The Pied Piper

Mike Ramm

He came to us like the Pied Piper, and had he played his instrument while walking out of the classroom, my fifth period juniors would’ve followed him into the light of a glorious afternoon.

I happened to be assigning a research paper at the time, and there was nothing glorious about it. Andy already had his head down on his desk. Robert was poking Brian, and Brian was retaliating. Sean was taking a slow, circuitous walk to the garbage can, drawing attention to himself as always. Kelly and Allison, two very smart students who already knew how to write a research paper, just wouldn’t stop chatting. But I kept at it, lecturing on and on about the dos and don’ts of writing a research paper, trying my best to keep the frustration out of my voice.

In fact, I was about to deliver the If you don’t want these directions then step outside threat when Chris—a big smile on his face, a walking-stick in his hand, and a visitor’s pass name tag on the front of his Outback hat—strolled into the room unannounced. A former student in that very same class, he had gone on independent study a few months ago so he could graduate early. Suffice it to say, Chris had always marched to the beat of a very different drummer.

I was too busy staring down recalcitrant students to give Chris much thought at the time. I didn’t greet him. I didn’t ask why he was visiting. I merely gestured for him to sit at his old desk and then continued explaining how a researcher documents his sources using internal citations. The yawns were getting louder and longer. Requests for the bathroom pass were increasing in frequency. More than a few students were gazing longingly out the window. Desperate for a diversion, I finally reached out to my former student, the only one in the room still making eye contact with me. “What’s up, Chris?” I asked.

That’s when everything changed. It wasn’t a walking-stick in Chris’s hand, but a didgeridoo, and without a word, he walked to the front of the classroom and played it. I will never forget that performance, that other worldly music which took me so far away and so far back in time. Chris stood there like an Aborigine shaman, blowing into his didgeridoo with all the breath he had, mesmerizing his old classmates and teacher, those eerie, throaty notes transporting us beyond the pale walls and dull lights of a portable classroom, beyond all thought of topic sentences and works cited pages. He teased us out of our apathy, let us explore, however briefly, the Outback, that region within us wherein wonder and awe and mystery still abide. Even in fifth period English.