the power of 'see me'
During 40 years of teaching English at Collegiate, I’ve often written the words “See Me” on my students’ papers.
As one of my early mentors showed me, the face-to-face contact and personal touch generated by that simple request serve a much more valuable purpose than a few notes scribbled in the margin.
I sincerely hope that I’ve paid forward my debt of gratitude in some small way.
Quite often, the best lessons we learn are those that inflict the most pain.
I’m not talking physical pain, mind you, but the momentary jolt that comes when your ego has been laid low by an unexpected and well-delivered forearm shiver.
Writing is one of my passions.
Experiences as a sports correspondent for the Richmond News Leader and the Times-Dispatch and as the author of the “Reflections” column have provided immense satisfaction over the years.
An event that occurred long ago, however, serves as a reminder that when I was young and thought I could conquer the world, I wasn’t nearly as cool as I thought I was, and that watershed moment is etched in my mind to this day
At the University of Richmond, I majored in journalism, and it was under the guidance of the department head, the venerable Joseph E. Nettles, that I received my much-needed comeuppance.
A couple of weeks into the introductory course, Mr. Nettles assigned each of us a professor to contact and interview.
We were then to write a feature and submit it for grading and possible inclusion in The Collegian, UR’s weekly newspaper.
Dutifully, I called my subject – his name and the gist of the story left me long ago – hiked over to his home near campus, asked him my prepared questions, and took copious notes.
That night, I settled before my portable Smith-Corona electric to compose my masterpiece.
After hammering away for an hour or so, I pulled the rough draft from the carriage and went about the business of proofreading and editing.
We’re talking almost 45 years ago, but in retrospect I’m certain I spent far too little time on that all-important process of smoothing and refining before I cranked out the final copy.
A couple of days later, Mr. Nettles arrived in class with the graded assignments.
As he moved about the room distributing them, he stopped in front of my desk, paused long enough to make me uncomfortable, handed me the top paper from the stack, then turned away.
I opened it and looked incredulously into a sea of red.
Had he had cut himself badly, I wondered, and bled all over my creation?
At the bottom were the grade – an “I” for incomplete – and the words, “See Me.”
Stunned and embarrassed, I crumpled the paper and quickly stuffed it in my binder.
At the same moment, he turned back my way.
A look of disappointment crossed his face, but he said nothing.
That afternoon, I summoned my composure and, ever contrite, slinked into his office.
Calmly, patiently, he explained my mistakes and gave me suggestions. Many suggestions.
He enlightened me with his journalistic credo: “Facts, facts, and more facts.”
He instructed me to rewrite the paper.
If he remembered my less-than-mature outburst, he never mentioned it.
That summer I secured with his help an internship with the Norfolk Ledger-Star.
Armed with my notepad and the confidence that came with his blessing, I began a career in journalism which, like teaching and coaching, is much more a calling than a vocation.
In the years since, I’ve covered more events for the Richmond newspapers than I can remember and written literally hundreds of pieces about a wide range of topics for Collegiate publications.
Each time, I’ve quietly thanked Joe Nettles for the priceless lessons he taught me that fall day all those many years ago.
