“Who is the most famous person you have met personally?” read a recent Facebook post. I soon realized that my celebrity meet-and-greet list was limited to novelist Michael Farris Smith and my friend Duke Carlisle, a University of Texas Hall of Fame quarterback, and a host of et ceteras.
But that question reminded me of an email from a Mississippi celebrity — and why he sent it.
I was teaching at North Pike High School in 2007 when I needed to act upon renewing my teaching certificate. Coincidentally, I soon received a brochure announcing The University of Mississippi’s Summer Institute, which offered one-week graduate level courses.
One jumped off the page: The Modern American Drama; instructor, Dr. Jack Barbera. What could be more fun and easy than reading plays?
I soon received a course syllabus, which included nine plays that needed to be read before class. The 10th we would purchase from the campus bookstore upon arrival.
Even though my two sisters were Ole Miss graduates, I’d never stepped foot into the Holy Land of Oxford. I immediately booked five expensive nights at The Alumni House on campus, hoping to soak up the social and academic ambience — mostly social — I’d heard my sisters talk about my entire adult life.
I read every play twice and headed north to the home of William Faulkner.
This is how I imagined my week: We’d casually sit around and discuss plays. I’d lunch at the Student Union, people-watch, and leave class around 3 for leisurely campus strolls.
Later, I’d travel to Oxford Square and dine at trendy restaurants. Nights, I’d sit in the lawn chair I brought with a cool drink, and listen to one of the bands I read about that entertained summer visitors at The Grove, which would be festooned with fairy lights. I would meet like-minded literary folks and relax to cool music and stimulating conversation.
This is how my week went: Monday at 7:20, I set out to find my classroom building and discovered it was far, far away, Egypt if you will. Campus parking was impossible, so hiking it was.
The classroom was actually a conference table, with Dr. Barbera at its head.
He called roll, 14 women, and immediately handed out two tests: “Daily tests count 30% of your grade.” Tests? You’re kidding me? I have to re-read and study two plays every night? So much for fine dining in The Square.
One lady asked about bathroom breaks: “I allow two five-minute breaks daily. This course is designed for a full semester. If you miss any class time, it’s like missing an hour, or more. Attendance and class participation count 30% of your grade.” With coffee-bursting bladders, we eyeballed each other in angst.
At 11:30, Dr. Barbera dismissed class until 1, but not before handing us an essay topic: “The library’s close. Write your paper and email it to me before 1, which should give you plenty of time for lunch. Daily papers count 40% of your grade.”
My 13 classmates abandoned the library in 20 minutes. I wrote an hour and scarfed down a pack of Nabs. That day, he dismissed us “early” — at 4:30 — so that we could jog to the bookstore before it closed to purchase the play we were going to be tested on the next day.
After, I found the campus cafeteria and dined alone, slumped over my plate, on something not nearly as tasty as the cheesy chicken at North Pike.
I hurried back to my room to read and study until my eyes shut themselves.
Thus my schedule was set. I spent lunch writing papers. I made no friends. The Grove was a nice park I walked past. Most of my meals came from vending machines. My car arrived on a Sunday and never left its spot until my late Friday afternoon departure.
Returning home and starved for relaxation, I headed to the library, where I picked up “Nobody’s Poet” by columnist and food guru Robert St. John, illustrated by Marshall Ramsey. I sat out on my front porch swing and laughed through 117 columns in two days.
I enjoyed it so much that I emailed Robert St. John, explaining my grueling education non-vacation and praising his comic relief: “I headed to the library to find a book with no significance, no character analysis, no symbolism, and no theme. I came away with ‘Nobody’s Poet’.”
I was all agog when he quickly wrote back: “I haven’t received such a ringing endorsement since a gentleman at a book signing told me he was going to keep a copy of ‘Nobody’s Poet’ on the back of his commode.
“Seriously, thanks for the kind words. Stop by the restaurant and say hello. Warmly, Robert.”
I still have that letter tucked in my own copy of “Nobody’s Poet,” as well as an email signed “Jack,” informing me of my A in Oxford, along with lengthy affirming feedback.
Both Robert and Jack climbed the celebrity charts that week. But I met only one personally, and he was my teacher, and an exceptional one — who never knew that his class bashed my summer vacation.
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JANELLYN B. CORNACCHIONE is a recently retired teacher of 40 years in three Pike County high schools.
