Teaching Packet
Shelia Slider
English 300
Table of Contents
Poetry
Poem 1: “A Poison Tree” by William Blake
Collaborative Activity
Rationale:
Poem 2: “ Beware: Do Not Read This Poem” by Ishmael Reed
Focusing Activity
First Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Poem 3: “Courage” by Anne Sexton
Second Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Poem 4: “The Ballad of Birmingham” by Dudley Randall
Reflection Activity
Rationale
Poem 5: “Metaphor” by Eve Merriam
Metaphor Activity
Rationale
Short Stories
Story 1: The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe
Pre-reading Activity: Vocabulary Words
Rationale
Story 2: The Interlopers by Saki
First Draft Activity
Rationale
Story 3: Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird by Toni Cade Bambara
Second Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Story 4: The Scarlet Ibis by James Hurst
Metaphore Activity
Reflection Activity
Rationale
Story 5: The Ravine by Graham Salisbury
Activity
Rationale
Current Events
Current Event 1: 5 Painless Steps to Controlling Your Onion Rep by Miriam Salpeter
Focusing Activity
Rationale
First Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Current Event 2: 4 Qualities That Make a Good Job Great By Jada A. Graves
Activity
Rationale
Activity
Rationale
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Play
Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
Focusing Activity
Rationale
First Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Second-Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Collaborative Activity
Rationale
Metaphor Activity
Rationale
Reflection Activity
Rationale
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Film
Dead Poets Society
Focusing Activity: Focus Poem:
Rationale
First Draft Reading Activity
Rationale
Collaborative Activity
Rationale
Reflection Activity
Rationale
Articles
Pre-Reading Article
MLA Citation
Summary
Combined Article
MLA Citation
Summary
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Poem 1: A Poison Tree
By William Blake
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water’d it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veil’d the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstrech’d beneath the tree.
Mirrors and Windows: Connecting with Literature Level IV, 2009, page 22
EMC Publishing, LLC, 875 Montreal Way, St. Paul, MN 55102
Brenda Owens, Senior Editor
4
Collaborative Activity
Create a Storyboard:
As a class, identify the following plot elements in the story:
Exposition: Characters are introduced, setting established, background information given
Rising Action: Main character encounters and tries to solve a problem
Climax: Main character takes action or makes a decision
Falling Action: Explores events that follow climax
Resolution: Conflict resolved
Divide the class into 5 groups and assign each group a part of the plot. Each group will then illustrate
the key event for their plot element. Illustrations may include captions or dialogue. Display the
illustrations in the order the events occur in the story to create a storyboard.
Rationale
It can be more difficult to identify the different plot elements in poetry than it is in literature, so this
activity will help students learn how to identify the different plot elements. Making this activity a group
or collaborative activity will allow students to see that there is more than just one way to illustrate
something.
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Poem 2: Beware: Do Not Read This Poem
By Ishmael Reed
tonite, thriller was
about an old woman, so vain she
surrounded herself with
many mirrors
back off from this poem
it is a greedy mirror
you are into this poem. from
the waist down
nobody can hear you can they?
this poem has had you up to here
belch
this poem aint got no manners
you cant call out from this poem
relax now & go with this poem
it got so bad that finally she
locked herself indoors & her
whole life became the
mirrors
one day the villagers broke
into her house, but she was too
swift for them. she disappeared
move & roll on to this poem
do not resist this poem
this poem has your eyes
this poem has his head
this poem has his arms
this poem has his fingers
this poem has his fingertips
into a mirror
each tenant who bought the house
after that, lost a loved one to
the old woman in the mirror:
first a little girl
then a young woman
then the young woman's husband
this poem is the reader & the
reader the poem
statistic: the US bureau of missing persons
reports that in 1968 over 100,000 people
disappeared leaving no solid clues
nor trace only
a space in the lives of their friends
the hunger of this poem is legendary
it has taken in many victims
back off from this poem
it has drawn in your feet
back off from this poem
it has drawn in your legs
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Focusing Activity
Guide the students through a series of questions asking them to guess what the poem is about before they
read it.
What do you know from the title of this poem?
What do you think the poem is about?
Why do you think the author chose to write in this particular style?
What is missing?
Do you think that will make it easier or harder to read and follow?
First Draft Reading Activity
After reading the poem, go over that questions that were asked during the Focusing Phase and see how
accurate their predictions were compared with their knowledge after reading the poem.
Rationale
The Focusing Activity will help the students recognize their assumptions about a piece of work before they
read it.
Following the reading of the poem with the First Draft Reading Activity will recall the information
discussed before reading the poem and then allow discussion to answer any questions that have risen now
that the text has been looked at initially.
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Poem 3: Courage By Anne Sexton
Courage
It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.
Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.
Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.
Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.
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Second Draft Reading Activity
Three Questions
What does it say?
What does it mean?
What does it matter?
Rationale
Ask the students for the literal meaning of the work. Once they can identify the surface meaning of the
poem, they can move to the next level of understanding and answer the second question, “What does it
mean?” Once they have discussed the first two questions, then you move on to ask “What does it matter?”
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Poem 4: Ballad of Birmingham
By Dudley Randall
"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?"
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child."
"But, mother, I won't be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free."
"No baby, no, you may not go
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."
She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.
The mother smiled to know that her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.
For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.
She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"
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Reflection Activity:
Anchor Question for Journal Writing
Write in your journal about this poem. What would you do if you were the mother in this poem? Does
this change how you think of “safe” activities and places?
Rationale
Having the students reflect back over the poem and write in their journals will allow them to not only think
a little more about the poem, but about the history of racism in America and how it changes their opinions
of what is perceived as safe.
