More Shakespeare Please!

Mr. Tutorow was my AP English teacher when I was a senior in high school. He stands out as being the best teacher I ever had, the most challenging teacher I ever had, and far-and-away the most eccentric teacher anyone has ever had.

He's also the person who really inspired me to write, so all of the word-vomit that is this blog is essentially his fault. The world thanks you, Mr. Tutorow.

Tutorow wore exquisite suits every day. He was very Italian and he flew to Italy as often as he could. He bought all of his shoes from Italy. Also, he bought all of his olive oil from Italy. He was a superior wine snob. (Actually, I'm just guessing there, but it fits.) He was a nut for opera, preferring Placido Domingo to Pavarotti. I remember that. Now would be a good time to mention that I went to a typical inner-city school.

I can't possibly call the roll of all the literature we read my senior year except to say that it was expansive. Our summer reading list spanned three pages. I didn't finish it. No one did. (I fully expect at least one alum to respond to this post and say, "I did.")

Mr. Tutorow had a wife in Cuba.

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During my first winter break in college, Paul Klockow and I decided to go back and visit Mr. Tutorow. He was at a new high school - ours had closed due to an anemic 33% graduation rate.

The meeting was typical - we shared and reminisced. Then things went awry. Mr. Tutorow lost his keys. He stood up and shook a little bit. Sure enough, we could hear the keys, but when he reached in his pockets they were gone. This was a source of much consternation as our old teacher fidgeted and fished around in his pockets to find the keys. No dice.

Then, aha! He had torn a hole through the lining of his pocket. The keys fell through, but the chain had attached itself to some piece of fabric. Mr. Tutorow's hands were too big to get to the prize, and would Paul mind reaching into the pocket and fishing the keys out?

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No. No, he would not. He would not do that thing.

And as far as we know, Mr. Tutorow is still sitting in the teacher's lounge of Washington High School, stranded there without his keys.