In the essay Hardscrabble Hellas, Lucien Price wrote about one of his favorite teachers when he was a student at Hardcastle Academy (Class of 1901), a preparatory school in Ohio:
We respected him. We admired him. We would have loved him had we dared. Failing that, the game was to win his esteem. To do so one must be cultivating a vigorous body, an active mind, and a high standard of conduct. He despised cowardice; he despised meanness; he despised liars, sneaks, and squealers. On the other hand, he knew the weaknesses which the flesh of boyhood is prone to and was willing to make allowance. Perfection he did not demand. He did not even demand success. The one thing he did demand was effort.
A personality as dynamic as this with the fiery juices of life naturally generated action. In his classes it became a recognized sport, quite as definitely as football practice, not to flunk. Reading the Anabasis, he would call on us for the principal parts of all the irregular verbs. What gallons of midnight kerosene we burned getting ourselves primed to volley these verbs at him as fast as tongues could articulate. The reward was to watch his jaw set like a boxer’s standing up to buffets. Not by so much as a syllable did he ever acknowledge the existence of this contest. No need to. His game was to stick us. Our game was not to get stuck. It was exhilarating.
Is it possible today for high school and college students to engage in study out of respect for their teacher? Have you had any such teachers?
This summer I was interviewed for an article for the Lafayette College alumni magazine. Asked if I recalled any favorite professors, my answer was immediate: Cleveland Jauch. His love of the essay as a literary form infected me with my love for it.
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Hardscrabble Hellas appeared in the Atlantic Monthly (1927) and was republished as a booklet (1947).
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