Is this racist?

Again, as the song goes, we’re all a little bit racist. (And if you haven’t heard it, you should, so click here for the link) I’m not interested in pointing fingers here at anyone else. This is, in fact, a question I’m trying to answer about me, for my own edification, and I’m open to any of my formers weighing in.

J.K. Rowling is defending the choice of a black actor in the role of Hermione Granger for the Harry Potter stage production. Except that Emma Watson’s beautiful face is what I see when I think of Hermione, I have no problem with such a choice. I don’t see race as a factor in any of the Harry Potter characters.

But a few weeks ago we saw (in what was a pleasant surprise to me) a very good production of The Sound of Music at the Fox. This time I was admittedly disconcerted by the actor who played the role of Mother Superior.

She was talented and definitely more than capable of handling the role. But it bothered me that she was a black actor. Not that there aren’t black mother superiors (I assume – haven’t met any, but then I don’t hang out with nuns and haven’t met any of any color). But the play is set in Austria during the Nazi era.

My objection is with historical accuracy (and yes, I appreciate the irony of objecting to historical accuracy in a musical of any kind). I find it highly unlikely that there were any sisters of color in any order in Austria in the late 1930s, much less a Mother Superior.

On the other hand, were we to limit actors to only portraying characters who share the same racial profile as the original script or story, isn’t that racist? The casting did not in any way limit my enjoyment of the production, but neither could I move fully past what I perceived as an historical disconnect. 

And maybe the fact that I’m even thinking about this at all is evidence that the casting decision was the right one, perhaps for reasons that were never intended.

Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned

As a teacher you don’t really know what you’re doing. That’s not a shot at teachers, although I’m sure all of us have had a teacher or two that we’d swear didn’t know what (s)he was doing.  No, it’s recognition that what we teachers think we’re teaching isn’t necessarily what our students are actually learning. We may know what we’re trying to do, but what we actually accomplish, well, that’s another story.

Before the age of FaceBook , most of my psychic rewards came from random meetings of students in Grandpa Pigeon’s or someplace similar, all of whom were complimentary or apologetic, but positive. In today’s world, sporadic posts pop up complimenting my efforts, all of which are appreciated. I’m not really all that humble. I know I made a difference in a lot of lives.

However, what surprised me back in the day in Grandpa Pigeon’s, and surprises me today in both the real and cyberworld, are the compliments from students I didn’t realize I had impacted that significantly. Sometimes I think (thought), “Really. I barely remember you and you’re telling me I changed your life or was your favorite teacher?” I have old-style thank you notes or senior pictures telling me something similar; they’ll come in handy for whoever plans my funeral. So this isn’t a new lesson, but every once in a while I get reminded that, as a teacher, I influenced people in ways that I never expected, just doing my job in my own way.

Marita Woodruff was undoubtedly one of the most influential teachers I ever had, especially on the college level, and I was with her for about 15 hours one week in a 1-credit course getting my MAT at Webster College (as it was known then). I had always been interested in drama, had co-written and co-directed a play my senior year of high school, had taken a drama course at Washington University with then Post-Dispatch drama critic and late Harold Ramis mentor, Herb Metz, and had been privileged to work with Debbie Weissflug on You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown as she resurrected a moribund drama program at Hancock High School. 

I ended up directing at least four plays at Hancock, concluding that aspect of my life by helping with a Charlie Brown revival that reintroduced musicals at the Place in 2006. I even tried my hand on the boards, teaming with my friend Sam Hack and playing Felix in a fund-raising production of The Odd Couple. I certainly make no claim to greatness in the field, or even competence, but whatever I accomplished was thanks to Ms. Woodruff. In that short week of classes she managed to focus mere interest and enthusiasm into something more. She wouldn’t have remembered me, but I will always remember her, and if any of the kids I directed feel like they benefited in any way from working with me on plays, then they, too, have her to thank, more directly than they might ever have realized.

Ms. Woodruff died February 17 [2014]. Based on her obituary she was as remarkable a teacher as I remember, influencing many people before and after my short time with her. That’s the way teaching is. We just never know who we are influencing, changing, or how. Was it content, a random remark, perhaps just kindness? We may never know if a lesson’s goal was actually accomplished; but I hope those of my friends and formers still practicing the honorable and incredibly difficult performance art of teaching take comfort in being reminded that you’re making a difference in ways you may never know and with students you’d never guess.

   So, on Teacher Appreciation Day, here’s to the teachers (and I am blessed to count so many of my former students in that profession), and a link (thanks Laura Leyes-Woods, although the link is almost 10 years old, so it may not work any better than I do) to an article recognizing your ongoing efforts to make the world a better place, one student at a time. Carry on with pride.