Checked up on my old NYU writing teacher, Josh Shenk, to see what he's up to these days. Not teaching at NYU, for one. Also, seems he finished that book about Lincoln back in 2005. We have it at work, so it may be on my near-future reading list. Sadly I had plans to read through parts of Gimbutas's Civilization of the Goddess and Handbook of Landscape Archaeology next. Though non-fiction, Josh's Lincoln's Melancholy: how Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness is probably the easier read. I've been v. immersed in fiction of late, and I need to focus on some more useful reading. Gimbutas and Landscape are not falling away, though.
I liked Josh's class a lot. My writing in high school was always good enough that the teachers could ignore me and worry about those who couldn't string a coherent sentence together. That meant that I never got any better. Writing the Essay - the introductory writing class mandatory for all Arts & Crafts students at NYU - was usually dreaded. It was often taught by old near-retirement professors who didn't give a damn or graduate students who forced their own writing upon their captive audience. I had neither. I had Josh. The first time I had to get used to calling a teacher by their first name (I have no Ph.D, and am not Professor. And Mr Shenk is my father."). It was 15 students at 8am in the morning in a small library classroom. Since being in the library meant coffee had to be snuck in, ha had it changed to a room in the Expository Writing building ("I don't know about you, but at 8am, I need my coffee"). Fifteen students, mostly freshman, with a slightly crazed writer who loved his iPod like a child and bounced a MoMa bouncy ball on the subway platforms during his commute from Brooklyn (it was so gross).
Josh didn't have an ax to grind or anyone to impress. We read one small part of the then-in-progress Lincoln book and one article of his (it had already been published, so it wasn't like he was looking for positive affirmations). Other than that, he actually focused on us and our writing. It was the first time anyone had ever taken the time to really read my writing and work with me on improving it. I felt, for the first time, that I had truly learned something. He taught that the essay should be like his bouncy ball - bouncing along from image to idea to image and so forth until your final idea was reached. It was a journey that had two intermingled parts to it. At the end, he bought us all two-colored bouncy balls, a reminder of essay writing. I still have it. I still remember and try it that way.
He expanded what an essay meant, what it could convey. In addition to reading the essays from our textbook (edited by the head of Expository Writing, of course) we analyzed the essay-like qualities of poetry and music. There was much Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen played from the iPod. Long before encountering the inimitable Shea, this was my first experience with a teacher who thought outside the status quo, who pushed us to think.
This experience, sadly, set my standards too high. I transferred to a state school that didn't expect/demand that students write a proper paper until junior year. A school that held the little dears' hands through college so that they didn't have to learn too much and hurt themselves. Technicalities made it necessary that I take the intro writing course my senior year (they didn't have my WtE grades - I got an A-). It was taught by a misanthropic moron who liked rebel poets, and not much else, it seemed. He and I clashed from day one. And he barely helped those kids learn to write. I don't think he inspired anyone to write, or write better. I helped get a classmate through it, not him.
I missed Josh's class over the years. I missed teachers like him. So I want to read Lincoln's Melancholy. I'll let you all know about it when I'm done.
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