Chapter 16

"Okay, boys and girls, you are going to love this. Today, oh it will be so much fun, today we are going to write thank-you notes. Isn't that wonderful? Aren't you glad you came to class? And, even better, we are going to write them in cursive. Cursive.

"How many of you learned to write cursive back in elementary school?"

About ten hands went up, a third of the class. "You guys are going to help me."

He smiled at them. "Now this is no worse that getting a tetanus shot or your school picture taken. Don't your folks nag you to write thank you notes? Of course they do. So you should know how to do it right. Now get out some looseleaf and find a pen."

On the whiteboard with a black marker and in large letters he slowly wrote abcdefgh, all hooked together in a reasonably neat script. "Ok, copy that, stay on the line and get nice loops in the tops of the taller letters and an underneath one on the gee. Look at my lovely letters - a product of the public schools I assure you. Good, good, now do it again, another line." He smiled. "Neatly, always neatly."

He walked around. "You guys who know how to do this, help the people around you. Show them their mistakes."

He came back to the front. "Do it again, another line of aye, bee, cee letters, slowly, carefully. No hurry."

On the board he wrote ijklmnop. "Now notice that the eyes and the jays need dots. Go ahead, copy my beautiful handwriting, well, my blackboard writing. Took years to learn how to do that, had to go to a special school."

They groaned, wrote, heads down, and he wandered the aisles and pointed out good and sloppy work. Several students got up and helped those near them.

Then he wrote out the rest of the alphabet and had them practice some more.

"OK, very good. Make it flow, one letter to another. See, it isn't that hard. Just take your time. Having the ability to read cursive is important, please notice, I said read it." He smiled. "If you cannot read what older people write, they will think you are stupid, and they will not hire you or let you marry into their family or send you birthday presents. So, now you know." He smiled, and they shook their heads and moaned some more.

"I'm serious. Being able to read cursive is a sign, not that you are smart or anything, but that you are educated. It really is. A valuable tool, one that is useful, unlike algebra or knowing where and when the battle of Gettysburg took place."

That got a small laugh.

"Finished? OK, Now watch, and I'll do this fast." He wrote out the whole alphabet in cursive in a few seconds, ending with a curling flourish. "When I was in grade school, back in the last century sometime, gaslights and all that, a hundred years ago, I won't tell you when, but the Wright brothers were behind me in school, we had to learn to write our letters and got a grade for it. It was on the report card, handwriting. I did not get a good grade. I was too fast and too sloppy."

He looked around and sniffed. "You can do better, better than I did. Take your time and write out the whole alphabet a couple of times."

He waited and then wrote "and, but, yet, English" on the board. "Copy these a couple of times. Note that big capital E. Some times the capital letters are different." He wrote out a line of capitals. "You don't have to copy those. I never did figure out a good capital for que."

He walked around, pointed at some letters, and came back to the front. "Now, we are going to write a note, a thank-you note. Last month we did business letters. You did those fine, very well, square and neat. Nothing by A's." He looked around. "Get a clean piece of paper, but when you really do this at home, it should be on an unlined paper. I forgot to bring some up today, but I'll give you a test for a grade on unlined paper tomorrow. That fair?" He remembered the ream of paper that had gotten wet.

Groans, mumbling, foot shuffling.

"OK, I get it. On lined paper. Now, in the upper right, leaving a margin, about as wide as your thumb, write the date, spell February out and today's date, whatever it is, and a comma and the year. You know the year, right? See the capital F?"

He paused. "Did you mess up, not leave enough margin? That's OK, come down a line and do it again. This is practice."

He paused.

"Now come down a line and move to the left margin and write a salutation, dear uncle Jim, dear grandmother, or whatever and a comma. Do that. Notice the capitals on the board, the capital D. Print the caps if you can't figure out how to write one."

"Good, now write a very short thank-you note. None of this how are you and I'm fine stuff. Stick to the subject. Thank them for the money or the sweater or the car or whatever and say you appreciate it and will make good use of it. You can say you hope they are well, but not if you know they are sick.

"OK, do that. Two sentences are enough. This is a letter with a purpose. It will keep your mother or father happy, and it will surprise your uncle or grandmother and promote more and bigger presents in the future. Honest."

He leaned back against the edge of his desk and watched, pleased with himself. Everybody was working, writing. It was very unusual. His usually busy mind was sleeping, resting, satisfied for a change.

"OK, good, everybody finished. Now trade papers with somebody and put circles around mistakes and give them back." He waited and watched as kids talked to each other pointing at things on their papers.

"By durn," he said, "you guys are good workers and most of you can, if you go slowly, write and read cursive. Now turn the paper over and do it again, write the whole note again, neatly. I'm going to collect them and put an A on them. I'm proud of you. Put your name down at the bottom somewhere."

He sat down behind his desk and opened a copy of "Red Badge of Courage."

The JV had lost their game and the varsity was barely holding its own, down five points at halftime and scrambling for every loose ball. They had been switching back and forth between defenses with every whistled break, foul shot or time out, sometimes with a bit of confusion. Joe sat beside the coach and watched the boys playing out front on the zone, Mike and Bill, the guards. The coach pointed out things and talked to him off and on.

"Watch their feet, their hands. See how they stay in front, slapping at the ball, shuffling?"

The boy nodded, leaning forward, licking his lips, his insides churning.

"OK," he told the starters after they got a drink. "I'm going to put Joe in for Bill, and we're going to play straight zone, 2-1-2, no switching, and press when you score, at least as long as he stays in. If he can't cut it, we'll give it up. It's an experiment. Understand?"

They nodded, looking dubious he was sure. Lots of head nodding and tight mouths.

"I want to see some picks and some low screens like we practiced, right at the elbow, on the foul line. He understands, and I want you to feed the kid every chance you get. Don't move on the those picks and keep your hands to yourself, no knees or elbows, soccer style."

More head bobbing.

The second half began with the other team getting an easy lay-up to go ahead by seven. Joe hustled down the floor and set up on the right sideline. Mike got the outlet pass and hit him with a bounce pass and then set a good screen. The kid took a step back and fired. Swish!

Mike and young Joe went on defense at once, and Joe smacked the ball across the court. Mike grabbed it and laid it in, and they pressed again, smiling at each other.

The other team missed a jump shot, and the outlet pass came down the right. Joe set up in the corner, got the pass, jumped, fired, followed through and scored.