The Librarian of the Future
Saturday, May 22nd, 2004Today, Saturday May 22 2004, Howard Hintze, an important teacher of mine from high school, is retiring from teaching English at Interlochen Arts Academy.
The following is the note I wrote earlier for a book of recollections to be presented to him at graduation. It addresses the notion of learning in an age of the Internet that I thought would be appropriate to share in this context.
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I met Howard Hintze at the beginning of my first and only year at Interlochen, in September 1987.
I was 17 from Newton, Massachusetts and decided to come to Interlochen to study theatre for my senior year. I brought a lot of academic baggage as my public high school was a suburban feeder to the ivies. As intense as the theatre program promised to be, the academics were going to be easy for me.
In the classroom Mr Hintze was always energetic. He sat, perched upon his desk hungry for our hunger to devour the classics. Despite his passion when introducing us to Shakespeare, Sophocles, often for the first time, he could not hide a certain pathos. I always felt like we were letting him down, that we would never achieve the kind of perfect intellectual clarity that he valued.
I remember the thrill of seeing him outside of campus, when he invited me to share dinner with him at his home, I think on duck lake in grawn. Everything was perfect. The food was simple, the books were organized clearly on the shelves, the climate was cool (he told me how he liked to sleep in the cold which I follow as a practice to this day).
I took his classes on Shakespeare, Man & Destiny, and probably a few others. I remember the curriculum for each, typed in clear times roman. Numbers and letters, his own decimal system. We tackled books with a head start. He would coach us into the subject. When we got to Macbeth we really tried to break into the witches and the symbolism. The hor-ror. His sheen of disappointment could not alway contain his bounding joy in the face of great literature. It was as if he lept into the middle of the circle exposing himself in the midst of students who were gifted artistically, and therefore sensitive to art and culture, but who also mainly lacked scientific discipline and therefore couldn’t analyze the classics.
I wish I could have given him more as a student. For my final paper in Man & Destiny, I wrote of a spiralling suicide leap off of a fiery inside balcony, which flashed memories of my life that sped up as I got closer to the ground. I wanted to give Mr Hintze the systematic approach to self analysis that he challenged us to provide. I think I succeeded. I am not sure what I wrote (Mr Hintze, if you still have a copy please send to me) or even what he said, but I felt that I finally did the work.
At the end of my senior year, I was directing a Pirandello play for one main actress and two men called the Vise. It was an tense drama in which a wife becomes ensnared by her husband into admitting an affair. Just as we were about to perform, the lead actress had become so frail and thin (Eating disorder? Depression? Genetics?) that her mother came to school to take her home. I knew I needed to cancel the show. Mr Hintze begged me to at least stage a reading. He felt we had put in so much work that we at least needed to share certain decisions with him and an audience. I decided not to. This was the first indicent where we did not agree. It was telling, as I felt like I was growing up. I took responsibility as an author.
A few years ago I had my 10th reunion. This was right around the time that my wife had given birth to our first son Jacob.
By then I knew that he was sitting at computers at school after hours. He was always angry at their practicality. Grudgingly, he accepted that they were useful, but he granted them no mystical powers.
I on the other hand had begun to distinguish myself based on my creative uses of technology. I stopped reading books and started making web sites. Instead of Rilke or Beckett, I was interested in banners and venture capital. I think he found it humorous when I tried to describe what I was doing. For me, it is part of the whole intellectual exploration. But to Mr Hintze it was both incredibly interesting and horribly lax.
And so I decided that my gift on my 10th reunion to Mr Hintze was going to be a computer. I found the closest Circuit City and bought an all in one PC and delivered it to his car in the school parking lot. He really was speechless, almost gasping for air. He looked at me like I was some sort of Faustian devil, tempting him to bring technology into his perfectly analog home.
I never got an email from him although I did receive a nicely handwritten thank you still trying to figure out what he was going to do with a computer in his house.
In my day to day world in New York City, I help professional investors make sense of the internet. That basic search engine that we all use all the time, Google, is worth close to $20 billion dollars. To a certain extend, it puts a teacher capable of answering any question directly on your desktop at all times.
The idea that Mr Hintze is retiring is pretty hard for me to take. The pursuit of perfection in learning is idealistic, inconvenient, inefficient– quixotic; these are some of the only values that we put up with for the things that we love.
So how can you understand what Mr Hintze was like as a teacher?
Imagine a Google search that doesn’t return any results quickly, but just asks more questions.
Imagine a presence that forces you to justify exactly what you mean in excruciating detail until you are so frustrated that you want to knock over a desk and rip down the Stratford on Avon posters from the 70’s.
Imagine a teacher that cares so much about the English language and about world historical literature that you cannot ever become satisfied that you have learned enough.
This is Mr Hintze in the classroom. He trained my mind to always ask for more than I was getting. He will be missed by all of us, and it will be upon all of us to demand more searching than any new technology can ever hope to resolve.
- Seth Goldstein. May 22, 2004. IAA 1987-1988.