Speech by Rachel Siegel
Like Gaul, my presentation is divided into three parts [“Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres”]: 1) some words on Mrs. Fawcett; 2) some words on Mr. Fawcett; 3) some words on the Fawci, as they are often known, collectively.
Okay help me out here: Hic, haec, hoc. Huius, huius, huius. I could go on but someone is having a seizure in the third row. What does this mean? Yes, the demonstrative adjective ‘this.’ Now, who among Mrs. Fawcett’s former students here still remembers the principle parts of doceo? (No Latin teachers allowed.) And what English words derive from this Latin word? (Doctor, doctorate, docent.) Ok, that’s good. The Latin word for “learned” comes from this word: doctus or docta; one who is “taught.” Anyone remember the Latin word for teacher? “Magister.” Hence, magistrate, magisterial. So you all know what I mean when I say: “Haec magistra docta est.” This is one smart lady.
This idea was put another way by a recent student of Mrs. Fawcett’s. It is the winter of 2009, and Mrs. Fawcett has, as usual, accurately predicted each of the snow days so far this winter, calmly telling her classes what not only Wednesday’s but Thursday’s homework is, because, there will be no school on Thursday. She was, of course, right. This student comes flabbergasted into the homeroom Friday morning, throws down her book bag and loudly proclaims, “Now I know why Mr. Fawcett is so smart. He is married to GOD.”
I myself have felt an aura of the divine off of Mrs. Fawcett. I can’t say why I think this. But I will tell you this: I know she won’t sit 13 to a table. I suspect she has carried the same sandwich container to school every day since I was a student in the 1980’s. I honestly don’t know how far back that container goes… Objects don’t obey the same laws of entropy and decay for her as they do for us. Her desk is the same she has had for probably 25 years, albeit duct taped at the corners (“It’s absolutely fine!” she says). She never tires of doing the entire BCD school schedule by hand every summer. And I know many of you are thinking, right along with me, “She managed to teach ME Latin for three years and I STILL REMEMBER IT!” What more evidence of divine patience and inspiration do you want?
I feel I am especially privileged, because I have not only been the Fawcetts’ pupil, but I have worked alongside them as a teacher at BCD, in both of the departments they have run for the last 30+years. Mrs. Fawcett introduced me to the subjunctive, a territory in which I have spent a good part of my adult life (“I would be able to do that, really well, if I were to work hard at it”; “I could have been a great ______, if I had really cared that much about it.”) Mrs. F mysteriously defined the subjunctive as covering the territory of “wishes, lies, and dreams.” I still find this the most comprehensive, not to say the most poetic, way to describe the subjunctive to students, which I do with a beady-eyed intensity, relishing the way they look at me. I do things like this because at a certain point I realized I had to add in my own personality to my teaching, because my teaching was turning into a pale imitation of the Fawcetts’. Wanting so much to emulate their venerable selves, when I started teaching I combed my memory for all their little tricks of the trade and funny sayings, and used them liberally. I enjoy so much defining metaphor using the same example Mr. Fawcett does (“Richard the Lionheart”—it’s perfect: totally concise). But I lacked the tremendous body of experience and knowledge that the Fawcetts bring to their classes, not to mention the depth of character that can only come from being, well, a Fawcett.
So I had to be my own kind of teacher. Not nearly as authoritative and not inspiring the same numbing fears when homework was not done or behavior unacceptable. But I am working on my Mrs. Fawcett slight eyebrows-raised-but-otherwise-still-and-expressionless face when a student misbehaves, standing at the blackboard utterly motionless. I think this face inspires the student to suddenly think, “Why am I doing this? I am behaving like a fool. I am a human being, after all, created in God’s image, and His emissary before me is displaying great disappointment in the foolishness I am engaged in. I think I will stop before my shame is total.”
