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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (April 27, 1999)
Higher Talented teacher made I H A I 1^ ( t a difference to students | j CLIFF HICKS is a senior news-editorial and English major and the Daily Nebraskan opinion editor. It’s time for me to say something positive for a change. Usually you see my ugly mug up there and the first thing you think is “Oh no, Hicks is on another rant again,” but this time it’s actually a dedication of sorts. Set the wayback machine for... oh ... 4'A years ago. I was not exactly a model student, but then, I had never really been a model student. I was the misfit of the journalism program, the near-talentless cynic, so far removed from the honors program I had to use a telescope to see it and a growing frustration with the world in general. Ah, good ol’ Central High. The beginning of my senior year was rolling around, I was still attempt ing to recover from a disastrous rela tionship the year before (as well as being passed over for a job on the high school newspaper that I swear to this day I was more qualified for than the person who got it - no offense intend ed, however) and I was starting to lose faith in myself. l was rapidly beginning to descend into that portal of madness that sends so many creative people to the nut house. It was harrowing. Between this problem and that problem and the other, problem, I was convinced that my sanity was quickly becoming a house of cards, wavering at the light est touch of breeze. Out of all the people to blame, however, I blamed the obvious one, and the guilty culprit - myself. I had, in essence, forgotten how to adapt, how to dream, how to create the raw concepts and ideas that had gotten me through the years. In essence, I had lost touch with myself. “Wait a minute, Hicks,” you’re thinking, “I thought this was supposed to be an upbeat, positive column where you gave us hope that a ray of light has entered that bleak existence you call a life.” (Man, tough room.) It is. All this brings me to the finest teacher I’ve ever had the privi lege of learning from. He’s retiring this year, after many long years of teaching. I think he’s loved every damn last one of them, too. .. His name s Mr. Daly. I was going to , ^ call him and get a ton of Vnm! informa- \\m tion on his history in 1 teaching, his \ exemplary \ performance, \ the awards he’s won and \ all the great stories that he could tell me, but then I realized I’d be violating one of the many things he told me. The key to writing, he told me, is per spective. It all begins with a personal perspective. All great writing springs from the heart, and the heart knows only you. So I’m writing this the only way I can, from my perspective, from my memories, faulty and rusty though they may be, and I’m going to tell you about how this legend of a teacher influenced me. Let it be said that Mr. Daly was not a teacher for slackers. He taught A.P. English and, in his eyes, advanced placement should mean something. In the early stages of the class, we traced the history of the English language back along its roots. Personally, I was fascinated by the paths this language had taken over the centuries, the various forms it had occupied on its passage to our modem parlance. I was starting to love the language again. With all my difficulties in life, I had started to walk away from my one true gift - speaking my mind through writing, be it fiction, forum or farce. Later that fall, he would ask us each to write an essay on whatever was impacting us at die time - a very open-ended assignment, but I think that s how he started to peel back the layers of youthful angst and see the real individual lying beneath. I was, around then, going through a Velvet Underground phase. I wasn’t into the drugs nor the street life por trayed within, but Lou Reed’s voice spoke with such honesty and stark realism, Sterling Morrison’s guitar was like a string instrument of the gods and I just couldn’t detach myself from the records. So I wrote about them, figuring that maybe he’d have an inkling of who they were, it being almost 20 years past their time. Imagine my surprise when he wrote quite a bit about the band on my paper. I stayed after class to talk to him, and we ventured into discussions on the similarities and differences between the Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and Nirvana. I never underestimated Mr. Daly again. Mr. Daly had a jovial attitude about him, but he had a very sly wit mixed in with the occasional blatant Sn Amy Martin/DN pun or joke. It was a little like the Marx Brothers tag-teaming with Mark Twain. He and I (and anyone else who had his class, I’m sure) remember the chicken, and no more need be said about it, but to this day, I still find it funny as hell. He was always willing to listen, no matter what it was, be it his class or my life. It’s a very rare feeling to think that a teacher gives a damn about your life outside of their class, and it’s something to prize highly. It’s that sense of respect, and that perception that outside of your educa tion, outside of the meager four walls of the classroom, you have a life and that someone cares. We spent many an hour conversing about this and that, everything from high school politics to the corruption inherent in the legal system to modem pop culture. There aren’t many teachers who I’ve ever felt really understood me and where I was coming from. I could count them on my fingers without running onto my toes. In addition to caring about me, , editorial column for the Central High