|
Navigation |
|
|
|
Former Student
Leaves Mark on Instructor's Life
(By Stacy Jones, August 13, 2006) |
Some
people we know for only a short time will remain with us indelibly.
In my life, a man named Melvin Wright was one such person.
I got to know Melvin, who was enrolled
in my 11:20 English Composition I class, when I started teaching
at the University of Memphis in the fall of 2004. I could tell
Melvin was older than the other students. I wasn't unaccustomed
to teaching non-traditional students, but anyone over 25 usually
worked around a daytime work schedule by enrolling in evening
classes. Therefore, Melvin, who took a seat on the front row,
became memorable the very first day amidst a group of 18-year-olds.
I gave students an e-mail assignment
the first day asking them to send me their contact information
and a short description of themselves. In his message, Melvin
informed me he was majoring in social work, and he wrote, "I
look like Billy Dee Williams." He did resemble the famous
actor-except that he was slightly thinner and wore glasses.
The second paper assignment that
semester consisted of a self-portrait and required students to
create an accompanying photograph and memento collage documenting
their lives. Most students pasted poster boards full of photos
of parents, childhood friends, high school parties, and cars
they had owned in their young lives.
But Melvin's collage contained
mostly photos of his family, including his children and grandchildren.
He presented a photo of himself smiling his wide, characteristic
grin as he played drums years earlier as part of a small band
at LeMoyne-Owen College in Memphis. He included a headshot of
himself decked out in his Marine garb, along with a certificate
stating his promotion to the rank of Lance Corporal on the first
day of October 1969.
His essay was ripe with lively
details. He wrote much about his experiences in Vietnam, vividly
describing the smells of the jungle and poignantly conveying
the experience of witnessing his comrades get wounded and killed.
The day he submitted the paper, he brought his Purple Heart to
class so I could see it, an act that moved me greatly.
Melvin was always at the forefront
of any lively discussion in the class. He loved to talk, and
on some days, he seemed to burn with a fervor for learning that
I did not see in most of the other students, some of whom seemed
interested in obtaining a grade for the class and moving on.
In November, though, Melvin began
to accumulate absences. I e-mailed him to recommend that he revise
the self-portrait paper he had written in order to raise his
grade. Although full of vivid details, the organization needed
some work, and I thought he could mold the paper into an exemplary
piece of writing.
For a while, I didn't hear back
from Melvin. Then December 4, he e-mailed me. He wrote the following
message: "Hi Stacy, This is Melvin. I guess this is one
of those times that I should have dropped the course, especially
when I felt myself getting ill. I think that I spoke to you about
having to be admitted to the hospital. I will be admitted, probably
Monday. The surgery that I am facing is a much-needed procedure,
because I came very close to having my left leg amputated once
before. Why they could not do this in 1968 when I first got wounded
I will never know. Ain't war hell? Your favorite student. Melvin."
I wrote back to Melvin two days
later and told him that I had not known he was going in the hospital,
but I hoped everything went well for his surgery. Because of
his absences and the work he needed to make up, I advised that
his best option might be to acquire a medical excuse for a late
drop in the course. I even recommended that Melvin retake the
course with me the next fall, as I thought he would do even better,
having had the experience of going through the class with me
once and knowing exactly what to expect. However, my e-mail got
returned to me and never made it to Melvin's inbox.
On December 16, I received the
following message from Melvin: "Hi Stacy, This is Melvin.
I e-mailed you a couple of weeks ago. I never got an answer,
so I guess that means that I failed the course, huh? Well, I
guess that's the way it goes. I can't walk so my sister will
pick up my collage for me. I have been postponing admittance
to the hospital, but, it is out of my hands, I've got to go.
I enjoyed being in your class and hate that I got sick. Maybe
in the next life, huh? Melvin C. Wright."
I tried to e-mail Melvin again
on January 10, 2005, and got no response. I never heard back
from Melvin about retaking the class. For a while, I gave up.
I figured that since Melvin's collage contained some valuable
personal mementoes, he would finally contact me when he wanted
them returned. I brought his collage home from my office at the
University and stored it in my home office.
Over the last two years, I would
think of Melvin occasionally, of his infectious spirit, despite
some of the obstacles he had faced in life. This week, as I cleaned
out items from my home office, I decided to try to contact Melvin.
I scoured my records and finally found a phone number. I called
the number, which had been disconnected.
Even though I didn't want to admit
it, I had harbored a sinking feeling, maybe an intuition even,
about Melvin's medical condition since he had mentioned he might
have to have his leg amputated. I decided to search the obituaries
in The Memphis Commercial Appeal, which proved my suspicion.
Melvin had died at 56, on April 18, 2005, only five short months
since I had last seen him in my classroom.
After searching further, I have
located a man whom I believe to be his nephew, and I plan to
call him soon so that his family can have the photographs and
the mementoes that characterized Melvin's short life.
I didn't think much of it at the
time, but as I reread Melvin's last e-mail aloud to my husband,
I felt the weight of the words. The last two sentences he ever
wrote to me were telling, almost as if he had known: "I
enjoyed being in your class and hate that I got sick. Maybe in
the next life, huh? Melvin C. Wright."
(Stacy Jones, a Southerner,
is a Master of Fine Arts student in fiction writing at The University
of Memphis. She is a native of Guys, Tenn., and her columns,
which appear on Sundays, are archived at Southern-Drawl.com.) |
|
|
