Dead Poets Society

stopped after the tenth lick
and walked around to face the boy. “Do you still insist that this was your idea
and your idea alone?” he asked.
    Charlie choked back
the pain. “Yes... sir.“
    “What is this ‘Dead
Poets Society?’ I want names,” Nolan shouted.
    Feeling faint,
Charlie hoarsely replied, “It’s only me, Mr. Nolan. I swear. I made it up.”
    “If I find that
there are others, Mr. Dalton, they will be expelled, and you will remain
enrolled. Do you understand? Now stand up.”
    Charlie obeyed. His
face was blood-red as he fought back tears of pain and humiliation.
    “Welton can forgive,
Mr. Dalton, provided you have the courage to admit your mistakes. You will make
your apology to the entire school. ”
    Charlie stumbled out
of Nolan’s office and headed slowly back to the junior dorm. The boys were
milling around in their rooms, walking in and out of the hallway, waiting for
their friend to return. When they saw Charlie coming, they all dashed into
their rooms and pretended to be studying.
    Charlie walked down
the hallway, moving slowly, trying not to show his pain. As he neared his room,
Neil, Todd, Knox, Pitts, and Meeks approached him.
    “What happened?”
Neil asked. “Are you all right? Were you kicked out?”
    “No,” Charlie said,
not looking at anyone.
    “What happened?”
Neil asked again.
    “I’m supposed to
turn everybody in, apologize to the school, and all will be forgiven,” Charlie
said. He opened the door and walked into his room.
    “What are you going
to do?” Neil asked. “Charlie?”
    “Damn it, Neil, the
name is Nuwanda,” Charlie said, as he gave the boys a loaded look and slammed
his door shut.
    The boys looked at
each other. Smiles of admiration broke out in the group. Charlie had not been
broken.
    Later that
afternoon, Nolan walked into one of the Welton classroom buildings and headed
down the corridor to Mr. Keating’s room. He stopped at the door, knocked, and
entered the classroom. Mr. Keating and Mr. McAllister were talking when he
walked in.
    “Mr. Keating, may I
have a word with you?” Nolan said, interrupting the two teachers.
    “Excuse me,”
McAllister said as he scurried out of the room.
    Nolan paused and
looked around. “This was my first classroom, John, did you know that?” Nolan
said, as he walked slowly around the room. “My first desk,” he said
nostalgically.
    “I didn’t know you
taught,” Keating replied.
    “English. Way before
your time. It was hard giving it up, I’ll tell you.” He paused, then looked
straight at Keating. “I’m hearing rumors, John, of some unorthodox teaching
methods in your classroom. I’m not saying they have anything to do with the
Dalton boy’s outburst, but I don’t think I have to warn you that boys his age
are very impressionable.”
    “Your reprimand made
quite an impression, I’m sure,” Keating said.
    Nolan’s eyebrows
raised for an instant. He let the comment pass. “What was going on in the
courtyard the other day?” he asked.
    “Courtyard?” Keating
repeated.
    “Boys marching.
Clapping in unison...”
    “Oh that. That was
an exercise to prove a point. About the evils of conformity. I... ”
    “John, the curriculum
here is set. It’s proven. It works. If you question it, what’s to
prevent them from doing the same?”
    “I always thought
education was learning to think for yourself,” Keating said.
    Nolan laughed. “At
these boys’ ages? Not on your life! Tradition, John! Discipline.” He patted
Keating on the shoulder patronizingly. “Prepare them for college, and the rest
will take care of itself.”
    Mr. Nolan smiled and
left. Keating stood silent, staring out the window. After a moment, McAllister
stuck his head in the door. He had obviously been listening.
    “I wouldn’t worry
about the boys being too conformist if I were you, John,” he said.
    “Why is that?”
    “Well, you yourself
graduated from these hallowed halls, did you not?”
    “Yes.”
    “So, if you want to
raise a confirmed atheist,” McAllister observed, “give him a rigid religious
upbringing. Works every time.”
    Keating stared at
McAllister, then suddenly let out a laugh. McAllister smiled, turned, and
disappeared down the hall.
    Later that night,
Keating walked over to the junior-class dorm. The boys were just hurrying out
to club meetings and activities. He approached Charlie, who was walking out the
door with a group of friends.
    “Mr. Keating!”
Charlie said, looking