we were tempted to doze off. We memorized passages from the play, some of which I can still recite to this day, even after three decades. He helped us extract the symbolisms and the imageries, the better to appreciate the beauty and precision of Shakespeare’s words. He made us see the twist of the plot, the climax, the wit and humor—the improbable “pound of flesh” that Shylock demanded of Antonio by way of revenge. We gained confidence to interpret drama, poetry and prose, confi- dence to write simply and clearly, confidence to recite in class, confidence to speak clearly in complete and simple English, confidence in ourselves that we could be better students than we thought we were. There were no lectures in his classes, only interaction and conversation interspersed with humor—at times at our own expense. He did make fun of us sometimes. I enjoyed it, but only when I was not the butt of his jokes. He wanted to develop in us an ability to laugh at ourselves if only to drive home a point. His infectious laughter filled the four walls of our classroom. No dull moment in his class. Once, to caution some of his students who liked to talk loudly but were not making sense, Mr. Cecilio recited a line from Macbeth’s soliloquy: “Out, out brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signify- ing nothing.” Thereafter we labeled people who made so much noise but bereft of substance “FSFSN”: full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. I don’t recall him giving us quizzes that measure memory work. Our final exam with him did not require reviewing: Let’s not repeat what you’ve already learned in my class, he would say. For one final exam, I recall that he gave us a poem by e. e. cummings with questions on how to interpret the poem—a real
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