Tag: education

How I Became a Latin Lover – Over My Shoulder

My romance with Latin was far from love at first sight. It was a long and difficult romance that led me to major in Classics as an undergraduate and ultimately earn a PhD in Classics. The romance started in 9th grade, when I took Latin 1. My school offered a rigorous curriculum. In my freshman year (9th grade), I took both French and Latin, English, Algebra I, World History, and Old Testament (my required religion class). This course load exposed the deficiencies in my abbreviated education.

Algebra I proved to be very difficult. Doing my Algebra homework was so time consuming that I always started it first, as soon as I got home from school. I struggled particularly with how to set up and solve word problems. My previous math classes had not emphasized word problems. They were a new mystery for me to solve. I would toil and agonize over each problem. I often had to recopy my homework to make it presentable. The eraser holes, the grubby pencil marks and tear stains were not to be seen on the pristine paper that my teacher received.

Each day after completing my Algebra homework, I would tackle my Latin assignments. Latin is a fully inflected language with a flexible word order. I had no trouble learning the vocabulary portion of each new lesson. It was simply matter of learning new words. The declensions for nouns and adjectives were baffling and the conjugation and tenses for verbs added to the mystery sauce.

My teacher was an elderly nun who was very hard of hearing. At the time I was both timid and soft-spoken, quite afraid of making a mistake. The class terrified me. Instead of agilely reciting the declension or conjugation on command, my mind would blank and I would stumble along. I dreaded Algebra and Latin. My other classes came easily. My French teacher had no problem with my reluctance to speak up. Since the focus was on building vocabulary and simple grammar, I excelled.

End of the year exams were very important at my school. I made it through Algebra with surprising success. My nightly toil paid off. I solved the problems on the exam very satisfactorily. My Latin 1 exam was a meltdown. The teacher recognized that my exam did not reflect the usual quality of my work. It was so bad that I had to retake the exam. I worked hard and did very well on my second exam.

Latin 2 was far less difficult and demanding. Caesar’s wars intrigued me. I started to enjoy puzzling through a translation and was even able to recite in class with some fluidity. At the end of the year, I decided to take Latin 3 in my junior year. A different nun from my Latin 1 and 2 teacher taught Latin 3 and 4. She was medievalist so instead of reading Cicero and Vergil in Latin 3 and 4, the standard fare for third and fourth year Latin students, we read medieval authors. Dipping into the Middle Ages helped me understand the extent and significance of Latin literature.

I stopped taking French after my sophomore year and signed up to take Greek! It was an unusual opportunity. My school’s rector had been a student in Egyptology before becoming a priest. He read Latin, Greek, Sanskrit and hieroglyphics. He was brilliant. He also did calculus for enjoyment and taught my fourth-year math class. I was the only student brave enough to take Greek. It was a wonderful experience. I learned Homeric Greek and in Greek 1 read Book 1 of the Iliad. The next year, I took Greek 2 and was introduced to Herodotus and read the first book of his Histories. It was fascinating.

When I got to college, I had already had four years of Latin and two years of Greek. I had no intention of pursuing a degree in Classics. I expected my troubled romance with Latin would end with satisfying my college foreign language requirement. I wanted to study Botany, but that was not to be.

Freshman placement exams were a bit of misery for me. My college required every incoming student to take a speech test. Each student had to read a paragraph aloud for a group of teachers. If you passed the test, you were exempt from taking a speech class; otherwise, you had to sign up for and pass the speech course before graduation.

By the time I entered college, I had developed a nasty stutter from all the stress and pressure to achieve academic success. The panel of speech testers didn’t even let me get three sentences into the paragraph, before I was signaled to stop reading. It soon became clear that there was in fact a third option. If a student could not qualify for speech class, the student was assigned to speech clinic. There was no credit given for speech clinic.

I received a notice that I had to go to speech clinic. In a way it was a blessing. The college had a robust speech pathology department. My visits to the speech clinic reduced my stutter and taught me many tactics that I’ve used to reduce my stutter and speech anxiety. I took the required speech class my sophomore year, with the clinic’s blessing, and was able to fulfill my graduation requirement.