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Poem 5: Metaphor
By Eve Merriam
Morning is
a new sheet of paper
for you to write on.
Whatever you want to say,
all day,
until night
folds it up
and files it away.
The bright words and the dark words
are gone
until dawn
and a new day
to write on.
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Metaphor Activity: KWL Chart
What do you know about metaphors?
What do you want to know?
What did you learn?
Rationale
Using a poem titled “Metaphor” to help students learn to identify metaphors may help the concept to stick
in their minds and become long-term knowledge instead of just surface knowledge that is soon lost.
13
Short Story 1
The Cask of Amontillado
Edgar Allan Poe
THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed
revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to
a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very
definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish
with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed
when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I
continued as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the
thought of his immolation.
He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even
feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the
most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the
British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen , was a
quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I
was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my
friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He
had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so
pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.
I said to him -- "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day!
But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."
"How?" said he, "Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible ? And in the middle of the carnival?"
"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting
you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
"Amontillado!"
"I have my doubts."
"Amontillado!"
"And I must satisfy them."
"Amontillado!"
"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me" -"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."
"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own."
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"Come let us go."
"Whither?"
"To your vaults."
"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement Luchesi" -"I have no engagement; come."
"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted . The
vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre."
"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon; and as
for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a
roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.
There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told
them that I should not return until the morning and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the
house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance , one and all, as
soon as my back was turned.
I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato bowed him through several suites of
rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him
to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp
ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.
"The pipe," said he.
"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white webwork which gleams from these cavern walls."
He turned towards me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of
intoxication.
"Nitre?" he asked, at length
"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough!"
"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!
My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.
"It is nothing," he said, at last.
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"Come," I said, with decision, we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired,
beloved; you are happy as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go
back; you will be ill and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi" -"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."
"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you should
use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps."
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the
mould.
"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."
"And I to your long life."
He again took my arm and we proceeded.
"These vaults," he said, are extensive."
"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great numerous family."
"I forget your arms."
"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in
the heel."
"And the motto?"
"Nemo me impune lacessit."
"Good!" he said.
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had
passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of
the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.
"The nitre!" I said: see it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The
drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough" -"It is nothing" he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc."
I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce
light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.
I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement -- a grotesque one.
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"You do not comprehend?" he said.
"Not I," I replied.
"Then you are not of the brotherhood."
"How?"
"You are not of the masons."
"Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes."
"You? Impossible! A mason?"
"A mason," I replied.
"A sign," he said.
"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of my roquelaire.
"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado."
"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it
heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches,
descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air
caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with
human remains piled to the vault overhead , in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of
this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down,
and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus
exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in
width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use in itself, but
formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was
backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the recess. Its
termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi" -"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed
immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress
arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered . A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In
its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these
depended a short chain. from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work
of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist . Withdrawing the key I stepped back
from the recess.
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"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is VERY damp. Once
more let me IMPLORE you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all
the little attentions in my power."
"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.
"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."
As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing
them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the
aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in
a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the
recess. It was NOT the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the
second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise
lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my
labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided , I resumed the trowel, and
finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level
with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays
upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to
thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to
grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid
fabric of the catacombs , and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who
clamoured. I reechoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the
clamourer grew still.
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the
tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted
and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there
came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice,
which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said -"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke indeed -- an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh
about it at the palazzo -- he! he! he! -- over our wine -- he! he! he!"
"The Amontillado!" I said.
"He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Amontillado . But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us
at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone."
"Yes," I said "let us be gone."
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -18
"Fortunato!"
No answer. I called again -"Fortunato!"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in
return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I
hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the
new masonry I reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.
In pace requiescat!
Mirrors and Windows: Connecting with Literature Level IV, 2009, pp. 59-66
EMC Publishing, LLC, 875 Montreal Way, St. Paul, MN 55102
Brenda Owens, Senior Editor
19
Pre-Reading Activity
Words to Know
Amontillado [uh MON te YAH doh] -- Dry, amber wine. The word Amontillado is derived from
Montilla, the name of a Spanish town. The suffix ado means in the style of. Thus, Amontillado is a wine in
the style of the kind made in Montilla, Spain.
Aperture – opening
Carnival -- Festival just before Lent. It is called Mardi Gras in some western countries. The word
carnival is derived from the Latin words carne (meat) and vale (farewell). Thus, it literally means
“farewell to meat.” During Lent, Roman Catholics do not eat meat on Ash Wednesday and all the Fridays
thereafter, until Easter.
Cask – a large barrel-type container, used for storing liquids, usually alcoholic
Catacombs – underground burial places
Circumscribing – encircling, surrounding; tracing a line around.
Fetter – shackle, chain
Flambeau – torch, burn
Hearken – listen carefully
Immolate – kill a person as a sacrifice
Imposture – deception, fraud.
Impunity – freedom from punishment, exempt from punishment.
Médoc – a red wine from the Bordeaux region of France
Motley – apparel of many colors, jester’s costume
Nitre – potassium nitrate
Palazzo – palace, splendid home
Pipe – a cask that holds 126 gallons
Puncheon – a cask that holds 84 gallons
Rapier [RAY pe er] – a two-edged sword
Rheum [ROOM] – watery discharge
Roquelaure [rok uh LAHR or rok LAHR] – a knee-length, often fur-trimmed cloak
Sconce – a bracket on a wall for holding a candle or a torch.
