Dead Poets Society

Nolan.
    Keating walked
around the room as the boys straggled in. He studied the walls, which were lined
with class pictures dating back to the 1800s. Trophies of every description
filled shelves and glass cases.
    Sensing that
everyone was seated, Keating turned toward the class. “Mister”—Keating looked
down at his roster—“Pitts,” he said. “An unfortunate name. Stand up, Mister
Pitts.” Pitts stood. “Open your text, Pitts, to page 542 and read for us the
first stanza of the poem,” Keating instructed.
    Pitts leafed through
his book. “‘To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time?” he asked.
    “That’s the one,”
Keating said, as the boys in the class chuckled out loud.
    “Yes, sir,” Pitts
said. He cleared his throat.
     
    “Gather ye rosebuds
while ye may,
    Old time is still a
flying:
    And this same flower
that smiles today,
    Tomorrow will be
dying.”
     
    He stopped. “‘Gather
ye rosebuds while ye may,”‘ Keating repeated. “The Latin term for that
sentiment is Carpe Diem. Does anyone know what that means?”
    “Carpe Diem,” Meeks,
the Latin scholar, said.
    Seize the day.”
    “Very good, Mr...?”
    Meeks.”
    “Seize the day,”
Keating repeated. “Why does the poet write these lines?“
    Because he’s in a
hurry?” one student called out as the others snickered.
    No, No, No! It’s
because we’re food for worms, lads! Keating shouted. “Because we’re only going
to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls.
    “One day, hard as it
is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold,
and die!” He paused dramatically. “Stand up,” he urged the students, “and
peruse the faces of the boys who attended this school sixty or seventy years
ago. Don’t be timid; go look at them.”
    The boys got up and
walked to the class pictures lining the honor-room walls. They looked at faces
of young men, staring out at them from the past.
    “They’re not that
different than any of you, are they? Hope in their eyes, just like yours. They
believe themselves destined for wonderful things, just like many of you. Well,
where are those smiles now, boys? What of the hope?”
    The boys stared at
the photos, their faces sober and reflective. Keating walked swiftly around the
room, pointing from photo to photo.
    “Did most of them
not wait until it was too late before making their lives into even one iota of
what they were capable? In chasing the almighty deity of success, did they not squander
their boyhood dreams? Most of those gentlemen are fertilizing daffodils now!
However, if you get very close, boys, you can hear them whisper. Go ahead,” he
urged, “lean in. Go on. Hear it? Can you?” The boys were quiet, some of them
leaned hesitantly toward the photographs. “Carpe Diem,” Keating whispered
loudly. “Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary. ”
    Todd, Neil, Knox,
Charlie, Cameron, Meeks, Pitts, and the other boys all stared into the pictures
on the walls, lost in thoughts that were rudely interrupted by the bell.
    “Weird,” Pitts said
as he gathered up his books.
    “But different,”
Neil said thoughtfully.
    “Spooky,” Knox
added, shivering slightly, as he headed out of the room.
    “You think he’ll
test us on that stuff?” Cameron asked, looking confused.
    “Oh, come on,
Cameron,” Charlie laughed, “don’t you get anything?”

Chapter
5

     
     
    After lunch the
juniors assembled in the gymnasium for the required physical-education class.
    “Okay, gentlemen,”
the gym master shouted, “were going to make something of those bodies yet.
Start running around the gym. Stop after each round and check your pulse. See
me if you don’t have a pulse.”
    The boys groaned and
began jogging around the huge gym. The master chuckled and walked to the edge,
leaning against the wall to observe the runners.
    “Hastings, move it.
We’ve got to get some of that gut off of you,” he called to one boy. “Check
your pulse.
    “Nice run,
Overstreet,” he called out. “Good pacing.” Knox smiled and waved as he passed
by the teacher.
    None of them thought
they’d make it through the class, but by the end of the period they’d surprised
themselves.
    “I’m going to die!”
Pitts gasped, standing in the shower after the class. “That guy should head a
military school!”
    “Come on, Pitts,
it’s good for you,” Cameron laughed.
    “That’s easy for you
to say,” Pitts shouted back. “The guy didn’t embarrass you