Random thoughts

Greetings, Gentle Reader, May 24, 2009

This sultry spring afternoon finds me gently tapping at these keys which, to date, represents the lion’s share of my training for the row. Yet I worry not. It will not be a race, and there are a full four weeks left – four weeks from today – to attend to the power plant. I’m naively inclined to think that a lifetime of moderate physical fitness is a bit like money in the checking account…ready to be withdrawn at one’s leisure. Yet, in my case, the “leisure” has been all too protracted, and I’ll have to get at it…but tomorrow, OK?

During this lull before my students’ final exam, I‘ve been doing a bit of personal reading, a luxury that my typical schedule does not easily grant. I’m just finishing Drew Faust’s This Republic of Suffering, a splendidly written reflection about the physical, moral, and spiritual costs of the Civil War. Faust recounts the civil war historian James McPherson’s estimate that, “the overall mortality rate for the south exceeded that of any country in World War I and that of all but the region between the Rhine and the Volga in World War 2.” Faust reminds us that “the number of soldiers (from both sides) who died between 1861 and 1865, an estimated 620,000, is approximately equal to the total American fatalities in the Revolution, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the Spanish American War, World War I, World War II, and Korea combined.” What a cost to form “a more perfect union.”

I didn’t select this book for its relevance to an impending Memorial Day weekend, but this holiday is in fact a direct relative of the recognition this country placed on military service directly after World War 1. The narrative reminds me of the extraordinary number of historical sites I’ll be rowing past in a few weeks…and of how much I have yet to learn about them. Point Lookout, for instance, the spot at which I’ll be making a dramatic (for me) sweep from the Chesapeake Bay into the wide mouth of the Potomac, was the site of the Union’s largest prisoner-of-war camp. Conditions in this camp – and all civil war camps – were appalling, and the death rates of the interred were very high. At the onset of the war, and for very different reasons, each side anticipated a short and rather painless affair, and neither side was prepared for the rapidly swelling number of prisoners. Yes, this is serious stuff for my own lighthearted journal, yet I do hope to take in as much of the depth and breadth of this history as I can. Lord knows that laboring upstream on the Potomac will give me plenty of time for quiet contemplation.

In fact, let this be an invitation to any of my readers who may be American History buffs to send me a note via this blog regarding points of interest along my route. I’ll be doing my own investigations, of course, but I’d certainly enjoy a little erudite audience participation…and it would bind me to my many passengers-in-spirit. Come on, climb aboard!

On a lighter note, one week from today will probably find me in this very same seat, feverishly (but hopefully) grading my students’ final exams. I spent yesterday writing it, remembering as I did so a sage soul once say, “The best exam is one that teaches rather than tests.” In class on Friday I also heard myself say, “Gentlemen, whatever exam I write for you will test mastery, not long term memory.” Their blank stares conveyed something between incomprehension and fear, cues that any good teacher does not hope to read in his students. I hope to strike a balance, and I am fortunate to count my older brother as my proverbial canary in the mineshaft. I always send him a copy of the test and Bill, a most literate, thoughtful, and honest soul, gives me pretty good feedback. He scored a solid B- last year (he’s getting better at verbals and interrogatives), but I am always most anxious to hear of his response to the essay question. He knocks the essay out of the park each year…he’s a terrific writer…and, frankly, I count the essay as the arbiter of how well I have coached my fellows in the power of language. Sigh. Well, we’ll see. Should I post the exam on this blog? Are you feeling curious, confident, or maybe even nostalgic for your own 8th grade English experience? Are you curious to see if you, too, might graduate from middle school? (Note: there is no way I would volunteer to take the math or science exams…)

This weekend’s other highlight – certainly so if one lives in Baltimore – is the NCAA men’s lacrosse championship. Yes, it’s being played in Boston again this year – sort of like holding the Australian Football Championships in Topeka, Kansas (ok, a slight exaggeration, but true lacrosse fans will get my point) – and tomorrow, Monday, Syracuse will face Cornell in the championship game. I’m conflicted. My mom, brother, and sister are all Orange People, yet yours truly, having played for Dartmouth back in the day when sticks were wood and men were afraid, harbors an allegiance to all things Ivy. Cornell is the odds-on underdog, and perhaps in the spirit of this row (with me being the underdog, the Bay and the Potomac being heavily favored), we’ll keep fingers and toes crossed for the Big Red.

In closing, you’ll note that I have not been beating the fundraising drum very hard. Or, at all, really. I’d just remind you that any pledges on my progress (pennies, dollars, or precious stones per mile…or, why not a flat sum?) go towards the Boys’ Latin Financial Aid budget. The needs remain great, as you might suspect, the boys I teach are wonderful, and they are supported by parents whose priorities are in exactly the right place. If the spirit moves you, let Kathy, me, or Boys’ Latin know directly.

After all, look what you get for your pledge: a warm, altruistic feeling, a figurative seat in the boat, and guilt-free reading that, in this case, includes ruminations on the Civil War, a book recommendation, reflections on education, a conflicted insight on the NCAA lacrosse championship game, and this plaintive plea. If I could include a Snugli or a Sham Wow, I would.

‘Till next time, Al