Dead Poets Society

knowingly. “A realist! Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I’ll show you a happy man!” He chewed a bite. “But I will enjoy listening to your lectures, John,” McAllister added. “I’ll bet I will.” Keating grinned with amusement. “I hope you’re not the only one who feels that way,” he said, glancing at several of the boys from the junior class who were seated nearby.
    The boys all turned as Neil Perry walked quickly into the dining room and sat down with them.
    “You guys won’t believe this!” he said, puffing breathlessly. “I found his senior annual in the library.” Neil looked toward Keating, who was engaged in animated conversation with Mr. McAllister at the teacher’s table. He opened the annual and read: ‘“Captain of the soccer team, editor of the annual, Cambridge-bound, Man most likely to do anything, Thigh man, Dead Poets Society.’”
    The others tried to grab the old annual. “Thigh man?” Charlie laughed, “Mr. K. was a hell-raiser. Good for him!”
    “What is the Dead Poets Society?” Knox asked, as he leafed through the book of old photos of Keating’s Welton class.
    “Any group pictures in the annual?” Meeks asked.
    “Not of that,” Neil said, as he studied the captions. “No other mention of it.”
    Neil looked through the annual as Charlie nudged his leg. “Nolan,” he hissed. As the dean approached, Neil passed the book under the table to Cameron, who immediately handed it over to Todd, who looked at him questioningly, then took it.
    “Enjoying your classes, Mr. Perry?” Nolan asked as he paused at the boys’ table.
    “Yes, sir, very much,” Neil said.
    “And our Mr. Keating? Finding him interesting, boys?”
    “Yes, sir,” Charlie said. “We were just talking about that, sir.”
    "Good,” Nolan said approvingly. “We’re very excited about him. He was a Rhodes scholar, you know.” The boys smiled and nodded.
    Nolan walked to another table. Todd pulled out the annual from under the table and leafed through on his lap as he finished lunch.
    “I’ll take the annual back,” Neil said to Todd, as they got up to leave the dining room.
    “What are you going to do with it?” Todd asked hesitantly.
    “A little research,” Neil said, smiling smugly.
    After classes, Neil, Charlie, Meeks, Pitts, Cameron, and Todd headed back to the dorm together. They spotted Mr. Keating, wearing his sport coat and a scarf, walking across the lawn with an arm full of books.
    “Mr. Keating?” Neil called after him. “Sir? O Captain! My Captain?” Keating stopped and waited for the boys to catch up with him. “What was the Dead Poets Society, sir?” Neil asked. For a split second, Keating’s face reddened. “I was just looking in an old annual,” Neil explained, “and...” I
    “Nothing wrong with research,” Keating said, regaining his composure.
    The boys waited for him to say more. “But what was it?” Neil pressed.
    Keating looked around to make sure that no one was watching. “A secret organization,” he almost whispered. “I don’t know how the present administration would look upon it, but I doubt the reaction would be favorable.” His eyes scanned the campus as the boys held their breaths. “Can you boys keep a secret?” They nodded instantly. “The Dead Poets was a society dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That phrase is by Thoreau and was invoked at every meeting,” he explained. “A small group of us would meet at the old cave, and we would take turns reading Shelley, Thoreau, Whitman, our own verse—and the enchantment of the moment let it work its magic on us.” Keating’s eyes glowed, recalling the experience.
    “You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?” Knox asked, bewildered.
    Keating smiled. “Both sexes participated, Mr. Overstreet. And believe me, we didn’t simply read... we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Women swooned, spirits soared... gods were created, gentlemen.”
    The boys stood silent for a moment. “What did the name mean?” Neil asked. “Did you only read dead poets?”
    “All poetry was acceptable, Mr. Perry. The name simply referred to the fact that, to join the organization, you had to be dead.”
    “What?” the boys said in chorus.
    “The living were simply pledges. Full membership required a lifetime of apprenticeship. Alas, even I’m still a lowly initiate,” he explained.
    The boys looked at one another in amazement. The last