Rationale
Some of the words used in The Cask of Amontillado may be unfamiliar to students, so it would be helpful
for them to learn these words before beginning their reading.
20
Short Story 2
The Interlopers
By Saki
In a forest of mixed growth somewhere on the eastern spurs of the Karpathians, a man stood one winter
night watching and listening, as though he waited for some beast of the woods to come within the range of
his vision, and, later, of his rifle. But the game for whose presence he kept so keen an outlook was none
that figured in the sportsman's calendar as lawful and proper for the chase; Ulrich von Gradwitz patrolled
the dark forest in quest of a human enemy.
The forest lands of Gradwitz were of wide extent and well stocked with game; the narrow strip of
precipitous woodland that lay on its outskirt was not remarkable for the game it harboured or the shooting
it afforded, but it was the most jealously guarded of all its owner's territorial possessions. A famous law
suit, in the days of his grandfather, had wrested it from the illegal possession of a neighbouring family of
petty landowners; the dispossessed party had never acquiesced in the judgment of the Courts, and a long
series of poaching affrays and similar scandals had embittered the relationships between the families for
three generations. The neighbour feud had grown into a personal one since Ulrich had come to be head of
his family; if there was a man in the world whom he detested and wished ill to it was Georg Znaeym, the
inheritor of the quarrel and the tireless game-snatcher and raider of the disputed border-forest. The feud
might, perhaps, have died down or been compromised if the personal ill-will of the two men had not stood
in the way; as boys they had thirsted for one another's blood, as men each prayed that misfortune might fall
on the other, and this wind-scourged winter night Ulrich had banded together his foresters to watch the
dark forest, not in quest of four-footed quarry, but to keep a look-out for the prowling thieves whom he
suspected of being afoot from across the land boundary. The roebuck, which usually kept in the sheltered
hollows during a storm-wind, were running like driven things to-night, and there was movement and
unrest among the creatures that were wont to sleep through the dark hours. Assuredly there was a
disturbing element in the forest, and Ulrich could guess the quarter from whence it came.
He strayed away by himself from the watchers whom he had placed in ambush on the crest of the hill, and
wandered far down the steep slopes amid the wild tangle of undergrowth, peering through the tree trunks
and listening through the whistling and skirling of the wind and the restless beating of the branches for
sight and sound of the marauders. If only on this wild night, in this dark, lone spot, he might come across
Georg Znaeym, man to man, with none to witness - that was the wish that was uppermost in his thoughts.
And as he stepped round the trunk of a huge beech he came face to face with the man he sought.
The two enemies stood glaring at one another for a long silent moment. Each had a rifle in his hand, each
had hate in his heart and murder uppermost in his mind. The chance had come to give full play to the
passions of a lifetime. But a man who has been brought up under the code of a restraining civilisation
cannot easily nerve himself to shoot down his neighbour in cold blood and without word spoken, except
for an offence against his hearth and honour. And before the moment of hesitation had given way to action
a deed of Nature's own violence overwhelmed them both. A fierce shriek of the storm had been answered
by a splitting crash over their heads, and ere they could leap aside a mass of falling beech tree had
thundered down on them. Ulrich von Gradwitz found himself stretched on the ground, one arm numb
beneath him and the other held almost as helplessly in a tight tangle of forked branches, while both legs
were pinned beneath the fallen mass. His heavy shooting-boots had saved his feet from being crushed to
pieces, but if his fractures were not as serious as they might have been, at least it was evident that he could
not move from his present position till some one came to release him. The descending twig had slashed the
skin of his face, and he had to wink away some drops of blood from his eyelashes before he could take in a
general view of the disaster. At his side, so near that under ordinary circumstances he could almost have
21
touched him, lay Georg Znaeym, alive and struggling, but obviously as helplessly pinioned down as
himself. All round them lay a thick- strewn wreckage of splintered branches and broken twigs.
Relief at being alive and exasperation at his captive plight brought a strange medley of pious thankofferings and sharp curses to Ulrich's lips. Georg, who was early blinded with the blood which trickled
across his eyes, stopped his struggling for a moment to listen, and then gave a short, snarling laugh.
"So you're not killed, as you ought to be, but you're caught, anyway," he cried; "caught fast. Ho, what a
jest, Ulrich von Gradwitz snared in his stolen forest. There's real justice for you!"
And he laughed again, mockingly and savagely.
"I'm caught in my own forest-land," retorted Ulrich. "When my men come to release us you will wish,
perhaps, that you were in a better plight than caught poaching on a neighbour's land, shame on you."
Georg was silent for a moment; then he answered quietly:
"Are you sure that your men will find much to release? I have men, too, in the forest to-night, close behind
me, and THEY will be here first and do the releasing. When they drag me out from under these damned
branches it won't need much clumsiness on their part to roll this mass of trunk right over on the top of you.
Your men will find you dead under a fallen beech tree. For form's sake I shall send my condolences to
your family."
"It is a useful hint," said Ulrich fiercely. "My men had orders to follow in ten minutes time, seven of which
must have gone by already, and when they get me out - I will remember the hint. Only as you will have
met your death poaching on my lands I don't think I can decently send any message of condolence to your
family."
"Good," snarled Georg, "good. We fight this quarrel out to the death, you and I and our foresters, with no
cursed interlopers to come between us. Death and damnation to you, Ulrich von Gradwitz."
"The same to you, Georg Znaeym, forest-thief, game-snatcher."
Both men spoke with the bitterness of possible defeat before them, for each knew that it might be long
before his men would seek him out or find him; it was a bare matter of chance which party would arrive
first on the scene.
