Dead Poets Society

volunteered. He walked toward Todd and grinned. “Look at Mr.
Anderson. In such agony. Step up, lad, and let’s put you out of your misery. ”
    The students all
eyed Todd. He stood nervously and walked slowly to the front of the class, his
face the mask of a condemned man on his way to execution.
    “Todd, have you
prepared your poem?” Mr. Keating asked.
    Todd shook his head.
    “Mr. Anderson
believes that everything he has inside of him is worthless and embarrassing.
Correct, Todd? Isn’t that your fear?”
    Todd nodded jerkily.
    “Then today we will
see that what is inside of you is worth a great deal.” Keating took long
strides to the blackboard and rapidly wrote, “I SOUND MY BARBARIC YAWP OVER THE
ROOFS OF THE 1 WORLD.’ Walt Whitman.”
    He turned to the
class. “A yawp, for those of you who don’t know, is a loud cry or yell. Todd, I
would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric yawp.”
    “A yawp?” Todd
repeated, barely audible.
    “A barbaric yawp.”
    Keating paused, then
suddenly lunged fiercely toward Todd. “Good God, boy, yell!” he shouted.
    “Yawp!” Todd said in
a frightened voice.
    “Again! Louder!”
Keating shouted.
    “YAWP!”
    “LOUDER!”
    “AAAHHHHHHH!”
    “All right! Very
good, Anderson. There’s a barbarian in there after all.” Keating clapped, and
the class joined in. Red-faced, Todd relaxed a bit.
    “Todd, there’s a
picture of Whitman over the door. What does he remind you of? Quickly, Anderson,
don’t think about it.”
    “A madman,” Todd
said.
    “A madman. What kind
of madman? Don’t think! Answer!”
    “A... crazy madman!“
    “Use your
imagination,” Keating urged. “First thing that pops to your mind, even if it’s
gibberish.
    “A... a
sweaty-toothed madman.”
    “Now there’s the
poet speaking,” Keating cheered. “Close your eyes. Describe what you see. NOW!”
he shouted.
    “I... I close my
eyes. His image flicks beside me,” Todd said, then hesitated.
    “A sweaty-toothed
madman,” Keating prompted.
    “A sweaty-toothed
madman...”
    “Come on!” Keating
cried.
    “With a stare that
pounds my brain,” Todd said.
    “Excellent! Have him
act. Give it rhythm!”
    “His hands reach out
and choke me...”
    “Yes...” Keating
urged.
    “All the time he
mumbles slowly...“
    “Mumbles what?”
    “Truth...” Todd
shouted. “Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold!”
    A few boys in the
class chuckled, and Todd’s tortured face grew angry. “To hell with them!”
Keating coaxed. “More about the blanket.”
    Todd opened his eyes
and addressed the class in a defiant cadence. “Stretch it, pull it, it will
never cover any of us.”
    “Go on!” Keating
said.
    “Kick at it, beat at
it, it will never be enough...”
    “Don’t stop!”
Keating cried.
    “From the moment we
enter crying,” Todd shouted, struggling, but forcing the words out, “to the
moment we leave dying, it will cover just your head as you wail and cry and
scream!”
    Todd stood still for
a long time. Keating walked to his side. “There is magic, Mr. Anderson. Don’t
you forget this.”
    Neil started applauding.
Others joined in. Todd took a deep breath and for the first time he smiled with
an air of confidence.
    “Thank you, sir,” he
said, sitting down.
    After class, Neil
shook Todd’s hand. “I knew you could do it,” he smiled. “Great job. See you at
the cave this afternoon.”
    “Thanks, Neil,” Todd
said, still smiling. “I’ll see you.”
     
    Later that
afternoon, Neil carried a battered lampshade through the woods toward the cave.
    “Sorry I’m late,” he
puffed as he hurried in. The other pledges of the Dead Poets Society sat on the
floor around Charlie, who was sitting cross-legged and silent before them, his
eyes closed. In one hand he held an old saxophone.
    “Look at this,” Neil
said.
    “What is it?” Meeks
asked.
    “Duh-uh, it’s a
lampshade, Meeks,” Pitts said.
    Neil took off the
lampshade, pulled out the cord and revealed a small painted statue. “It’s the
god of the cave,” Neil smiled broadly.
    “Duh-uh, Pitts,”
Meeks shot back.
    Neil placed the
statue, which had a stake sticking out of its head, in the ground. He placed a
candle in the stake and lit it. The candle illuminated a red-and-blue drummer
boy, his face worn from exposure, but noble. Todd, who was obviously relieved
from his success of the day, playfully put the lampshade on his own head.
    Charlie cleared his
throat