Dead Poets Society by Nancy H. Kleinbaum

Author:Nancy H. Kleinbaum [Kleinbaum, Nancy H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783125796904
Publisher: Ernst Klett Sprachen
Published: 2005-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

“Hey,” Cameron shouted as the boys started into Mr. Keating’s room the next afternoon. “There’s a note on the board to meet in the courtyard.”

“I wonder what Mr. Keating is up to today.” Pitts grinned expectantly.

The boys raced down the hall and out the door into the chilly courtyard. Mr. McAllister peered out from his classroom door, shaking his head in annoyance.

“People,“ Keating said as the boys gathered around him. “A dangerous element of conformity has been seeping into your work. Mister Pitts, Cameron, Overstreet, and Chapman, line up over here please. ” He pointed to the four boys to stand near him. “On the count of four, I want you to begin walking together around the courtyard. Nothing to think about. No grade here. One, two, three, go!”

The boys began walking. They walked down one side of the courtyard, across the back, up the other e> and across the front, completing the square.

“That’s the way,” Keating said. “Please continue.”

The boys walked around the courtyard again as the rest of the class and the teacher watched. Soon they began to walk in step, a march-like cadence emanating from the pavement. They continued in a one-two-three-four pattern as Keating began to clap to the rhythm.

“There it is... Hear it?” he called, clapping louder in time. “One two, one two, one two, one two... We re all having fun, in Mr. Keating’s class...”

Sitting in his empty classroom grading papers, McAllister observed the commotion through the window. The four marchers picked up on their cadence. They lifted their legs high and swung their arms back and forth, keeping the rhythm alive. The class joined in clapping out the beat.

Distracted by the clapping and cheering, Dean Nolan put down his work and peered through the window at the drill-team activity below. Nolan’s eyebrows furrowed as he frowned at Keating clapping and shouting to the English class. What in the world are they doing? he wondered.

“All right, stop,” Mr. Keating called to the marchers. “You may have noticed how at the beginning Misters Overstreet and Pitts seemed to have a different stride than the others—Pitts with his long lurches, Knox with that light little bounce—but soon all were walking in the same cadence. Our encouragement made it even more marked,” he pointed out.

“Now, this experiment was not to single out Pitts or Overstreet. What it demonstrates is how difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others. If any of you think you would have marched differently, then ask yourself why you were clapping. Lads, there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular. As Frost said, “ ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,/And that has made all the difference.’”

The bell rang, but the boys remained rooted in their spots, watching Keating and absorbing his message.

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