Both had now given up the useless struggle to free themselves from the mass of wood that held them
down; Ulrich limited his endeavours to an effort to bring his one partially free arm near enough to his
outer coat-pocket to draw out his wine-flask. Even when he had accomplished that operation it was long
before he could manage the unscrewing of the stopper or get any of the liquid down his throat. But what a
Heaven-sent draught it seemed! It was an open winter, and little snow had fallen as yet, hence the captives
suffered less from the cold than might have been the case at that season of the year; nevertheless, the wine
was warming and reviving to the wounded man, and he looked across with something like a throb of pity
to where his enemy lay, just keeping the groans of pain and weariness from crossing his lips.
"Could you reach this flask if I threw it over to you?" asked Ulrich suddenly; "there is good wine in it, and
one may as well be as comfortable as one can. Let us drink, even if to-night one of us dies."
"No, I can scarcely see anything; there is so much blood caked round my eyes," said Georg, "and in any
case I don't drink wine with an enemy."
22
Ulrich was silent for a few minutes, and lay listening to the weary screeching of the wind. An idea was
slowly forming and growing in his brain, an idea that gained strength every time that he looked across at
the man who was fighting so grimly against pain and exhaustion. In the pain and languor that Ulrich
himself was feeling the old fierce hatred seemed to be dying down.
"Neighbour," he said presently, "do as you please if your men come first. It was a fair compact. But as for
me, I've changed my mind. If my men are the first to come you shall be the first to be helped, as though
you were my guest. We have quarrelled like devils all our lives over this stupid strip of forest, where the
trees can't even stand upright in a breath of wind. Lying here to-night thinking I've come to think we've
been rather fools; there are better things in life than getting the better of a boundary dispute. Neighbour, if
you will help me to bury the old quarrel I - I will ask you to be my friend."
Georg Znaeym was silent for so long that Ulrich thought, perhaps, he had fainted with the pain of his
injuries. Then he spoke slowly and in jerks.
"How the whole region would stare and gabble if we rode into the market-square together. No one living
can remember seeing a Znaeym and a von Gradwitz talking to one another in friendship. And what peace
there would be among the forester folk if we ended our feud to-night. And if we choose to make peace
among our people there is none other to interfere, no interlopers from outside ... You would come and keep
the Sylvester night beneath my roof, and I would come and feast on some high day at your castle ... I
would never fire a shot on your land, save when you invited me as a guest; and you should come and shoot
with me down in the marshes where the wildfowl are. In all the countryside there are none that could
hinder if we willed to make peace. I never thought to have wanted to do other than hate you all my life, but
I think I have changed my mind about things too, this last half-hour. And you offered me your wineflask ...
Ulrich von Gradwitz, I will be your friend."
For a space both men were silent, turning over in their minds the wonderful changes that this dramatic
reconciliation would bring about. In the cold, gloomy forest, with the wind tearing in fitful gusts through
the naked branches and whistling round the tree-trunks, they lay and waited for the help that would now
bring release and succour to both parties. And each prayed a private prayer that his men might be the first
to arrive, so that he might be the first to show honourable attention to the enemy that had become a friend.
Presently, as the wind dropped for a moment, Ulrich broke silence.
"Let's shout for help," he said; he said; "in this lull our voices may carry a little way."
"They won't carry far through the trees and undergrowth," said Georg, "but we can try. Together, then."
The two raised their voices in a prolonged hunting call.
"Together again," said Ulrich a few minutes later, after listening in vain for an answering halloo.
"I heard nothing but the pestilential wind," said Georg hoarsely.
There was silence again for some minutes, and then Ulrich gave a joyful cry.
"I can see figures coming through the wood. They are following in the way I came down the hillside."
Both men raised their voices in as loud a shout as they could muster.
"They hear us! They've stopped. Now they see us. They're running down the hill towards us," cried Ulrich.
23
"How many of them are there?" asked Georg.
"I can't see distinctly," said Ulrich; "nine or ten,"
"Then they are yours," said Georg; "I had only seven out with me."
"They are making all the speed they can, brave lads," said Ulrich gladly.
"Are they your men?" asked Georg. "Are they your men?" he repeated impatiently as Ulrich did not
answer.
"No," said Ulrich with a laugh, the idiotic chattering laugh of a man unstrung with hideous fear.
"Who are they?" asked Georg quickly, straining his eyes to see what the other would gladly not have seen.
“Wolves."
Mirrors and Windows: Connecting with Literature Level IV, 2009, pp 15-21.
EMC Publishing, LLC, 875 Montreal Way, St. Paul, MN 55102
Brenda Owens, Senior Editor
24
First Draft Reading Activity:
Create a Plot Diagram for this story.
Make notes about the plot as you read. Answer the following questions while referring to your Plot
Diagram:
1. How does Saki’s use of flashback help to develop the exposition, or background, for the plot?
Let’s the readers know about the feud, which is the central conflict of the plot.
2. What is the central conflict of the plot? The feud
3. What event marks a major turning point in the plot? The beech tree falling on the men
4. How is the conflict resolved? Ulrich offering his flask to Georg shows the beginning of
change.
5. What other conflict arises? Wolves.
6. How does the last line in the story resolve that conflict? It suggests that Ulrich and George will
be killed by the wolves.
25
Short Story 3
Blues Ain’t No Mockin Bird
By Toni Cade Bambara
The puddle had frozen over, and me and Cathy went stompin in it. The twins from next door, Tyrone and Terry,
were swingin so high out of sight we forgot we were waitin our turn on the tire. Cathy jumped up and came down
hard on her heels and started tapdancin. And the frozen patch splinterin every which way underneath kinda spooky.
