Dead Poets Society

2

     
     
    “Walk, gentlemen.
Slow down,” a teacher with a Scottish brogue called out. The forty members of
the junior class hurried down the dormitory staircase while fifteen senior boys
tried to crush their way up.
    “Yes, sir, Mr.
McAllister,” one of the juniors called back. “Sorry, sir.” McAllister shook his
head at the boys who dashed out of the dorm and across the campus.
    Once inside the
oak-paneled Academy Honor Room, the juniors stood around or sat in the crinkly
old leather chairs, waiting for their turns. Several eyes peered up the
staircase against the wall that Jed to a second-floor door.
    Moments later the
door opened and five boys filed silently down the stairs. An old gray-haired
teacher shuffled to the door.
    “Overstreet, Perry,
Dalton, Anderson, Cameron,” Dr. Hager called out. “Come.”
    The boys filed up the
staircase while two boys sitting below watched them intently.
    “Who’s the new boy,
Meeks?” Pitts whispered to his classmate.
    “Anderson,” Steven
Meeks whispered back. Old Hager spotted the conversation.
    “Misters Pitts and
Meeks. Demerits,” he called down dourly. The boys looked down, turning their
heads together, and Pitts rolled his eyes.
    Dr. Hager was old,
but his eyes were sharp as an eagle’s. “That’s another demerit, Mr. Pitts,” he
said.
    The boys whom Dr.
Hager had called followed him into Headmaster Nolan’s inner office, passing his
secretary and wife, Mrs. Nolan.
    They stood in front
of a row of chairs facing Dean Nolan, who sat behind his desk, a hunting dog
resting at his side.
    “Welcome back, boys.
Mr. Dalton, how’s your father?’
    Doing fine, sir,” Charlie
said.
    “Your family move
into that new house yet, Mr. Overstreet?
    “Yes, sir, about a
month ago.”
    “Wonderful,” Nolan
smiled briefly. “I hear it’s beautiful.” He patted the dog and gave him a snack
while the boys stood awkwardly waiting.
    “Mr. Anderson,”
Nolan said. “Since you’re new here let me explain that at Welton I assign
extracurricular activities on the basis of merit and desire.
    “These activities
are taken every bit as seriously as your class work, right boys?”
    “Yes, sir!” the
others said in military unison. “Failure to attend required meetings will
result in demerits. Now, Mr. Dalton: the school paper, the Service Club,
soccer, rowing. Mr. Overstreet: Welton Society Candidates, the school paper,
soccer, Sons of Alumni Club. Mr. Perry: Welton Society Candidates, Chemistry
Club, Mathematics Club, school annual, soccer. Mr. Cameron: Welton Society
Candidates, Debate Club, rowing, Service Club, Forensics, Honor Council.”
    “Thank you, sir,
Cameron said.
    “Mr. Anderson, based
on your record at Balin-crest: soccer, Service Club, school annual. Anything
else I should know about?”
    Todd stood silent.
He struggled to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come out. “Speak up,
Mr. Anderson,” Nolan said.
    “I... would...
prefer... rowing... sir,” Todd said, his voice barely audible. Nolan looked at
Todd, who started to shake from head to toe.
    “Rowing? Did he say
rowing? It says here you played soccer at Balincrest?”
    Todd tried to speak
again. “I... did... but...” he whispered. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow,
and he clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. As the other
boys stared at him, Todd fought back tears.
    “You’ll like soccer
here, Anderson. All right, boys. Dismissed.”
    The boys marched
out, Todd’s face white with misery. At the door, Dr. Hager called out five more
names.
    As they headed
across campus toward their dorms, Neil Perry approached Todd, who was walking
alone, and offered a handshake.
    “I hear we’re going
to be roommates,” he said. “I’m Neil Perry.”
    “Todd Anderson,” he
replied softly. The boys walked in awkward silence.
    “Why’d you leave
Balincrest?” Neil asked.
    “My brother went
here.”
    Neil shook his head.
“Oh, so you’re THAT Anderson.”
    Todd shrugged and
groaned. “My parents wanted me to go here all along but my grades weren’t good
enough. I had to go to Balincrest to pull them up.”
    “Well, you’ve won
the booby prize,” Neil laughed. “Don’t expect to like it here.”
    “I don’t already,”
Todd said.
    They walked into the
entrance hall of the dorm to find a confusion of students, suitcases,
typewriters, pillows, and record players.
    At the head of the
hall a school porter stood watching a pile of unclaimed luggage. Neil