Dead Poets Society

Keating’s class. Keating, however, paced vigorously back and forth in front of the room.
    “A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use... ” He snapped his fingers and pointed to a boy.
    “Morose?”
    “Good!” Keating said with a smile. “Language was invented for one reason, boys—” He snapped his fingers again and pointed to Neil.
    “To communicate?”
    “No,” Keating said. “To woo women. And, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”
    The class laughed. Keating closed his book, then walked to the front of the room and raised a map that had covered the blackboard. On the board was Quotation. Keating read it aloud to the class:

    “Creeds and schools in abeyance, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy…”.

    “Uncle Walt again,” he said. “Ah, but the difficulty of ignoring those creeds and schools, conditioned as we are by our parents, our traditions, b) the modern age. How do we, like Walt, permit our own true natures to speak? How do we strip ourselves of prejudices, habits, influences? The answer, my dear lads, is that we must constantly endeavor to find a new point of view.” The boys listened intently. Then suddenly Keating leaped up on his desk. “Why do I stand here?” he asked.
    “To feel taller?” Charlie suggested.
    “I stand on my desk to remind myself that we must constantly force ourselves to look at things differently. The world looks different from up here. If you don’t believe it, stand up here and try it. All of you. Take turns. ”
    Keating jumped off. All of the boys, except for Todd Anderson, walked to the front of the room, and, a few at a time, took turns standing on Keating’s desk. Keating strolled up and down the aisles expectantly as he watched them.
    “If you’re sure about something,” he said as they slowly returned to their seats, “force yourself to think about it another way, even if you know its wrong or silly. When you read, don’t consider only what the author thinks, but take time to consider what you think.
    “You must strive to find your own voice, boys, and the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ Why be resigned to that? Risk walking new ground. Now...” Keating walked to the door as all eyes followed him intently. He looked at the class, then flashed the room lights on and off over and over again, crying out a noise that sounded like crashing thunder. “In addition to your essays,” he said after this boisterous demonstration, “I want each of you to write a poem—something of your own—to be delivered aloud in class. See you Monday.”
    With that he walked out of the room. The class sat mute and baffled by their eccentric teacher. After a moment, Keating popped his head back in, grinning impishly. “And don’t think I don’t know this assignment scares you to death, Mr. Anderson, you mole.” Keating held out his hand and pretended to send lightning bolts at Todd. The class laughed nervously, somewhat embarrassed for Todd, who forced out a hint of a smile.
    School ended early on Friday, and the boys left Keating’s class, happy to have an afternoon off.
    “Let’s go up to the bell tower and work on that Crystal radio antenna,” Pitts said to Meeks as they Walked across campus. “Radio Free America!”
    “Sure,” Meeks said. They walked past crowds wWaiting eagerly for the mailboxes to be filled. A group of boys played lacrosse on the green, and in the distance, Mr. Nolan called out orders to the Welton crew team practicing at the lake.
    Knox dropped his books into the basket of his bicycle and cruised around the campus. He ap. proached the Welton gates, checked over his shoulder to make sure he had not been seen, and pedaled furiously out the gates, over the countryside, and into Welton village.
    Breathing deeply, he looked around for signs of anyone from Welton Academy as he pedaled over to Ridgeway High School. He stopped at a fence, watching as students boarded three parked buses. Uniformed members of the marching band, practicing their drum rolls and scales, hopped on the first bus. Well-padded football players pushed and shoved their way onto the second bus. Boarding the third bus was a bunch of giggling and singing cheerleaders, including Chris Noel.
    Knox stood at the fence watching her. He saw her rush up to Chet, who was