“Looks like a plastic spider web,” she said. “A sort of weird spider, I guess, with many mental problems.” But really
it looked like the crystal paperweight Granny kept in the parlor. She was on the back porch, Granny was, making the
cakes drunk. The old ladle drippin rum into the Christmas tins, like it used to drip maple syrup into the pails when
we lived in the Judson’s woods, like it poured cider into the vats when we were on the Cooper place, like it used to
scoop buttermilk and soft cheese when we lived at the dairy.
“Go tell that man we ain’t a bunch of trees.”
“Ma’am?”
“I said to tell that man to get away from here with that camera.”
Me and Cathy look over toward the meadow where the men with the station wagon’d been roamin around all
mornin. The tall man with a huge camera lassoed to his shoulder was buzzin our way.
“They’re makin movie pictures,” yelled Tyrone, stiffenin his legs and twistin so the tire’d come down slow so they
could see.
“They’re makin movie pictures,” sang out Terry.
“That boy don’t never have anything original to say,” say Cathy grown-up.
By the time the man with the camera had cut across our neighbor’s yard, the twins were out of the trees swingin low
and Granny was onto the steps, the screen door bammin soft and scratchy against her palms. “We thought we’d get a
shot or two of the house and everything and then—”
“Good mornin,” Granny cut him off. And smiled that smile. when you yell at him about the bones on the kitchen
floor.
“Nice place you got here, aunty. We thought we’d take a—”
“Did you?” said Granny with her eyebrows. Cathy pulled up her socks and giggled.
“Nice things here,” said the man, buzzin his camera over the yard. The pecan barrels, the sled, me and Cathy, the
flowers, the printed stones along the driveway, the trees, the twins, the toolshed.
“I don’t know about the thing, the it, and the stuff,” said Granny, still talkin with her eyebrows. “Just people here is
what I tend to consider.”
Camera man stopped buzzin. Cathy giggled into her collar.
“Mornin, ladies,” a new man said. He had come up behind us when we weren’t lookin. “And gents,” discoverin the
twins givin him a nasty look. “We’re filmin for the county,” he said with a smile. “Mind if we shoot a bit around
here?”
26
“I do indeed,” said Granny with no smile. Smilin man was smilin up a storm. So was Cathy. But he didn’t seem to
have another word to say, so he and the camera man backed on out the yard, but you could hear the camera buzzin
still. “Suppose you just shut that machine off,” said Granny real low through her teeth, and took a step down off the
porch and then another.
“Now, aunty,” Camera said, pointin the thing straight at her.
“Your mama and I are not related.”
Smilin man got his notebook out and a chewed-up pencil.
“Listen,” he said movin back into our yard, “we’d like to have a statement from you . . . for the film. We’re filmin
for the county, see. Part of the food stamp campaign. You know about the food stamps?”
Granny said nuthin.
“Maybe there’s somethin you want to say for the film. I see you grow your own vegetables,” he smiled real nice. “If
more folks did that, see, there’d be no need—”
Granny wasn’t sayin nuthin. So they backed on out, buzzin at our clothesline and the twins’ bicycles, then back on
down to the meadow. The twins were danglin in the tire, lookin at Granny. Me and Cathy were waitin, too, cause
Granny always got somethin to say. She teaches steady with no letup. “I was on this bridge one time,” she started
off. “Was a crowd cause this man was goin to jump, you understand. And a minister was there and the police and
some other folks. His woman was there, too.”
“What was they doin?” asked Tyrone.
“Tryin to talk him out of it was what they was doin. The minister talkin about how it was a mortal sin, suicide. His
woman takin bites out of her own hand and not even knowin it, so nervous and cryin and talkin fast.”
“So what happened?” asked Tyrone.
“So here comes . . . this person . . . with a camera, takin pictures of the man and the minister and the woman. Takin
pictures of the man in his misery about to jump, cause life so bad and people been messin with him so bad. This
person takin up the whole roll of film practically. But savin a few, of course.”
“Of course,” said Cathy, hatin the person. Me standin there wonderin how Cathy knew it was “of course” when I
didn’t and it was my grandmother.
After a while Tyrone say, “Did he jump?”
“Yes, did he jump?” say Terry all eager.
And Granny just stared at the twins till their faces swallow up the eager and they don’t even care any more about the
man jumpin. Then she goes back onto the porch and lets the screen door go for itself. I’m lookin to Cathy to finish
the story cause she knows Granny’s whole story before me even. Like she knew how come we move so much and
Cathy ain’t but a third cousin we picked up onthe way last Thanksgivin visitin. But she knew it was on account of
people drivin Granny crazy till she’d get up in the night and start packin. Mumblin and packin and wakin everybody
up sayin, “Let’s get on away from here before I kill me somebody.” Like people wouldn’t pay her for things like
they said they would. Or Mr. Judson bringin us boxes of old clothes and raggedy magazines. Or Mrs. Cooper comin
in our kitchen and touchin everything and sayin how clean it all was. Granny goin crazy, and Granddaddy Cain
pullin her off the people, sayin, “Now, now, Cora.” But next day loadin up the truck, with rocks all in his jaw,
madder than Granny in the first place.
27
“I read a story once,” said Cathy soundin like Granny teacher. “About this lady Goldilocks who barged into a house
that wasn’teven hers. And not invited, you understand. Messed over the people’s groceries and broke up the
people’s furniture. Had the nerve to sleep in the folks’ bed.”
