Dead Poets Society (3 page)

Dr. Hager bombarded the class with mathematical questions the entire period. Hands flew into the air, students stood up and sat down like robots, reeling off answers, staunchly taking harsh reprimands for mistakes.

The bell rang, but not soon enough. “Thank God,” moaned Todd as he piled up his books. “I don’t think I could have taken another minute of that.”

“You’ll get used to old Hager,” Meeks consoled him. “Once you get the pace of it, you’ll do fine.”

“I’m already six paces behind,” Todd groaned as the boys walked together to their next class. He didn’t say another word as they dragged themselves into the English room, dropped their books on their desks, and fell into the seats.

The new English teacher, wearing a shirt and tie but no jacket, sat at the front of the room, staring out the window. The boys settled down and waited, grateful for a moment to relax and shed some of the pressure of the last few hours. Keating continued to stare out the window. The boys started to shuffle uncomfortably.

Finally Keating stood, picked up a yardstick, and started strolling up and down the aisles. He stopped and stared into the face of one of the boys. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said kindly to the blushing boy.

He continued to move around the room, looking intently at the boys as he walked. “Uh-huh,” he said aloud, looking at Todd Anderson. “Uh-huh,” he repeated, moving toward Neil Perry.

“Ha!” He slapped his free hand with the yardstick and strode forcefully to the front of the room. “Nimble young minds!” Keating shouted, looking around at the class and gesturing with the yardstick.

He jumped dramatically onto his desk and turned to face the class. “‘O Captain! My Captain!’” he recited energetically, then looked around the room. “Who knows where that’s from? Anybody? No?” He looked piercingly at the silent boys. No one raised a hand. “It was written, my young scholars,” he said patiently, “by a poet named Walt Whitman about Abraham Lincoln. In this class you may refer to me as either Mr. Keating or ‘O Captain! My Captain!’”

He jumped down from the desk and resumed strolling the aisles, speaking as he moved. “So that I become the source of as few rumors as possible, let me tell you that, yes, I was a student at this institution many moons ago, and no, at that time I did not possess this charismatic personality.

“However, should you choose to emulate my manner, it can only help your grade. Pick up your textbooks from the back, gentlemen, and let’s retire to the Honor Room.”

Using the yardstick as a pointer, Keating headed to the door and walked out. The students sat, silent, not sure what to do.

“We’d better go with him,” Neil said, leading the class to the back of the room. They each picked up a text, gathered their books, and proceeded to the oak-paneled Welton Honor Room, where they had last waited to see Dean Nolan.

Keating walked around the room as the boys straggled in. He studied the walls, which were lined with class pictures dating back to the 1800s. Trophies of every description filled shelves and glass cases.

Sensing that everyone was seated, Keating turned toward the class. “Mister”—Keating looked down at his roster—“Pitts,” he said. “An unfortunate name. Stand up, Mister Pitts.” Pitts stood. “Open your text, Pitts, to page 542 and read for us the first stanza of the poem,” Keating instructed.

Pitts leafed through his book. “‘To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time’?” he asked.

“That’s the one,” Keating said, as the boys in the class chuckled out loud.

“Yes, sir,” Pitts said. He cleared his throat.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a flying:

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying.”

He stopped. “‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,’” Keating repeated. “The Latin term for that sentiment is
Carpe Diem.
Does anyone know what that means?”

“Carpe Diem,” Meeks, the Latin scholar, said. “Seize the day.”

“Very good, Mr....?”

“Meeks.”

“Seize the day,” Keating repeated. “Why does the poet write these lines?”

“Because he’s in a hurry?” one student called out as the others snickered.

“No, No, No! It’s because we’re food for worms, lads!” Keating shouted. “Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls.

“One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!” He paused dramatically. “Stand up,” he urged the students, “and peruse the faces of the boys who attended this school sixty or seventy years ago. Don’t be timid; go look at them.”

The boys got up and walked to the class pictures lining the honor-room walls. They looked at faces of young men, staring out at them from the past.

“They’re not that different than any of you, are they? Hope in their eyes, just like yours. They believe themselves destined for wonderful things, just like many of you. Well, where are those smiles now, boys? What of the hope?”

The boys stared at the photos, their faces sober and reflective. Keating walked swiftly around the room, pointing from photo to photo.

“Did most of them not wait until it was too late before making their lives into even one iota of what they were capable? In chasing the almighty deity of success, did they not squander their boyhood dreams? Most of those gentlemen are fertilizing daffodils now! However, if you get very close, boys, you can hear them whisper. Go ahead,” he urged, “lean in. Go on. Hear it? Can you?” The boys were quiet, some of them leaned hesitantly toward the photographs. “Carpe Diem,” Keating whispered loudly. “Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.”

Todd, Neil, Knox, Charlie, Cameron, Meeks, Pitts, and the other boys all stared into the pictures on the walls, lost in thoughts that were rudely interrupted by the bell.

“Weird,” Pitts said as he gathered up his books.

“But different,” Neil said thoughtfully.

“Spooky,” Knox added, shivering slightly, as he headed out of the room.

“You think he’ll test us on that stuff?” Cameron asked, looking confused.

“Oh, come on, Cameron,” Charlie laughed, “don’t you get anything?”

After lunch the juniors assembled in the gymnasium for the required physical-education class.

“Okay, gentlemen,” the gym master shouted, “we’re going to make something of those bodies yet. Start running around the gym. Stop after each round and check your pulse. See me if you don’t have a pulse.”

The boys groaned and began jogging around the huge gym. The master chuckled and walked to the edge, leaning against the wall to observe the runners.

“Hastings, move it. We’ve got to get some of that gut off of you,” he called to one boy. “Check your pulse.

“Nice run, Overstreet,” he called out. “Good pacing.” Knox smiled and waved as he passed by the teacher.

