❛ Let's rock, everybody, let's rock. Everybody in the whole cell block was dancing the jailhouse rock. ❜

DEAD POETS SOCIETY
chapter six

"GENTLEMEN AND LADY, open your text to page 21 of the introduction," Keating called to his students at the front of the room. Keating sat on top of his desk so that at his desk Eliza could sit comfortably with her book and make a quick getaway to his office if one of the other teachers or headmaster walked in unexpectedly.

⠀⠀⠀"Neil Perry," Eliza called, grinning as she looked at the boy with his frames perched on the end of his nose. "The opening paragraph of the preface is all yours. Entitled: Understanding Poetry."

⠀⠀⠀Neil looked up with widened doe's eyes, but smiled nonetheless. He turned to his text and flipped the page to the introduction.

⠀⠀⠀"Understanding Poetry by Doctor J. Evans Pritchard Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then, ask two questions: one, how artfully had the objective poem been rendered, and two, how important is that object. Question one rates the poem's perfection. Question two rates its importance. Once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter."

⠀⠀⠀Keating slapped his text lightly before setting it beside himself so he could jump off his desk. He turned on the toes of his shoes and towards the board so he could scratch the image of Pritchard's graph in chalk.

⠀⠀⠀"A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically—"

⠀⠀⠀Neil, along with the other boys, drew their eyes to the board where Keating had continued to draw the graphs, including the ratings of Byron and Shakespeare as Neil had read them. Keating turned to Neil for a moment and motioned for him to continue his enticing read.

⠀⠀⠀"...yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry," Neil finished, his thick book pushed back on his desk and his glasses rested on top.

⠀⠀⠀Keating turned back to his students once he finished the diagram. He rounded the table so that he could be in sight of both the boys and his niece.

⠀⠀⠀"Excrement," Keating said after a moment's pause. "That's what I think of J. Evans Pritchard," he announced brashly, waking his unconscious students back to life. "We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand?" he asked, his lips curling up as he mocked the show. "'I like Byron. I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it."

⠀⠀⠀Eliza noticed Charlie in the back brighten at the mention of American Bandstand and Keating's blatant disregard for the textbook that all of his other teachers would stand by without question. She smiled lightly, turning back to her text as she shook her head lightly.

⠀⠀⠀"Now, I want you to rip out that page," Keating instructed.

⠀⠀⠀The students were silent, just like the first day when he had walked through right through them and out of the classroom.

⠀⠀⠀"Go on," he urged. "Rip out the entire page. You heard me! Rip it out. Rip. It. Out!"

⠀⠀⠀The students continued to sit as motionless as they could. Maybe if they didn't move, he wouldn't notice they were there.

⠀⠀⠀"Go on, rip it out!"

⠀⠀⠀Charlie was the first to concede. He didn't really care if it was a trick to get him into detention or if Keating truly wanted him to defile his textbook. He took the edge of the paper and dramatically ripped the paper from the textbook so that the entire class could hear him. The boys all whipped around to him as he held the loose-lead paper between his fingers, a smug grin coming to his lips as he caught those emerald eyes smiling proudly at him.

⠀⠀⠀"Thank you, Mr. Dalton," Keating applauded, then turning to the rest of the class. "Gentlemen, tell you what. Don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction!" he exclaimed with a small smile, enjoying how they squirmed with ever odd and controversial demand he called. "I want it gone! History! Leave nothing of it. Rip it out. Rip! Begone, J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out. I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard," Keating called to his students, his idealism stroking the boy's rebelliousness as they tore the page of their books.

⠀⠀⠀Eliza noticed one redhead amongst the sea of book shredding looking completely distraught and at a lack of words.

⠀⠀⠀"It's not the Bible," Eliza called to Cameron between a laugh. "Hell's for those who sin and don't repent, not for having an opinion."

⠀⠀⠀Cameron stared at her for a long moment before slowly following along with the other boys at his own pace as he pulled out a ruler to help trim the pages.

⠀⠀⠀Keating moved fluidly into his small office for a trash can as the boys threw the paper across the room. The boys never had so much fun within a class period. A few of the boys even involved Eliza in their shenanigans as they tossed the paper balls into her hair and she hit them right back, twice as hard.

⠀⠀⠀Eliza was lucky to have a paper ball by Charlie hit her in the side of the head, as she spun her head the opposite way and in the door at the back noticed the looming shadow of a teacher standing outside. Immediately, the door handle turned and Eliza only had seconds to hide beneath the desk. The boys would already get a stern talking to by the teacher because of the chaos and having Eliza apart from that would add nothing good to the mix.

⠀⠀⠀"What the hell is going on here?" the teacher shouted, his authoritative tone halting the boys in their tracks.

⠀⠀⠀"I don't hear enough rips!" Keating called as he stepped out of his office, standing behind the desk where Eliza hid.

⠀⠀⠀"Mr. Keating," the man at the door greeted, his voice shocked to see the man in the presence of screaming children.

⠀⠀⠀"Mr. McAllister," Mr. Keating nodded.

⠀⠀⠀"I'm sorry, I... I didn't know you were here," the man apologized.

⠀⠀⠀"I am."

⠀⠀⠀"Ah, so you are. Excuse me," the man bid his farewell and left the room in a daze.

⠀⠀⠀The room was silent for a moment longer after Mr. McAllister had left until Charlie broke the silence, calling with a mouthful of paper, "Hey, jailbird, the wardens gone!"

⠀⠀⠀Eliza poked her head from underneath the desk. Only her dark brown hair and shimmering green eyes appeared as she made sure Mr. McAllister had indeed left. Her eyes landed back on Charlie and pulled herself up, giving him a sheepish grin.

⠀⠀⠀"Don't worry, darling," Keating assured his niece, setting his hand on her shoulder as he moved past with the trash can. "Keep ripping, gentlemen!"

⠀⠀⠀The room resumed its chaotic state as Keating took a few of the boy's trash. Charlie stood from his seat, letting the paper stuffed in his mouth to fall into the basket.

⠀⠀⠀"Thank you, Mr. Dalton," Keating grimaced, making his way around the room.

⠀⠀⠀"This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls," Keating told his boys. "Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No, we will not have that here. No more of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, in my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again! You will learn to savor words and language."

⠀⠀⠀The trash can had made its way around the room, the boys settling back into the good students they were once before and listened to Keating without interruption.

⠀⠀⠀"No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see that look in Mr. Pitts' eyes like nineteenth-century literature has nothing to do with going to business or medical school, right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking: yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions."

⠀⠀⠀Keating looked around the room at his boys and smiled.

⠀⠀⠀"Well, I have a secret for you. Huddle up, huddle up!" he called to his class, pulling them into the middle of the room.

⠀⠀⠀Eliza made her way to stand beside Knox, huddled up amongst the boys as her Uncle squatted so that he was not above any of them.

⠀⠀⠀"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering: these are all noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, love? These are what we stay alive for.

⠀⠀⠀"To quote Whitman,

⠀⠀⠀Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
⠀⠀⠀Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
⠀⠀⠀what good amid these, O me, O life?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Answer. 
⠀⠀⠀That you are here—that life exists and identity,
⠀⠀⠀that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."

⠀⠀⠀The boys were silent, reflecting on his words.

⠀⠀⠀Keating looked up to Todd, his words for all of them, "What will your verse be?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE —

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it's kind of light on the interaction but the next couple will get better!

SONG: Jailhouse Rock by Elvis Presley

Thank you for reading! Leave comments telling me your thoughts on this chapter, but however you interact, know that I really appreciate you reading. I hope you enjoy, and until the next one.