“Then what happened?” asked Tyrone. “What they do, the folks, when they come in to all this mess?” “Did they
make her pay for it?” asked Terry, makin a fist. “I’d’ve made her pay me.”
I didn’t even ask. I could see Cathy actress was very likely to just walk away and leave us in mystery about this
story which I heard was about some bears. “Did they throw her out?” asked Tyrone, like his father sounds when he’s
bein extra nastyplus to the washinmachine man.
“Woulda,” said Terry. “I woulda gone upside her head with my fist and—”
“You woulda done whatcha always do—go cry to Mama, you big baby,” said Tyrone. So naturally Terry starts hittin
on Tyrone, and next thing you know they tumblin out the tire and rollin on the ground. But Granny didn’t say a
thing or send the twins home or step out on the steps to tell us about how we can’t afford to be fightin amongst
ourselves. She didn’t say nuthin. So I get into the tire to take my turn. And I could see her leanin up against the
pantry table, starin at the cakes she was puttin up for the Christmas sale, mumblin real low and grumpy and holdin
her forehead like it wanted to fall off and mess up the rum cakes. Behind me I hear before I can see Granddaddy
Cain comin through the woods in his field boots. Then I twist around to see the shiny black oilskin cuttin through
what little left there was of yellows, reds, and oranges. His great white head not quite round cause of this bloody
thing high on his shoulder, like he was wearin a cap on sideways. He takes the shortcut through the pecan grove,
and the sound of twigs snappin overhead and underfoot travels clear and cold all the way up to us. And here comes
Smilin and Camera up behind him like they was goin to do somethin. Folks like to go for him sometimes. Cathy say
it’s because he’s so tall and quiet and like a king. And people just can’t stand it. But Smilin and Camera don’t hit
him in the head or nuthin. They just buzz on him as he stalks by with the chicken hawk slung over his shoulder,
squawkin, drippin red down the back of the oilskin. He passes the porch and stops a second for Granny to see he’s
caught the hawk at last, but she’s just starin and mumblin, and not at the hawk. So he nails the bird to the toolshed
door, the hammerin crackin through the eardrums. And the bird flappin himself to death and droolin down the door
to paint the gravel in the driveway red, then brown, then black. And the two men movin up on tiptoe like they was
invisible or we were blind, one.
“Get them persons out of my flower bed, Mister Cain,” say Granny moanin real low like at a funeral.
“How come your grandmother calls her husband ‘Mister Cain’ all the time?” Tyrone whispers all loud and noisy and
from the city and don’t know no better. Like his mama, Miss Myrtle, tell us never mind the formality as if we had no
better breeding than to call her Myrtle, plain. And then this awful thing—a giant hawk—come wailin up over the
meadow, flyin low and tilted and screamin, zigzaggin through the pecan grove, breakin branches and hollerin,
snappin past the clothesline, flyin every which way, flyin into things reckless with crazy.
“He’s come to claim his mate,” say Cathy fast, and ducks down. We all fall quick and flat into the gravel driveway,
stones scrapin my face. I squinch my eyes open again at the hawk on the door, tryin to fly up out of her death like it
was just a sack flown into by mistake. Her body holdin her there on that nail, though. The mate beatin the air
overhead and clutchin for hair, for heads, for landin pace. The camera man duckin and bendin and runnin and fallin,
jigglin the camera and scared. And Smilin jumpin up and down swipin at the huge bird, tryin to bring the hawk
down with just his raggedy ole cap. Granddaddy Cain straight up and silent, watchin the circles of the hawk, then
aimin the hammer off his wrist. The giant bird fallin, silent and slow. Then here comes Camera and Smilin all big
and bad now that the awful screechin thing is on its back and broken, here they come. And Granddaddy Cain looks
up at them like it was the first time noticin, but not payin them too much mind cause he’s listenin, we all listenin, to
that low groanin music comin from the porch. And we figure any minute, something in my back tells me any minute
now, Granny gonna bust through that screen with somethin in her hand and murder on her mind. So Granddaddy say
above the buzzin, but quiet, “Good day, gentlemen.” Just like that. Like he’d invited them in to play cards and
they’d stayed too long and all the sandwiches were gone and Reverend Webb was droppin by and it was time to go.
28
They didn’t know what to do. But like Cathy say, folks can’t stand Granddaddy tall and silent and like a king. They
can’t neither. The smile the men smilin is pullin the mouth back and showin the teeth. Lookin like the wolf man,
both of them. Then Granddaddy holds his hand out—this huge hand I used to sit in when I was a baby and he’d
carry me through the house to my mother like I was a gift on a tray. Like he used to on the trains. They called the
other men just waiters. But they spoke of Granddaddy separate and said, The Waiter. And said he had engines in his
feet and motors in his hands and couldn’t no train throw him off and couldn’t nobody turn him round. They were big
enough for motors, his hands were. He held that one hand out all still and it gettin to be not at all a hand but a person
in itself.
“He wants you to hand him the camera,” Smilin whispers to Camera, tiltin his head to talk secret like they was in the
jungle or somethin and come upon a native that don’t speak the language.
The men start untyin the straps, and they put the camera into that great hand speckled with the hawk’s blood all
black and crackly now. And the hand don’t even drop with the weight, just the fingers move, curl up around the
machine. But Granddaddy lookin straight at the men. They lookin at each other and everywhere but at Granddaddy’s
face.
“We filmin for the county, see,” say Smilin. “We putting together a movie for the food stamp program . . . filmin all
around these parts. Uhh, filmin for the county.”
