My friend Barry Smolin has an essay in today’s Los Angeles Times, remembering one of the teachers who insired him to become a teacher.
In college, in grad school, in life, to this day, whenever something has to be written, I, like multitudes of Schoenman alumni, hear his voice talking about “clarity” and “organization” and “development,” about the offbeat power of the semicolon, the importance of a coherent thesis and transitional phrases, about the glory of meaningful discourse.
At Fairfax in those days, the received wisdom was that you took Mr. Schoenman to learn about writing and Mr. Battaglia to learn about literature. Even Schoenman would perpetuate the myth. “I can take you to the ceiling of your abilities,” he would counsel us earnestly, “but Mr. Battaglia will lift the ceiling and show you infinity.” Without doubt, Richard Battaglia was a phenomenal English teacher, but Schoenman’s humility was a bit too self-deprecating because he was way more than just a writing teacher.
The truth is, he taught his students how to read literature exquisitely and maturely, and how to be sensitive to the subtle nuances of the written word. I learned from him not only how to write an essay but how to masticate the language and derive its essences, how to dig deep into the collective unconscious.