Dead Poets Society

gentlemen. Slow down,” a teacher with a Scottish brogue called out. The forty members of the junior class hurried down the dormitory staircase while fifteen senior boys tried to crush their way up.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. McAllister,” one of the juniors called back. “Sorry, sir.” McAllister shook his head at the boys who dashed out of the dorm and across the campus.
    Once inside the oak-paneled Academy Honor Room, the juniors stood around or sat in the crinkly old leather chairs, waiting for their turns. Several eyes peered up the staircase against the wall that Jed to a second-floor door.
    Moments later the door opened and five boys filed silently down the stairs. An old gray-haired teacher shuffled to the door.
    “Overstreet, Perry, Dalton, Anderson, Cameron,” Dr. Hager called out. “Come.”
    The boys filed up the staircase while two boys sitting below watched them intently.
    “Who’s the new boy, Meeks?” Pitts whispered to his classmate.
    “Anderson,” Steven Meeks whispered back. Old Hager spotted the conversation.
    “Misters Pitts and Meeks. Demerits,” he called down dourly. The boys looked down, turning their heads together, and Pitts rolled his eyes.
    Dr. Hager was old, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle’s. “That’s another demerit, Mr. Pitts,” he said.
    The boys whom Dr. Hager had called followed him into Headmaster Nolan’s inner office, passing his secretary and wife, Mrs. Nolan.
    They stood in front of a row of chairs facing Dean Nolan, who sat behind his desk, a hunting dog resting at his side.
    “Welcome back, boys. Mr. Dalton, how’s your father?’
    Doing fine, sir,” Charlie said.
    “Your family move into that new house yet, Mr. Overstreet?
    “Yes, sir, about a month ago.”
    “Wonderful,” Nolan smiled briefly. “I hear it’s beautiful.” He patted the dog and gave him a snack while the boys stood awkwardly waiting.
    “Mr. Anderson,” Nolan said. “Since you’re new here let me explain that at Welton I assign extracurricular activities on the basis of merit and desire.
    “These activities are taken every bit as seriously as your class work, right boys?”
    “Yes, sir!” the others said in military unison. “Failure to attend required meetings will result in demerits. Now, Mr. Dalton: the school paper, the Service Club, soccer, rowing. Mr. Overstreet: Welton Society Candidates, the school paper, soccer, Sons of Alumni Club. Mr. Perry: Welton Society Candidates, Chemistry Club, Mathematics Club, school annual, soccer. Mr. Cameron: Welton Society Candidates, Debate Club, rowing, Service Club, Forensics, Honor Council.”
    “Thank you, sir, Cameron said.
    “Mr. Anderson, based on your record at Balin-crest: soccer, Service Club, school annual. Anything else I should know about?”
    Todd stood silent. He struggled to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come out. “Speak up, Mr. Anderson,” Nolan said.
    “I... would... prefer... rowing... sir,” Todd said, his voice barely audible. Nolan looked at Todd, who started to shake from head to toe.
    “Rowing? Did he say rowing? It says here you played soccer at Balincrest?”
    Todd tried to speak again. “I... did... but...” he whispered. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow, and he clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. As the other boys stared at him, Todd fought back tears.
    “You’ll like soccer here, Anderson. All right, boys. Dismissed.”
    The boys marched out, Todd’s face white with misery. At the door, Dr. Hager called out five more names.
    As they headed across campus toward their dorms, Neil Perry approached Todd, who was walking alone, and offered a handshake.
    “I hear we’re going to be roommates,” he said. “I’m Neil Perry.”
    “Todd Anderson,” he replied softly. The boys walked in awkward silence.
    “Why’d you leave Balincrest?” Neil asked.
    “My brother went here.”
    Neil shook his head. “Oh, so you’re THAT Anderson.”
    Todd shrugged and groaned. “My parents wanted me to go here all along but my grades weren’t good enough. I had to go to Balincrest to pull them up.”
    “Well, you’ve won the booby prize,” Neil laughed. “Don’t expect to like it here.”
    “I don’t already,” Todd said.
    They walked into the entrance hall of the dorm to find a confusion of students, suitcases, typewriters, pillows, and record players.
    At the head of the hall a school porter stood watching a pile of unclaimed luggage. Neil and Todd stopped to