The language placement was a big surprise. My four years of Latin qualified me for the most advanced class. This meant that I would only have to take one year of Latin to satisfy the college’s language requirement. I expected to break off my troubled romance with Latin by the end of my freshman year. It seemed like a great idea. The class was Latin poetry – Catullus, Ovid and Horace. It was magic. It came easily for me. The teacher was engaging and made each line of the poems glow. It was my easiest course. I looked forward to class and did my assignments eagerly. All my toil started to pay off. My final exam was a breeze. What I did not expect was a letter from the department acknowledging how well I had done and recommending that I take the second half of the poetry course and sign up for another higher-level poetry class. How much higher quickly became apparent. The University had just started offering a graduate degree in Classics. The advanced class was a graduate-level (500) course. I was assured that if I still decided to major in some other discipline, the upper level Latin class would simply count as a part of my electives. I signed up for the class. I had fallen in love with Latin poetry. Thus, the romance began in earnest. I became a Latin lover.

Keystone Events: Days One Never Forgets – Over My Shoulder

Everyone has a keystone event in their life. These events are the single most consequential event that one will never forget where they were or what they were doing when they either heard or witnessed them. Keystone events color one’s perception for years.

For me my keystone memory occurred on Friday, November 22, 1963, when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I was a freshman in college.  Since then I have experienced several memorable events that I realize were the keystone event for those around me. In 1986 I was making a sales call at a school when the Challenger explosion occurred. The students were watching on a big tv in the cafeteria. I am sure that for many of these high school students, this was their keystone event. For me it was memorable, but not my keystone event.

Similarly, for another slightly different generation, the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center was a traumatic keystone event. I remember well where I was that bright September morning. I was in my office in Boston. I had just turned on my computer when the first plane hit. The rest of the day melted away. For most of my colleagues who were 10-20 years my junior, this was perhaps the most significant memorable event in their lives — a keystone.

As I noted above, I was a freshman in college when John F. Kennedy was shot. I can still recall with absolute clarity how that day unfolded. My freshman English composition class met in the basement of the college chapel right after lunch on Fridays. It was a sunny, warm day for November, and my classroom was uncomfortably warm. The professor was not in attendance. A substitute came by at the start of the class and put the assignment on the blackboard. We were to write an in-class essay: an analysis of John Donne’s Meditation XVII.

This profound essay reflects on mortality and the interconnectedness of humanity. The image of the funeral bell tolling and Donne’s words to ask not for whom the bell tolls, for it tolls for thee were very moving for me. Throughout high school the bells for chapel, the beginning and end of the school day and the evening angelus had been comforting routine sounds. The essay invoking the funeral bells spoke to me in many ways. The essay’s reminder of the interconnectedness of humanity and that we should all recognize our mortality was a powerful message.

As I was finishing writing my essay, I could hear a radio voice coming from down the hall in the janitor’s closet. As I dropped off my essay and walked down the hall, I heard the news of the assassination of JFK in Dallas. I was very shaken and felt I needed a moment to gather myself before I went to my next class. It was a short walk across campus, but I chose to walk a slightly longer route across campus. It took me by an athletic field that overlooked the Raritan River where I stood for a few moments reflecting upon Donne’s words and the events in Dallas.

I arrived at my next class just as one of the other students was telling the professor what had just happened. At first the professor thought that the student was mistaken or making up a story. She left to go check on what was going on. Still stunned, I simply took my usual seat and expected the lesson to commence upon her return. Instead, she came back into the classroom with tears streaming down her face and scrawled on the blackboard – class cancelled. I was quite relieved since my own thoughts were quite scrambled. I knew that I needed time to process the events of the day. I left the campus and drove home. I had been looking forward to the weekend since I did not have to go to convent to work. It was one weekend when there was no retreat scheduled. I spent the weekend like many Americans glued to the television filled with sadness and horror. This was for me the most memorable event of my young adult life, my keystone event.