“Can I have my camera back?” say the tall man with no machine on his shoulder, but still keepin it high like the
camera was still there or needed to be. “Please, sir.”
Then Granddaddy’s other hand flies up like a sudden and gentle bird, slaps down fast on top of the camera and lifts
off half like it was a calabash cut for sharing.
“Hey,” Camera jumps forward. He gathers up the parts into his chest and everything unrollin and fallin all over.
“Whatcha tryin to do? You’ll ruin the film.” He looks down into his chest of metal reels and things like he’s
protectin a kitten from the cold.
“You standin in the misses’ flower bed,” say Granddaddy. “This is our own place.”
The two men look at him, then at each other, then back at the mess in the camera man’s chest, and they just back off.
One sayin over and over all the way down to the meadow, “Watch it, Bruno. Keep ya fingers off the film.” Then
Granddaddy picks up the hammer and jams it into the oilskin pocket, scrapes his boots, and goes into the house. And
you can hear the squish of his boots headin through the house. And you can see the funny shadow he throws from
the parlor window onto the ground by the stringbean patch. The hammer draggin the pocket of the oilskin out so
Granddaddy looked even wider. Granny was hummin now—high, not low and grumbly. And she was doin the cakes
again, you could smell the molasses from the rum.
“There’s this story I’m goin to write one day,” say Cathy dreamer. “About the proper use of the hammer.”
“Can I be in it?” Tyrone say with his hand up like it was a matter of first come, first served.
“Perhaps,” say Cathy, climbin onto the tire to pump us up. “If you there and ready.”
29
Second-Draft Reading Activity
After reading the story once, read the following questions. If necessary, read back through the story
looking for clues to the answers.
1.
2.
3.
4.
How do the men react to Granny asking them to stop filming?
What do the men think of Granny Cain? Give examples from the text to support your answer.
List the things that the men notice as they film the yard.
Examine why the men are excited about filming the Cain property. Why do you think this
excitement bothers Granny Cain?
5. Recall how Granny Cain reacts to Grandaddy Cain when he first arrives.
6. Find evidence in the story that the Cains are proud people.
7. What does Grandaddy Cain do to Camera and Smilin’s equipment?
8. Decide if you think Grandaddy’s treatment of Camera and Smilin is justified. Explain.
9. Point out how the children respond to the two men.
10. Write how you would have reacted to the men if you were Granny Cain or Grandaddy Cain.
Explain your response.
Rationale
By re-reading the story looking for specific answers to the questions, the students will gain a deeper
understanding of the story.
30
Short Story 4
The Scarlet Ibis
By James Hurst
Summer was dead, but autumn had not yet been born when the ibis came to the bleeding tree. It's strange
that all this is so clear to me, now that time has had its way. But sometimes (like right now) I sit in the cool
green parlor, and I remember Doodle.
Doodle was about the craziest brother a boy ever had. Doodle was born when I was seven and was, from
the start, a disappointment. He seemed all head, with a tiny body that was red and shriveled like an old
man's. Everybody thought he was going to die.
Daddy had the carpenter build a little coffin, and when he was three months old, Mama and Daddy named
him William Armstrong. Such a name sounds good only on a tombstone.
When he crawled on the rug, he crawled backward, as if he were in reverse and couldn't change gears. This
made him look like a doodlebug, so I began calling him 'Doodle.' Renaming my brother was probably the
kindest thing I ever did for him, because nobody expects much from someone called Doodle.
Daddy built him a cart and I had to pull him around. If I so much as picked up my hat, he'd start crying to
go with me; and Mama would call from wherever she was, "Take Doodle with you."
So I dragged him across the cotton field to share the beauty of Old Woman Swamp. I lifted him out and sat
him down in the soft grass. He began to cry.
"What's the matter?"
"It's so pretty, Brother, so pretty."
After that, Doodle and I often went down to Old Woman Swamp.
There is inside me (and with sadness I have seen it in others) a knot of cruelty borne by the stream of love.
And at times I was mean to Doodle. One time I showed him his casket, telling him how we all believed he
would die. When I made him touch the casket, he screamed. And even when we were outside in the bright
sunshine he clung to me, crying, "Don't leave me, Brother! Don't leave me!"
Doodle was five years old when I turned 13. I was embarrassed at having a brother of that age who
couldn't walk, so I set out to teach him. We were down in Old Woman Swamp. "I'm going to teach you to
walk, Doodle," I said.
"Why?"
"So I won't have to haul you around all the time."
"I can't walk, Brother."
"Who says so?"
"Mama, the doctor–everybody."
31
"Oh, you can walk." I took him by the arms and stood him up. He collapsed on to the grass like a halfempty flour sack. It was as if his little legs had no bones.
"Don't hurt me, Brother."
"Shut up. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to teach you to walk." I heaved him up again, and he
collapsed.
"I just can't do it."
"Oh, yes, you can, Doodle. All you got to do is try. Now come on," and I hauled him up once more.
It seemed so hopeless that it's a miracle I didn't give up. But all of us must have something to be proud of,
and Doodle had become my something.
Finally one day he stood alone for a few seconds. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms and hugged
him, our laughter ringing through the swamp like a bell. Now we knew it could be done.
We decided not to tell anyone until he was actually walking. At breakfast on our chosen day I brought
Doodle to the door in the cart. I helped Doodle up; and when he was standing alone, I let them look. There
wasn't a sound as Doodle walked slowly across the room and sat down at the table. Then Mama began to
cry and ran over to him, hugging him and kissing him. Daddy hugged him, too. Doodle told them it was I
who had taught him to walk, so they wanted to hug me, and I began to cry.
