husband could come to pick her up. I realized the story of the war is so complex that even the most fundamental aspects can be reinterpreted.
The beautiful thing about the humanities is that the search for truth need not be a matter of “right” or “wrong” — there is room both for the mastery of facts as well as for creativity and innovation. Through Euripides’ play, I realized that the story of the war really belongs to everyone; if even the ancient Greeks had creative and radically different versions, that frees up modern classicists to similarly transcend the traditional narrative. This experience invited me into the field because I could finally see myself doing something new within the discipline, and I was eager to be part of a long tradition of reinterpreting the story in a way that resonated with my own experiences. In the years that followed, I have written poetry about mythological subjects, and the process of writing about mythology helped me see connections across the disciplines of the humanities. From history to literature and art to music, the myths of ancient Greece continue to be reinvented and Euripides’ imagination has passed on to a new generation of artists, scholars, and thinkers.
Several of my friends had fallout shelters in their homes. I used to be afraid of bombs, of communists, of Khrushchev. I tried to understand how a wall could divide the city of Berlin into two very different places.
And then, in 1989, the unbelievable happened. I had just accepted an interim job teaching Senior English at Mooresville High School, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with such a momentous moment in history. Just a few lines from Stephen Vincent Benet’s John Brown’s Body made everything crystal clear and powerful.
Sometimes there comes a crack in Time itself.
Sometimes the earth is torn by something blind.
Sometimes an image that has stood so long
It seems implanted as the polar star
Is moved against an unfathomed force
That suddenly will not have it any more.
Those six lines provided so much focus for our classroom discussion and reflection... and awe.
My students were so engaged in this lesson, and I am sure some of these words and images continue to affect them today. I certainly hope my humanities moment enriched their lives and changed the way they thought about our world then and now.
I remember seeing the images on the television, in newspapers, and in magazines. It was such an epic event. The Berlin Wall was coming down, something I never imagined would happen. As a child in the 50s and 60s, I remember bomb drills during elementary school.
Several of my friends had fallout shelters in their homes. I used to be afraid of bombs, of communists, of Khrushchev. I tried to understand how a wall could divide the city of Berlin into two very different places.
And then, in 1989, the unbelievable happened. I had just accepted an interim job teaching Senior English at Mooresville High School, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with such a momentous moment in history. Just a few lines from Stephen Vincent Benet’s John Brown’s Body made everything crystal clear and powerful.
Sometimes there comes a crack in Time itself.
Sometimes the earth is torn by something blind.
Sometimes an image that has stood so long
It seems implanted as the polar star
Is moved against an unfathomed force
That suddenly will not have it any more.
Those six lines provided so much focus for our classroom discussion and reflection... and awe.
My students were so engaged in this lesson, and I am sure some of these words and images continue to affect them today. I certainly hope my humanities moment enriched their lives and changed the way they thought about our world then and now.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
]]>Tani G. Cantil-Sakauye is the 28th Chief Justice of the State of California. She recalls her experiences as a student in a humanities class in college, her upbringing in a Filipino community of hardworking women eager to pass on their traditions, and her realization that the humanities teach us to celebrate and respect the stories and uniqueness of people.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
]]>Janet Napolitano, President of the University of California, reflects on her life growing up in New Mexico and how a low grade on a poetry analysis assignment in college encouraged her to master the craft of writing. She notes how her writing abilities and exposure to the humanities served her well in a career in government and higher education.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.