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Only one person has ever said I would make an effective TV evangelist. He said it when I was 15 and very impressionable. My impression, after said accolade, was to assume this guy had no clue who I was, what I stood for, or who I wanted to be. He would end up being my future supervisor.
When I met Rob Quel, he sported a business-man's mustache and a weird, weird sense of humor. The moustache is different now (read: grayer) but the humor is the same. Over time, I've come to understand it and even appreciate it.
When I first arrived in Lynchburg as a 15 year old city boy from a state that knew no winter I tunneled head-long into the E.C. Glass High School sophomore curriculum and landed in Mr. Quel's Writing Lab class first semester. He was quirky; I liked that. His jokes sometimes fell flat in class; I liked that too. I already had my eye on probably being a teacher and I was sensitive to not just lessons that went off without a hitch but the ones that seemed to sputter as well. I was intensely interested in how that happened to teachers. (I was later to learn, as teachers all know, that there are many MANY things that can make an effective lesson go awry.) The class was also unlike English classes I had taken in the past.
We didn't read literature really; we didn't act out plays. We talked about essays and argument. We also performed. Not poems and plays but other stuff. We created commercials.
It was one of these performances where the aforementioned comment was made. We were tasked with selling an item; something mundane, everyday and run-of-the-mill. I remember putting it off. I don't remember why. But when it was my turn I grabbed the pen off my desk and went at it. What did I say? That is had extra qualities, James Bond stuff. Need to vaporize the talkative kid in front of you? Boom, laser beam. Needed to call home? Boom, a phone. Needed something to eat? Boom, a replicator. These imaginary qualities probably say more about me as an adolescent than anything else. Repressed anger?
Anyway, when I finished several peers conveyed how impressed they were, how much fun the bit was. I was grateful. Then Quel said, "You ever think about a career as a TV evangelist?" I laughed, a few laughed with me. But I thought: what the hell, dude?
It wouldn't be for almost 20 more years before I understood the compliment. When I returned to my alma mater to teach, I found myself after a few years there reporting to him as my supervisor. I was glad: he challenged me without making ridiculous demands. It was after one particular class he observed when he stopped by to review my lesson that he said, "Well, one thing is certain: you could sell anyone anything." I was brought back to my sophomore year. And it made sense. It wasn't the religion thing; it wasn't the capitalist thing; it was the persuasive thing - it was the ability to communicate and end up with people listening and liking what they listened to.
Quel isn't my supervisor anymore (I wear everyone out eventually) but here's what I love about him, what I wouldn't trade for the world. On a random day in any given period of school, if he is in the building and passing by in the hall, he unceremoniously throws my door open and without excusing himself demands to know what I am subjecting my poor students to today. Whatever my answer, he finds several reasons to lambast my choices and encourages my class to revolt, like French Revolution revolt.
He's Kramer to my Seinfeld. And I'm not close to the genius of Seinfeld. He throws that door open and slides into my room. I put on my part of the show: impatience, frustration, are-you-done-yet? But I know (and I think he knows) I love it. I love every moment of it. I love it when he looks at my new Forensics trophy cabinet and asks if it is The Shrine to Aaron. When he goes through my end of the year student feedback looking just for the negative ones and getting frustrated when he can't find many. I miss sitting in his office in the late afternoon talking about Forensics or English or whatever.
I'm not sure if I am as funny as he often was, or impact my students the way he impacted me. But I know he continually provides me with a role model for where I am headed. He might not ever join me Marlin fishing in the Caribbean but I know that he would listen to the stories I tell about it when I returned.
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