I have an interesting anecdote in this vein from Ted Glockner, class of ’82, who says:
“When I was in about the 7th grade, I decided to get a drink of water during Latin class. Rather than asking permission, I waited until Mrs. Fawcett’s back was turned and jumped out of the first floor window a few feet to the ground. I walked across the lawn to Furey Hall, got a drink and climbed back through the window into my seat. I almost pulled it off. When I finally revealed what I had done, Mrs. Fawcett simply rolled her eyes, smiled and then told me that people had been suspended for less. She then went right back to her lesson. I still laugh about it and appreciate the way she handled the situation. More importantly, she was a terrific teacher.”
One of the least celebrated aspects of Mrs. Fawcett, to me, is her humor. She is easily the funniest teacher at BCD. Many students notice this about her. 7th grader Francesca Lally wrote, “Someone in our class asked Mrs. Fawcett what would happen if they put a macron on the present stem when it wasn’t needed. Without hesitation, Mrs. Fawcett replied, “You die.”
(Interestingly, another student with a strong feeling for the dramatic gesture remembers it this way: “Mrs. Fawcett whipped around from writing on the blackboard: “Death to all who put macra on 3rd conjugation “e”s!”)
She loves a good joke, but it must be earned! If you hit her funny bone, the sincerity of her slow-engine laugh is enough to make everyone around her smile and laugh too, and keep smiling for a long while afterwards. Indeed, her pleasure is utterly infectious. Hear this anecdote, from a recently graduated 9th grader: “I will never forget looking over during my first 7th grade dance and seeing Mrs. Fawcett happily bobbing her head along to Lil John’s “Get Low”.” [She adds: “Not sure if that's appropriate...”]
My favorite image of Mrs. Fawcett is on Field Day, when Mr. Fawcett and the rest of the faculty are engaged in refereeing various sweaty sporting events, but Mrs. Fawcett is in air-conditioned Peseckis Hall, calmly totaling up the scores so that it will be known at end of day if the triumph belongs to blue or white. She goes about this task with the same quality of totally unsentimental focus as she would translate a passage of Caesar in class. What she says she will do, she does, and while she may give an artfully placed sigh here and there, she has NEVER been known to complain.
But now, to her other half. I think Mr. F. is best summed up by this story, submitted by a just-graduated 9th grader:
“mr. fawcett is the man. he’s definitely one of my all time favorite teachers. no class is boring, he keeps apace of at least one story every five minutes. and almost everything he shares has to do with a childhood memory. he shows us connections in the books that we read that really help me to pull it all together. he takes the time to talk to you after class if you’re struggling. i’m fairly certain anyone who has ever had mr. fawcett has wondered what is in his closet. he’s pulled out manuels from the 50s, sledge hammers, his war helmet, and enough slides to fill the gym. he redefines charismatic and enthusiastic. i could not imagine 9th grade english with a “regular” teacher.” (I’ll add that there are absolutely no capital letters in this entire statement.)
Every student who has had Jim as a teacher on some level understands the gift he or she has been given. Whatever your thing is, at some point it will come up in English class: war, God, sex, parricide, animal husbandry, incest, witchcraft, Portuguese churches, etc., etc. Mr. Fawcett’s delving into these hitherto unexplored regions of the human experience is not only a great classroom management tool (most boys are quiet when you calmly explain the nuances of castration) but also so interesting that a classroom is suddenly a place to explore one’s most basic and human curiosities. This was the great gift to me, which set the foundation for my intellectual life: you mean these things I think and feel in my most private mind and heart can actually be the subject of a school discussion? They have some kind of academic value? Up until then I had enjoyed my education, but it was mostly jumping through the appropriate hoops at the right times, which I happened to be good at. From Mr. Fawcett I understood that this tedious and “important” process I was enduring was for the purpose of better understanding my humanity. Wow. I will add that Mr. Fawcett never once said, “These books are to help you understand yourself.” I think he prefers to let his larger metaphors stand. They’ll understand sometime.
