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Fresno Bee, CA
March 29 2014
The day Saroyan held class
By Brenda Magarity
On January 26, 1977, I parked my bronze Toyota in front of William
Saroyan's Griffith Street home to pick him up on my way to work. Even
though I had been driving him around the San Joaquin Valley for 21/2
years, today was different. This time I was taking him where I wanted
to go. I had been teaching English and drama at Madera High School
since 1971, the year I had gotten to know him, and I'd finally found
the courage to ask my hero to spend a day with me at my job.
In contrast to the usual ragged clothes he wore on our trips to the
Laundromat, the market or my father's dry - cleaning shop, he had on a
dark suit. His black hair, slightly graying and long on his neck, was
neatly brushed back. His face appeared illuminated in the morning
light, and a thick white mustache drooped down on each side. With the
style of a man with a bigger - than - life personality, he appeared
younger than his 68 years.
As we arrived at my school, we were greeted by an immediate uproar as
I escorted one of the great American 20th century authors through the
hallway of the Language Arts building. Everyone appeared stunned, yet
within a few minutes, teachers organized a schedule to bring their
classes to my oversized drama classroom throughout the day.
"Miss Najimian, is that your father?" a student asked as we entered my
room. "No, Juan." I tried to contain my laughter. "This is William
Saroyan, the writer."
In the first class, Richard Flores shot up his hand and squirmed in
his seat. Saroyan asked him to stand and state his name. "What do you
like most about coming to school?" "The girls," Richard answered, and
the audience giggled.
When Rick Elias raised his hand, Saroyan made him stand and spell his
name as he wrote it down. He explained that he was deaf in one ear and
needed students to speak up. "How many books have you written?" Rick
asked him. "I've published more than 44 books in 43 years," Saroyan
answered.
"Are you Aram?" Mary Ann Brown asked.
"That's a good question. It is best if a writer writes what he knows.
Aram is based on the experiences of my Uncle Aram, myself and those of
my brother and cousins.
"And, Mary Ann," Saroyan continued, "what is the best thing you like
about coming to school?"
"The boys," she said. Once again, laughter filled the room.
"Rick Flores said the girls, and now, you say the boys." He nodded as
if pointing out the irony and the honesty of that. By 10 o'clock, the
press arrived, and locals came with books to sign. A general hurricane
of excitement blew through the school. Unfazed, he spoke to hundreds
of students and visitors who filled my classroom to capacity.
While he remained center stage in the eye of this swirling eddy of
respect and admiration, I became the observer. Once again I was struck
by how capable he was of capturing and maintaining the attention of
his audience just as he did in his books. Within minutes, he
captivated the admiration of some of my wildest freshmen boys.
Although Saroyan's tone still carried that man - child wit, he grew more
serious by fourth hour. "What would you have done if you didn't become
a writer?" a student asked. "I would've become a car thief."
Over the years, I often thought about this answer, a brilliant
observation about the fine line between how one uses the gift of
creativity and the choices involved. Writer or car thief? Teacher or
what?
Saroyan wrote about this experience in the last book published before
his death in 1981. This man who turned down thousands of dollars in
speaking engagements, wrote, "And so why did I ... talk four times for
free ... I was asked if I might pay such a visit to a school by an
Armenian girl who fetched me lemons, oranges and grapefruit from the
trees in the garden of the house of her parents. ..."
Of all the moments I shared with him, I'll always remember that day
when his voice boomed through the hallways of Madera High. He marched
more than walked and carried himself more like a general than a poet.
In his presence that day, I felt the entire Armenian nation was with me.
http://www.fresnobee.com/2014/03/28/3848712/the-day-saroyan-held-class.html?sp=/99/274/
March 29 2014
The day Saroyan held class
By Brenda Magarity
On January 26, 1977, I parked my bronze Toyota in front of William
Saroyan's Griffith Street home to pick him up on my way to work. Even
though I had been driving him around the San Joaquin Valley for 21/2
years, today was different. This time I was taking him where I wanted
to go. I had been teaching English and drama at Madera High School
since 1971, the year I had gotten to know him, and I'd finally found
the courage to ask my hero to spend a day with me at my job.
In contrast to the usual ragged clothes he wore on our trips to the
Laundromat, the market or my father's dry - cleaning shop, he had on a
dark suit. His black hair, slightly graying and long on his neck, was
neatly brushed back. His face appeared illuminated in the morning
light, and a thick white mustache drooped down on each side. With the
style of a man with a bigger - than - life personality, he appeared
younger than his 68 years.
As we arrived at my school, we were greeted by an immediate uproar as
I escorted one of the great American 20th century authors through the
hallway of the Language Arts building. Everyone appeared stunned, yet
within a few minutes, teachers organized a schedule to bring their
classes to my oversized drama classroom throughout the day.
"Miss Najimian, is that your father?" a student asked as we entered my
room. "No, Juan." I tried to contain my laughter. "This is William
Saroyan, the writer."
In the first class, Richard Flores shot up his hand and squirmed in
his seat. Saroyan asked him to stand and state his name. "What do you
like most about coming to school?" "The girls," Richard answered, and
the audience giggled.
When Rick Elias raised his hand, Saroyan made him stand and spell his
name as he wrote it down. He explained that he was deaf in one ear and
needed students to speak up. "How many books have you written?" Rick
asked him. "I've published more than 44 books in 43 years," Saroyan
answered.
"Are you Aram?" Mary Ann Brown asked.
"That's a good question. It is best if a writer writes what he knows.
Aram is based on the experiences of my Uncle Aram, myself and those of
my brother and cousins.
"And, Mary Ann," Saroyan continued, "what is the best thing you like
about coming to school?"
"The boys," she said. Once again, laughter filled the room.
"Rick Flores said the girls, and now, you say the boys." He nodded as
if pointing out the irony and the honesty of that. By 10 o'clock, the
press arrived, and locals came with books to sign. A general hurricane
of excitement blew through the school. Unfazed, he spoke to hundreds
of students and visitors who filled my classroom to capacity.
While he remained center stage in the eye of this swirling eddy of
respect and admiration, I became the observer. Once again I was struck
by how capable he was of capturing and maintaining the attention of
his audience just as he did in his books. Within minutes, he
captivated the admiration of some of my wildest freshmen boys.
Although Saroyan's tone still carried that man - child wit, he grew more
serious by fourth hour. "What would you have done if you didn't become
a writer?" a student asked. "I would've become a car thief."
Over the years, I often thought about this answer, a brilliant
observation about the fine line between how one uses the gift of
creativity and the choices involved. Writer or car thief? Teacher or
what?
Saroyan wrote about this experience in the last book published before
his death in 1981. This man who turned down thousands of dollars in
speaking engagements, wrote, "And so why did I ... talk four times for
free ... I was asked if I might pay such a visit to a school by an
Armenian girl who fetched me lemons, oranges and grapefruit from the
trees in the garden of the house of her parents. ..."
Of all the moments I shared with him, I'll always remember that day
when his voice boomed through the hallways of Madera High. He marched
more than walked and carried himself more like a general than a poet.
In his presence that day, I felt the entire Armenian nation was with me.
http://www.fresnobee.com/2014/03/28/3848712/the-day-saroyan-held-class.html?sp=/99/274/