None of them thought they’d make it through the class, but by the end of the period they’d surprised themselves.

“I’m going to die!” Pitts gasped, standing in the shower after the class. “That guy should head a military school!”

“Come on, Pitts, it’s good for you,” Cameron laughed.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Pitts shouted back. “The guy didn’t embarrass you to death.” Pitts turned quickly to face the wall as the gym master strolled through the shower room, monitoring the activity.

“How about a study group?” Meeks called out from the shower. “Right after dinner.”

“Great! Good by me,” several of the boys agreed.

“Pick up the soap, Harrison,” the gym master called out. “You there,” he pointed at another boy, “hurry and dry off!”

“Sorry Meeks, I can’t make it,” Knox said. “I have to sign out to have dinner at the Danburrys’ house.”

“Who are the Danburrys?” Pitts asked.

“Whew! Big alums,” Cameron whistled. “How’d you pull that?”

Knox shrugged. “They’re friends of my dad. Probably in their nineties or something.”

“Listen,” Neil laughed. “Anything is better than the mystery meat we get here.”

“I’ll second that!” Charlie agreed.

The boys finished getting dressed, tossed their gym clothes in their lockers, and headed out. Todd sat silently on the bench, slowly pulling up his sock.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Neil laughed, as he sat down next to Todd.

“Not even worth that much,” Todd said, shaking his head.

“Want to come to the study group?” Neil asked.

“Thanks, but … I’d better do history,” Todd smiled.

“Okay, you can always change your mind,” Neil answered. He gathered up his books and headed out of the gym. Todd watched him leave and then stared into space again. He put on his shoes, picked up his own books, and walked slowly back to the dorm.

In the distance Todd saw the fiery-red sun sinking behind the green perimeter of trees that enclosed the sprawling campus. “It’s big, but it’s so small here,” he sighed, looking around.

Inside the dorm, he smiled at several boys in the hall but walked into his room and quickly closed the door. He put his books on the desk, sighed again loudly, and sat down.

“I can’t believe all the work I have to do,” he said as he flipped through the stack of books. He opened his history book, took out a notebook, and stared at the first clean sheet of paper. Absently, he scribbled SEIZE THE DAY in big, black letters.

“Seize the day?” he questioned aloud. “How?” He sighed again, ripped the page out of the notebook, and threw it into the wastebasket. He turned a page in the history book and started to read.

“Ready, Overstreet?” Dr. Hager asked, as he walked into the Honors Room, where Knox Overstreet was once again studying the pictures of old Welton students.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he answered as he followed Dr. Hager out to the school “woody” station wagon parked in front of the building. The changing colors of the Vermont autumn were muted by the darkness. “It’s beautiful when the colors change, isn’t it, Dr. Hager?” Knox asked enthusiastically.

“Colors? Oh, yes,” Hager mumbled as he drove the old wagon to the rambling mansion where the distinguished Danburry family lived.

“Thanks for the ride, Dr. Hager,” Knox smiled. “The Danburrys said they’ll bring me back to campus.”

“No later than nine, my boy,” the old teacher said solemnly.

“Yes, sir.” He turned and walked to the door of the large, white, colonial house and rang the bell. A beautiful girl, maybe a bit older than he was and wearing a short tennis skirt, opened the door.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. Her blue eyes glowed softly.

Knox hesitated, speechless with astonishment. “Ah … hi,” he finally got out.

“Are you here to see Chet?” she asked. He stared at her for a moment, unable to keep his eyes from moving up and down her athletic figure, “Chet?” she repeated, laughing. “Are you here to see Chet?”

“Mrs. Danburry?” Knox stammered as a middle-aged woman stuck her head around the girl.

“Knox,” Janette Danburry smiled, as the girl moved back toward the huge staircase. “Come in. We’ve been waiting for you!”

Knox walked in behind Mrs. Danburry, but his eyes followed the girl who raced up the stairs two steps at a time.

Mrs. Danburry walked into a huge wood-paneled library. “Joe,” she said to a sharply dressed man who looked about forty. “This is Knox.”

Joe stuck out his hand and smiled warmly. “Knox, good to see you. Come in. Joe Danburry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Knox smiled, trying to keep himself from looking toward the staircase.

“You’re the spitting image of your father. How is he?” Joe asked as he offered Knox a glass of soda.

“Great,” Knox nodded. “Just did a big case for GM.”

“Ah. I know where you’re headed—like father, like son, eh?” Joe laughed. “Have you met our daughter, Virginia?”

“Oh, that was your daughter?” Knox asked enthusiastically, pointing toward the staircase.

“Virginia, say hello,” Mrs. Danburry instructed as a cute but rather plain fifteen-year-old girl stood up from the floor on the other side of the room. Her books and pages of neatly written notes were strewn across the floor.

“It’s Ginny,” she said as she turned to Knox. “Hi,” she said and smiled shyly.

“Hello,” Knox said, glancing briefly at Ginny, before staring again at the staircase where his eyes stayed glued on the slender legs he saw standing there. He heard a giggle come from that direction, and he turned awkwardly back to Ginny.

“Sit down, sit down,” Mr. Danburry said, gesturing toward a comfortable leather chair. “Did your father ever tell you about the case we had together?”

“Pardon?” Knox said absently. The girl in the tennis dress was coming down the stairs with a tall athletic-looking young man.

“He didn’t tell you what happened?” Mr. Danburry laughed.

“Er, no,” Knox said, unable to take his eyes off the girl. The couple stepped into the room as Mr. Danburry started to recall the story.

“We were really stuck,” he reminisced. “I was sure I’d lost the biggest case of my life. Then your father came to me and told me he could weasel a settlement—but only if I gave him the entire fee from our client! The son of a gun!” He slapped his knee. “You know what I did?”