Connecticut Commentary: Red Notes from a Blue State

Mrs. Sherman When June Sherman was receiving her baccalaureate degree in 1943 from the University of North Carolina, I was doing a William Blake: My father cried, my mother wept Into the wicked world I leapt. Mrs. Sherman knew William Blake… he was a friend of hers. She knew Dickens, Dostoyevsky, Emily Dickenson, and the world of literature that was my comfort when I was a callow student in her Honors English class at Windsor Locks High School in the early 1960’s. My very first production under her guidance was a book review of Dostoyevsky’s “The Brothers Karamazov.” I received an A/D on the report. When I showed the paper, scarred with red ink and marginalia, to my father, he said, “I don’t understand the grade.” “Well, the A is for content, and the D is for sentence structure and spelling.” He wrinkled his brow – spelling was my personal demon – but I could see he was half-pleased. The paper was covered with remarks made by Mrs. Sherman, and I paid p...