Published: April 1, 1994

First Person: Lasting Words

Miss Harrington was a stout woman in her mid-60s who leaned on a cane. We were the sons of impoverished immigrants who respected teachers. Miss Harrington's age and infirmity evoked compassion besides. Her first two initials led naturally to her nickname, "Empty'' Harrington, but we spoke it affectionately.

Unhappily, English came the last period of our day, an hour before school let out at 3 o'clock. We couldn't help rumbling restlessly through Miss Harrington's lessons, especially on Fridays. Miss Harrington was wise enough not to struggle with us on the lip of the weekend. She chose to pacify us instead. One Friday, copies of a small book, The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare, showed up on our scarred desk tops.

Her voice unusually soft, Miss Harrington told us that every Friday afternoon hereafter she would be reading us a story of the kind called a "play.'' She explained that in plays we had to imagine people called "characters'' speaking and doing things before our eyes on a stage in a darkened theater. Of course, we had already seen performances of...