Dead Poets Society

Mrs. Anderson said. “I can’t help but feel this is our fault.”
    “We never should have sent him here,” Mr. Anderson said, looking down at the floor.
    “Nonsense,” Nolan said. “Boys his age are highly impressionable. We’ll bring him around.”

    The next day, Mr. McAllister led a group of Latin students across the snow-covered campus as they repeated verbs out loud. He stopped and looked up at the teachers’ residence floor where he noticed the lonely figure of Mr. Keating, watching out the window. Their eyes met briefly. McAllister turned away, took a deep breath, and resumed walking with the boys.
    Keating moved from the window after seeing McAllister. He walked to his bookshelf and started to take down his beloved books of poetry—Byron, Whitman, Wordsworth. He sighed and put them back. Closing his suitcase, he walked to the door of the tiny room, took one last look, and left.
    As Keating prepared to leave, his former students were in English class. Todd sat numbly, eyes cast downward, the way he had sat when school first began. Knox, Meeks, and Pitts looked humiliated as they squirmed in their seats. All of the former club members were too ashamed of themselves to even look at one another. Only Cameron appeared halfway normal, studying at his desk as though nothing had happened.
    Conspicuously missing from the room were the desks that belonged to Neil and Charlie.
    The door opened suddenly and Mr. Nolan walked in. The boys stood. Nolan sat at the teacher’s desk, and they all sat down. “I will be taking over this class through exams,” Nolan said as he looked around the room. “We will find a permanent English teacher during the break. Who will tell me where you are in the Pritchard textbook?”
    Nolan looked around. There were no volunteers. “Mr. Anderson?”
    “The... Pritchard...” Todd repeated, barely audible. He looked through his books, fumbling nervously.
    “I can’t hear you, Mr. Anderson,” Nolan said.
    “I... think... we...” Todd said, still speaking softly.
    “Mr. Cameron,” Nolan said, exasperated by Todd’s response, “kindly inform me.”
    “We skipped around a lot, sir. We covered the romantics and some of the chapters on post-Civil War literature.”
    “What about the realists?” Nolan asked “I believe we skipped most of that,” Cameron said.
    Nolan stared at Cameron and then looked around the class. “All right then, we’ll start over. What is poetry?” He waited for an answer. No one volunteered. Suddenly the door to the classroom opened, and Mr. Keating walked in.
    “I came for my personals,” he said to Nolan. “Should I wait until after class?”
    “Get your things, Mr. Keating,” Nolan said testily. He turned to the class. “Gentlemen, turn to page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Cameron, read aloud the excellent essay by Dr. Pritchard on understanding poetry.”
    “Mr. Nolan, that page has been ripped out,” Cameron said.
    “Then borrow somebody else’s book,” Nolan said, losing his patience.
    “They’re all ripped out, sir,” Cameron reported.
    Nolan stared at Keating. “What do you mean they’re all ripped out?”
    “Sir, we...” Cameron started.
    “Never mind, Cameron,” Nolan said. He handed his textbook to Cameron. “Read!” he ordered.
    “‘Understanding Poetry’ by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, PhD. ‘To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then ask two questions: 1) how artfully has the objective...“
    As Cameron continued reading, Keating stood at the closet in the corner of the room, looking at the students. He saw Todd, whose eyes were full of tears. He saw Knox, Meeks, Pitts... still too ashamed to look him in the eye, but nevertheless, full of emotion. He sighed. The irony of Nolan’s choosing the Pritchard essay just as he walked in the room was just too incredible. He finished packing and walked across the room toward the door. Just as Keating reached the door, Todd jumped up.
    “Mr. Keating,” he cried out, interrupting Cameron’s reading.
    “They made everybody sign it!”
    Nolan stood up angrily. “Quiet, Mr. Anderson,” he ordered.
    “Mr. Keating,” Todd continued, “it’s true. You have to believe me!”
    “I believe you, Todd,” Keating said softly.
    Nolan was enraged. “Leave, Mr. Keating!” he shouted.
    “But it wasn’t his fault, Mr. Nolan!” Todd refused to stop.
    Nolan rushed down the aisle and pushed Todd back into his seat.