Alex J. Woodley
Mr. Woodley was my ninth-grade English teacher. He was tall, lean, sharp-witted, and an unexpected ally. I say “unexpected” because he was my teacher and I did very little in the way of homework, reading, or other means of participating in class (other than talking to those around me about things unrelated to English).
My memory of high school is scattered, but I am clear about certain things. One of those things is that Mr. Woodley was one of the conductors of my life who guided me in a direction that then, seemed beyond my vision.
This was the same year I’d been talking about getting a nose job (something many people may not know – I had a huge nose and was both teased for it and liked, despite it). Mr. Woodley once took me aside (in front of the class) and showed only me, a posterboard filled with pictures of noses cut out of magazines that a previous class of his had made. He told me it was a humor that would only pass between us, he showed no one else even though there were roars from the class that they be included in the joke. He made me feel special.
Imagine my surprise when he told me stay after class and told me he had recommended me for 10th grade Honors English, but that I should ONLY take it if I got Mr. G (Generoso “James” Alphonso Giordano), who taught existentialism. He said that I would love Mr. G, but if I took the same class from another honors teacher, I would absolutely fail! Somehow Mr. Woodley knew me in a way others could not grasp. He got that my mind craved deeper thinking than I was being offered, he also knew I’d likely not read any assigned books! It wasn’t only me he seemed to get, but Mr. G as well. He knew intrinsically that Mr. G would see me beyond the surface rebel I portrayed and that at the very least, my imagination would be stimulated.
I got Mr. G and still consider him one of the pivotal characters in my life (inextricably connected to Mr. Woodley). He was a slight man with great passion. When my sister and brother had him many years earlier, he had more physical prowess and was able to jump on tables when he taught Sisyphus, to illustrate his struggles while engaging students’ attention. When I had him, his passion had not waned, but he no longer used tables as props in the same way.
On my way to Mr. G’s class each day, I walked across the courtyard so I could grab a smoke (it was a very different time). I remember a guy named Rob who I wasn’t really friends with, but we would walk across the lawn together. He often had a cigarette that was part tobacco, part weed and would share it with me as we walked. That means that sometimes I entered Honors English a little stoned and likely unprepared.
What was astounding was Mr. G’s ability to inspire interactive conversation with 10th graders on the topics of life, meaning and meaninglessness, relationships, and nuances of humanity. These were all topics that stirred my heart to feel, my spirit to soar, and my mind to express itself fully. I participated, but don’t remember if my contributions were ever related to the day’s work.
The hinge moment that lives in my memory, the one that magically transformed my earned “F” (actually a “C” average) into a legitimate “A” was about a conversation that dealt with homosexuality. I’m going to guess this was one of the days I walked across the courtyard with Rob!
One of the smarter kids in my class dutifully raised her hand and said that she could never accept it if, say, her brother was gay. I was not so polite, did not raise my hand, but blurted out something like, “We may not understand why the people we love are who they are, but we accept them because we love them.”
In retrospect, Mr. G. seemed non-binary and may have responded to that statement with something from his untold story. All I know is that when he sent out his progress report, he started it with, “I love this girl…no matter what her grades are.” And he gave me an “A.” (He also recommended me for 11thgrade Honors English, perhaps the only lapse in his judgment! Mr. Woodley knew. )
(My mom saved everything - see above! My memory and the actual events may have a few cracks, making this a “based on a true story” rendering of facts, but I’m sure it’s darn close!)
In the cookie-cutter world of our high school educational system in the 1980s, I was fortunate to have had two educators who took their jobs seriously and inhabited their humanity in ways that taught me more than any book ever could have. What they reflected to me was a truth that I have always lived, but now felt responsible to refine and share.
As you may have guessed, my other grades were not as shiny and my SAT scores sufficiently reflected my feelings about standardized tests, not being a standardized student. I got into NYU TISCH on academic probation (short-lived) and started reading with vigor just a couple years later!
This is a love note to Mr. Woodley & Mr. Giordano, both of whom were instrumental in watering and providing sunshine to the blossoming seed of my spirit. I am forever in their debt! Both have since died but their energy and impact are eternal!
(I found the one photo that seems to exist of Mr. Woodley. Of course he’s interacting with a student in a meaningful way!)
What a beautiful ode to those whose love -- especially our 10th grade English teachers -- rescued us on so many levels.
I have the feeling that if we went to high school together we would probably still be there trying to get enough credit to graduate.😆😎❤️