A Star Tribune serialized novel by Richard Horberg

Chapter 9 continues

The story so far: The Rev. Mayfield questions Allen's teaching.

In his 12th grade classes, Allen introduced his students to Addison and Steele, the 18th-century British essayists. During the past week he'd been wondering again how he could brighten his senior classes, and it seemed that Addison and Steele were just the writers to help him.

He talked about the newspapers they published, "The Tatler" and "The Spectator," one-page papers printed on both sides that came out every day or two and were awaited eagerly by frequenters of coffee shops. In the London coffee shops, he explained, young men gathered every morning to discuss life, literature, public taste and current events. Jonathan Swift was there with his caustic and ironic observations. Alexander Pope was there with his wit and style. Every morning they read both "The Tatler" and "The Spectator."

In the anthology that Allen's class used, "An Introduction to English Literature," there was an essay by Joseph Addison and one by Richard Steele. He assigned both. The next morning they discussed the two pieces. The discussion went well, the students finding the prose a bit archaic but at the same time, as one of them put it, rather cozy. Allen explained, having once read it in a book, that the purpose of the articles was to civilize those barbarians who already considered themselves the most civilized of human beings. He talked about the difference between satire, farce, buffoonery, burlesque, parody and caricature. Then he presented his idea to them.

"Why don't we publish a little paper of our own?" he said. "Something similar to 'The Tatler' and 'The Spectator.' One edition only. Two pages maybe. We'll make some comments about life in the town or life in the school — funny but critical at the same time."

"Are we allowed to do that?" Royal Knudson asked.

"You do it all the time, don't you?"

Everybody laughed.

The students were enthusiastic. Allen asked them what they should name the paper, wrote their suggestions on the blackboard and asked for a vote. Almost everybody voted for "Cell-Mates." He told them all to think of a subject they'd like to write about and to come to class tomorrow prepared to put it on paper. He would then pick out the best ones and print them.

The next morning, they set to their task. Afterwards, reading the papers during his free hour, he was pleased with the results — though he found some silly and superficial papers, as well as some malicious papers that tried to pass as funny but failed. He picked out a dozen of the best, read them aloud to both sections the following day and, after another class vote, ended up with eight.

Typical of the pieces was one written by Leo March:

If you would know our manner of living, we wake at five, milk the cows, then await the arrival of the orange chariots that take us to our daily dungeon. Our ankles are chained together by the brutish subordinates who lurk about the door and we are led down the dark corridors to our respective cells. On the way we pass the office of Warden the Magnificent, sitting at his fine desk in his fine suit and trying to think of additional ways to punish us. From the basement we hear screams rising, indicating that Cap'n Black Jack is punishing students in his torture chamber again, some of the screams sounding almost like clarinets or saxophones. In our respective cells we gather for rehabilitation — instruction, they call it. Mr. Post and Miss Porter try to get us to confess that we know no grammar, never knew any grammar and never will know any grammar. At the end of the day the orange chariots return to take us back to the heaths, where we gather eggs for our masters.

Royal wrote an article about the basketball craze, Molly Walters (surprisingly) an article making fun of the way students dressed, Helen Vorgt a very funny sketch of the townspeople and retired farmers who sat at the counter of The Food Box every morning.

Lois Knight contributed a little poem in rhymed couplets:

Each day our warden dons his shoes

And asks his wife if she will choose

Which one upon his desk will rest

And which will kick his students best.

While all the time, I must confess,

He thinks of ways to teach us less.

All of the authors requested anonymity.

Allen drew a cartoon of a sad student's face behind bars at the top of the first page, wrote CELL-MATES in large letters next to it and identified the edition as Issue 000, Volume 000. He then typed all of the pieces on two Ditto master sheets, ran off 250 copies on the mimeograph machine in the office, stapled them together and, the following morning, asked his students to distribute them to all students and staff in the senior wing.

The next day, on his free hour, Arnold Magnuson called Allen into his office. He started to say something, hesitated, then pulled a copy of "Cell-Mates" out of his desk drawer. He studied it for a moment, then asked, "What's the meaning of this?"

Allen explained to him about 18th-century London, Addison and Steele, the coffee houses and satire.

"What's satire?" the superintendent asked.

Allen appreciated the bluntness of the question. He told him that the purpose of satire is to criticize something in a humorous way with the hope of making it better. He went on to explain that when people misbehave or when society makes mistakes, satire is one of the most effective methods to use because it is entertaining, very cutting and there is little defense against it.

Magnuson seemed ill at ease — the first time Allen had seen him that way — and kept folding one page of the paper over and then back, pressing it now and then with a ruler.

"The first time I read this," he said, "I thought it was very funny. Then I read it over again and didn't understand it. Then some people downtown talked to me about it. Someone said, 'They sure took care of you.' "

Allen, almost immediately regretting it, said that one of the nice things about satire is that many people don't understand it at first reading, don't realize that they're being made fun of.

"You're criticizing us?"

"In a nice way. The town and the school. Satire exaggerates, of course. That's why it's funny."

"What's wrong with the town and the school?"

Tomorrow: Chapter 9 continues.