Staring at a blank sheet of paper reminds me of Dr. Mahler’s class, English 10, at Mary Baldwin College in the early ‘50s. When I enrolled, the placement test in English showed that I knew my grammar and did not have to take English I. The alternative for those who passed the test was English 10 with Dr. Mahler—forty-five minutes three times a week spent reading literature and attempting to compose our own version of literature.
Dr. Andrew Mahler was a hulk of a man, tall and slow moving. Balding on top, his few light-brown hairs stood straight up. His shoulders slumped slightly forward. His watery blue eyes seemed to pierce right through me. When he spoke, his voice could be soft and low or a loud bellow – depending upon the tone of the poetry he was reciting or the directions he was giving. At first glance, you might think him a giant moron. But you would be wrong. He was a brilliant, talented man with a gentle heart, who loved the English language and hoped to kindle that love in the hearts of the small group of young women in this special class.
English 10 focused on literature and writing, with the emphasis on writing. Often after we assembled, Dr. Mahler would lean back in his chair, scan the faces before him and say, “Young ladies, please spend this period writing a theme. Any subject will do.” Then he would open one of the books stacked on his desk and we would each stare at a blank sheet of paper.
Except for an occasional cough, or the sound of paper crunching as someone decided their beginning just wouldn’t do, the classroom was silent. I remember struggling for the first few words, and then the dam broke and they flowed freely.
Often before I reached my conclusion, Dr. Mahler came lumbering down the aisle, his broad hand extended to receive our morning sacrifice. It would be returned the next class, blue ink correcting our mistakes, striking out the over-used adjectives and weak verbs, or making suggestions for improving the organization of the piece. Occasionally he would write a compliment for a good simile, or an original way of expressing an idea, and we would be one step higher on the ladder to successful self expression. Of course we were expected to re-write, employing his suggestions, and bring our revisions to the next class.
I drained my memory for topics each time I faced that blank sheet of paper – and when you’re only sixteen, your memory is not that profuse. By the end of the year, I had overcome the shiver of fear I experienced as I climbed the steps to his classroom. I even found myself looking forward to the brief time I would spend in Dr. Mahler’s classroom. I learned to use the dictionary and thesaurus and avoid dangling participles, run-on sentences, and sentences that ended with prepositions. I welcomed the blue ink on my themes and treasured the occasional compliments.
But most importantly, Dr. Mahler instilled in me — and the rest of the students – his own love of language and its written expression. That love formed a foundation for all my studies, and carried over into my teaching career. Even at the preschool level, teachers and parents can instill a love for the English language by reading to children regularly, by writing for them their explanations of pictures they have drawn, and by encouraging them to use their imagination and create stories.
For several years I have served as a judge for the Reading Rainbow contest for Young Writers and Illustrators, sponsored by Blue Ridge Television. This contest provides an incentive for children to write, and each year I am amazed at the quality of some of the entries. I hope high school teachers and college professors will provide regular opportunities for students to write – not just term papers but whatever comes to mind, as they face the blank sheets of paper upon which all stories eventually come to life.
By Mary Jo Shannon [email protected]