4 minute read
Pat Shannon retires
Pat Shannon is retiring at the end of the 2017-2018 school year, after 34 years teaching English in the Senior School and coaching hockey. He recently spoke to Veritas about his years at the school, and what they have taught him.
Pat, as one of our longest-serving staff members, tell us how Selwyn House has changed since you started here in 1984.
Obviously, the physical plant comes to mind: in my first year, our student body numbered around 540, but we were entirely contained in what is now the Lucas Building. I can’t recall our having a dedicated space for either advancement or admissions. I shared an office with Carol Manning, David Cude, Monty Krindle, and maybe two other people. We also shared a rotary telephone; smartphones were like that wall unit in The Jetsons. I think the purchase of the church (Macaulay Building) in 1985 was huge, but the architectural changes we made four years ago—the use of glass classroom doors, for instance—has made the biggest difference.
With all these cool rooms and laptops, has learning improved?
Yes it has, but not as much as you’d think. Boys 30 years ago read linear text more calmly than now, for instance, but my best students in 1985 and now are identical. My current seniors match up favourably with any I’ve taught. They’re curious and appreciative; they do the homework. What we’ve lost in recent years, and in large part because of technology, are the attention spans of the bottom kids.
Is there a particular book or play in the departmental canon that you never got tired of?
I think I could go on teaching King Lear forever. Or certain short stories, like Cather’s “Paul’s Case.” These works are canonical, yes, but contemporary. When Geoff Dowd and I were co-teaching Macbeth and Merchant in the eighties, we amused ourselves by quoting Shakespeare in our daily conversation. I feel that way with Lear. The text is seldom intentionally funny, but my joy in hearing it spoken is constant. Again, my better students respond to this enthusiasm as they always did; the non-readers are waiting for the class to end.
Lows? Why we held on with The Grapes of Wrath I’ll never know—even then it seemed brutal. Or Brave New World, which was really just a big long essay on eugenics. Comically, it was commonplace in spring to show a movie of Huxley’s book that was entirely filmed inside a jumbo jet.
By the way, you haven’t asked me the name of my best writer in 34 years. Moses Tannenbaum 2004.
Why did you go into teaching?
I used to wonder this myself—on a bad day, especially. Money’s not great, kids are spoiled, all that stuff. Then, I had my own three sons come here, and it was clear I’d won the lottery. I saw the importance of learning, first-hand, and that I could contribute to it. But at 24 I didn’t know this; all I could say was that the experience of school, as far back as elementary, made me happy. Even as a kid I cherished words, and I loved the chance to distinguish myself in discussion. And maybe I liked the togetherness of school, the community. I’ll really miss the community.
I also had great teachers at Loyola and Phillips Exeter, guys who demonstrated that a life devoted to books and young people could be satisfying. As I say, the payoff of my choice has gotten clearer in recent years. I’m very sentimental about leaving.
Then why leave?
I can offer a cover story, like I’m tired of driving so much. I am, but I really have two good reasons. One is that winning the attention of the today’s kids—“screenagers”—has made it harder than ever to teach English, which necessarily requires a patient mind. The other is a bit more philosophical: I’m just getting older. I’d like to get out while I can still play the back tees.
Pat, can you share any memories of colleagues or experiences that seem to you unique to Selwyn House?
Sure. One I like to tell involves Matthew Stevenson ’88, one of my favourite students ever. This happened on the annual Stratford trip in 1988. My esteemed colleague, Byron Harker (who was, by then, quite sick with cancer) and I had just taken the students to see a particularly moving version of A Man for All Seasons, where I’m sure Byron identified with Sir Thomas More. The boys had no idea what the play was about, and this frustrated Byron. At one point in the play, a highly ornate coat of arms had been lowered behind the actors. Byron climbed aboard the bus and, after blowing a gasket, announced a contest. Voice trembling, he challenged the boys to reproduce the image of the coat of arms on a sheet of paper and submit