Register (our nearly monthly newspa per) and I spent my second to last col umn complimenting Mr. Daly and another teacher of mine, Mr. Littlejohn (who was the defining influence of my younger years, teach ing eighth-grade core classes). This isn’t so much a recap of that column as it is all the things I couldn’t say in that narrow amount of space. Mr. Daly got away with everything because he was the head of the English department. Well, Mr. Daly, I’m getting away with dedicating an entire page to you because I’m in charge and I think you’re worth it. And you’re right - sometimes it can be a lot of fun to break rules that were made to be broken. He would often tell students about what he would do the year he retired, the rules he would break. That year, he told us, he was going to teach “Lysistrada.” For those of you unfamiliar with the play, it’s over two thousand years old and tells the story of the women of - Greece who decide that until the wars among the various Greek city-states are brought to a halt, there will be no sex. Oh, how I envy those kids, learn ing one of the most unusual texts from one of the best teachers in the nation. It’s this itch to learn that’s lacking from a lot of our education right now. 1 can’t tell you why, but many teachers just don’t appeal to students, and stu dents lose interest in their studies. But I’ve never given up my English roots. I find the language fas cinating, and spent much of my time applying my skills for a dozen or so reasons. I know I’m not the only one at this college who came from Central, nor the only one who had Mr. Daly. What I’m asking you to do shouldn’t take much time. It’s just a little thing, real ty Mail Mr. Daly a letter. Send him a postcard. Give him a call. Let him know how much he impacted your education and how you’re doing. This is my open letter to him: Mr. Daly introduced me a ton or -- things that would have taken me Daly, ____ much longer to find on my own: Tom Cliff Hicks here I’m Reduced Shakespeare Company I p-p, s suPPly ofprob- m and dozens of others. I have trouble J ^ passable now, as it alwaw n» li these days separating thipgs I found j either. The good is . tfflot spectacular but it V If on my ownand things that my " V M Uving life a, the L„*?»** ,he *>ad is pretfy bZ,X I teachers and friends have ^ a//. ^9/er “ everything happens inert? * i impressed onto me (and, most like- Dm living with l emes or not gj ly, me onto them.) I Ludo wh n ^estfriend from iunia u- 1 m He also loved to read my writ- I pp ’ ° m sure you also remember • ^ lg^ school, and Joe m ing, be it half-assed play attempts 1 re<fHy haven’t changed crew th m°ving in with us in the ff or surreal science fiction stories. I . °f the other peonle T1™ H5 that much. m He was always willing to give me in touch with me very we/J a Tf? in high scho°l reallv don v a S a little bit of his time. often. Iran into FF??!?"1 hearf™m a few ofthJ tkeep I That’s what it all breaks down I we// // » zabeth Kaplan last year ansi u emeveryso m to - time. If you had time for * Chris W»S and Istill,IT *She was doing 1 him, and you had a need for his rn y °Peisthat Dll graduate fm every couple ofmonths m time, he'd make time. 1 it somewhere ifTlt^T eve^UyandZ I There’s also something I I Published enough to surma ^ world until lean get mv u>* v • If can’t capture on paper, the spirit of being a fiction writ ^a ™ me'1 m stil1 chasing that r * n*lng §§ of actually knowingMr. Daly, vincedItelZTfhZl ** m°‘h^Mtasdclff ^ I I can try to embody his / w , g/lt “° ofcay as a playwright Va here s con~ B whimsical yet serious personal-1 f, , addened to hear that vou u,a ^ °U ^ I think. m ity, try to find some way to give 1 gg °fall the students who will & reltirinS, because I B you that image of a scholar dom> but then I realized there dn* benefltfrom your wis* if communicating with the stu- you re ahead ansi ta e aoes come a time to l i m L dents on their level while | else IW fzZf, ° Z°y a lUtle R&R, andll T * I talking to administrator j y . , . 'you ve earned it an anyone m % on their level. \ vfj ?d S,P af™ Pina coladas Wa , 1 I can tty to relate I „„ e m the mood. Every so often d ‘ €abook’ Perhaps, if I how he would give us j - ^ or whatever. d ’ droPmea line, through mv If ft that knowing grin, and Never doubt for a minute thn, I 15 mention, offhand, an impact Ym, **, .j , re tllatyour time SDent „ , m M “Well, I can’t teach I imagined J ,v “ biHSer impact than vL .‘l‘eacher had B |Jk> you this portion of I dreds u t^at ’sdusttny opinion The couid have possibly B W ‘Canterbury Tales' Z , . ^ ^ thousands of,2 ™ ^P^obly hun- f df because ithurappro- wdy [do. ’ fS,Udm,swhoMl the XacXsame 1 Wr\ priate, but I can say l hope a few of them tn a I M that it does make inter-1 that we’re thinking l °K cue and wrote vm, re . , m V estingreading.” sands of ,2Z°"d,ha,meZJ2 K j W I I can try and encom- N ear " down, but it it never vanish as M ■ pass all of the surrealism, I * ‘i/l* madcap humor and unusu- j /&/) f/7 /fj / . B al hijinks that made up a | [Jg/f/g Syy /(/ B typical day in Mr Dafy^ I B class. I df'lS' .'m... But, despite trying to Cliff Hirlr* M do all of that, I’m still not j ri J? B doing justice for one of j ass of 95 B the greatest teachers I’ve n 1 B everhad I I had so desperately I / yPan ®*ly Sr. ^B hoped that my younger 124 IV ?igh SchooJ B brother would eventual-1 20 11 St. B ly have the privilege of j a"a» NE 60102 B learning from Mr. Daly, I B . but, alas, it is not to be. I B My younger brother just turned 11, and Mr. _ Daly retires at the end of this school B My senior year, 1 was writing the