最难忘的人（1）（2/2）
《我的大学，用一辈子去忘记》作者：杨柳青 2017-02-10 18:11
if he were addressing the Supreme Court instead of a group youngsters. He wrote his name on the blackboard—Wilmer T. Stone—then sat on the front of his desk, drew one long leg up and grasped his bony knee.
“Gentlemen,” he began,“we are here this semester—your first—to continue your study of English. I know we shall enjoy learning with—and from—one another. We are going to learn something about journalism and how to get out your weekly school paper. Most important, we are going to try to feel the joy of good literature. Maybe some of us will really get interested in reading and writing. Those who do, I venture to say, will lead far richer, fuller lives than they would otherwise.”
He went on like that, speaking without condescension1, voicing a welcome message of friendliness and understanding. An unexpected feeling of excitement stirred in me.
During the term that followed, his enthusiasm spread through us like a contagion2. He would read one of Keats’s poems, for instance, and then say musingly, “I wonder whether we can say that better. Let’s see.” Then we’d all chip in, and voices would grow high-pitched in the melee of thoughts and phrases. Soon would come a glow of wonderment as we began to discover that there was no better way of saying it. By such devices he led us to an appreciation of the beauty and perfection of language and literature.
There was little formality about our sessions, but he never had to discipline us. Since he treated us with unfailing courtesy, we couldn’t very well do anything except return it; approached as adults, we could not show ourselves childish. Besides, we were much too interested and too anxious to participate in the discussion to have time for foolishness.
“Gentlemen,” he began,“we are here this semester—your first—to continue your study of English. I know we shall enjoy learning with—and from—one another. We are going to learn something about journalism and how to get out your weekly school paper. Most important, we are going to try to feel the joy of good literature. Maybe some of us will really get interested in reading and writing. Those who do, I venture to say, will lead far richer, fuller lives than they would otherwise.”
He went on like that, speaking without condescension1, voicing a welcome message of friendliness and understanding. An unexpected feeling of excitement stirred in me.
During the term that followed, his enthusiasm spread through us like a contagion2. He would read one of Keats’s poems, for instance, and then say musingly, “I wonder whether we can say that better. Let’s see.” Then we’d all chip in, and voices would grow high-pitched in the melee of thoughts and phrases. Soon would come a glow of wonderment as we began to discover that there was no better way of saying it. By such devices he led us to an appreciation of the beauty and perfection of language and literature.
There was little formality about our sessions, but he never had to discipline us. Since he treated us with unfailing courtesy, we couldn’t very well do anything except return it; approached as adults, we could not show ourselves childish. Besides, we were much too interested and too anxious to participate in the discussion to have time for foolishness.