As any educated person knows, this method of drawing parallels and making metaphor wherever you find it is a wonderfully interesting way to look at the world. For my young adolescent self, it made an often scary and unpredictable world suddenly meaningful, and gave me a sense of momentary hegemony over it. It is a technique I have used to reliable effect all my life.
I don’t know whether the demands of a complex and economically challenging world will allow us time to teach children to reflect meaningfully on experience, but I suspect that without metaphor, more will be lost than an edge in the new economy. I tell every BCD student who is fortunate enough to be in Jim Fawcett’s class to savor every moment; you will be telling your grandchildren.
Here are some stories from Mr. Fawcett’s students:
“The amount of zeal you have for each book that we read, and the amount of crazy connections you are able to make about each and every book we read never ceases to amaze me. Your knowledge on every aspect of life exceeds anyone else’s that I know, and your sometimes-not-so-casual exclamations and chuckles when you are reading a book make me wonder what goes on in that fascinating mind of yours. You are definitely someone who’s [sic] advice and memories will stay with me forever.”
“I have gradually come to realize over the years that though you do not always make a big show out of it, as some teachers tend to do, your eyes are always wide open and you are taking note of everything around you. Although you never seem to raise your head or take your eyes off of what you are doing when I walk into class late, I’ve started to pick up on the slight flick of your pen on your note sheet. You truly do have invisible eyes on every side of your head.”
“I had Mr. Fawcett for English in 5th, 7th and 9th grade, but my clearest memories of him are on the soccer and softball fields, and especially at Field Day. He had a knack for pushing us in a cheerful, supportive way, and insisted on discipline and sportsmanship. I recall his easy laugh, his enthusiastic applause for everyone’s best efforts, and his jaunty hats. In English class, I remember giving him endless grief about all the “boy books” we had to read. He was such a fan of all the great American writers. I think he made me read Faulkner’s “The Bear” out loud to the class for an entire period — but we should check with Daisy, Sam, Noah, Melanie, Ken, Karen or Nick for confirmation!!”
“The thing I remember most about Mr. Fawcett’s English class was that he had us read Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughter House Five.” It remains one of my all time favorites. It was one of the books that you read that change your way of thinking, and how you look at institutions like the government.”
I have given the subject some considerable thought, and I think the reason why the Fawcetts exert such a powerful fascination in me and in so many others I have spoken to is because, there’s no other way to say this; lovers of the mythical, they themselves have attained the status of myth. (I confess I am worried Mrs. Fawcett is going to come up to me after this presentation and say, “You made me sound like I belong in a museum!”) Jim and Eugénie (I get to call them that now! I’m even almost comfortable doing it!) have made a lifelong commitment (Eugénie hit 40 years this year) to one place, one school, and they have devoted their working lives to its students. Most of their students will never spend more than ten years in any one job. They have a religious belief and a belief in the integrity of institutions and families in a cultural era when these institutions often seem outmoded and old-fashioned.
But their students understand, intuitively, that these people represent something. They have a higher referent. I pass by Jim Fawcett’s class and what I notice is that the students are all listening. They sense there is something rare and real, beautiful and nourishing here. [It was recently said to me by an educator that he doesn’t teach the students as they are, but as they will be.] As I peek into Jim’s classroom, the eternal merges with the present, and what were pubescent boys and girls suddenly seem like complete human beings, holding the mirror up to their own thrilling light.
On a personal note, I have in my own life, when I felt almost absurdly at the mercy of my ego’s vertiginous ascents and descents, come back to the Fawcetts; come back, in my mind, to their example of quiet and earnest commitment, based on deeply felt conviction.
I secretly believe that this is how one truly makes one’s mark upon the world: to find a path and toil away at it, day after day, year upon year, with unwavering focus and purpose. After the fog rolls off another frosty morning in the Tyringham valley, and the sheep have been fed and watered, to brush the snow off the windshield, get into the car, and teach.