"What are you crying for?" asked Daddy, but I couldn't answer. They didn't know that I did it just for
myself, that Doodle walked only because I was ashamed of having a crippled brother.
Within a few months, Doodle had learned to walk well. Since I had succeeded in teaching Doodle to walk,
I began to believe in my own infallibility. I decided to teach him to run, to row, to swim, to climb trees,
and to fight. Now he, too, believed in me; so, we set a deadline when Doodle could start school.
But Doodle couldn't keep up with the plan. Once, he collapsed on the ground and began to cry.
"Aw, come on, Doodle. You can do it. Do you want to be different from everybody else when you start
school?"
"Does that make any difference?"
"It certainly does. Now, come on."
And so we came to those days when summer was dead but autumn had not yet been born. It was Saturday
noon, just a few days before the start of school. Daddy, Mama, Doodle, and I were seated at the dining
room table, having lunch. Suddenly from out in the yard came a strange croaking noise. Doodle stopped
eating. "What's that?" He slipped out into the yard, and looked up into the bleeding tree. "It's a big red
bird!"
Mama and Daddy came out. On the topmost branch perched a bird the size of a chicken, with scarlet
feathers and long legs.
32
At that moment, the bird began to flutter. It tumbled down through the bleeding tree and landed at our feet
with a thud. Its graceful neck jerked twice and then straightened out, and the bird was still. It lay on the
earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and even death could not mar its beauty.
"What is it?" Doodle asked.
"It's a scarlet ibis," Daddy said.
Sadly, we all looked at the bird. How many miles had it traveled to die like this, in our yard, beneath the
bleeding tree?
Doodle knelt beside the ibis. "I'm going to bury him."
As soon as I had finished eating, Doodle and I hurried off to Horsehead Landing. It was time for a
swimming lesson, but Doodle said he was too tired. When we reached Horsehead landing, lightning was
flashing across half the sky, and thunder was drowning out the sound of the sea.
Doodle was both tired and frightened. He slipped on the mud and fell. I helped him up, and he smiled at
me ashamedly. He had failed and we both knew it. He would never be like the other boys at school.
We started home, trying to beat the storm. The lightning was near now. The faster I walked, the faster he
walked, so I began to run.
The rain came, roaring through the pines. And then, like a bursting Roman candle, a gum tree ahead of us
was shattered by a bolt of lightning. When the deafening thunder had died, I heard Doodle cry out,
"Brother, Brother, don't leave me! Don't leave me!"
The knowledge that our plans had come to nothing was bitter, and that streak of cruelty within me
awakened. I ran as fast as I could, leaving him far behind with a wall of rain dividing us. Soon I could hear
his voice no more.
I stopped and waited for Doodle. The sound of rain was everywhere, but the wind had died and it fell
straight down like ropes hanging from the sky.
I peered through the downpour, but no one came. Finally I went back and found him huddled beneath a red
nightshade bush beside the road. He was sitting on the ground, his face buried in his arms, which were
resting on drawn-up knees. "Let's go, Doodle."
He didn't answer so I gently lifted his head. He toppled backward onto the earth. He had been bleeding
from the mouth, and his neck and the front of his shirt were stained a brilliant red.
"Doodle, Doodle." There was no answer but the ropy rain. I began to weep, and the tear-blurred vision in
red before me looked very familiar. "Doodle!" I screamed above the pounding storm and threw my body to
the earth above his. For a long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis
Mirrors and Windows: Connecting with Literature Level IV, 2009, pp 109-118
EMC Publishing, LLC, 875 Montreal Way, St. Paul, MN 55102
Brenda Owens, Senior Editor
33
Metaphor Activity
Square Peg, Round Hole
Ask students to consider society’s expectations of people and compare those expectations with the reality
of people that are different from what is considered normal.
Rationale
Comparing Doodle to a square peg trying to fit into the round hole that is the world may help students
understand Doodle’s character better.
Reflection Activity
Journal Writing
After reading “The Scarlet Ibis”, write in your journal about a time you, or someone close to you,
experienced feeling like you/they were different than everyone else and did not belong.
Rationale
Taking the time to identify with Doodle or his brother will create a longer lasting impression on the
students. Writing in their journals will help them learn to put their thoughts on paper and foster an easier
time in writing.
34
Short Story 5
The Ravine
By Graham Salisbury
Mirrors and Windows: Connecting with Literature Level IV, 2009, pp 154-160
EMC Publishing, LLC, 875 Montreal Way, St. Paul, MN 55102
Brenda Owens, Senior Editor
Collaborative Activity
Guided Questions
Divide students into groups of 3-4 students/group and have them answer the following questions.
1. How would you describe Joe-Boy? How does he treat Vinny?
2. How does Vinny feel about being in the ravine? Why?
3. What did Vinny’s parents think about him going to the pond?
4. How did Starlene and Joe-Boy get Vinny to go to the ravine?
5. What decision does Vinny have to make? How are both choices risky?
6. Think about the setting and the other characters. How do they affect Vinny’s choices?
Rationale
Collaboration raises the reading comprehension level of all students in the class. Working in groups to
talk over the story and find the answers for the questions can be beneficial to all students.
35
Current Event 1
5 Painless Steps to Controlling Your Online Rep
By MIRIAM SALPETER
April 25, 2012
Many job-seekers underestimate how important it is to have an online presence—a digital footprint to help
convince potential hiring managers that they are right for the job. There is no question a person's online
reputation makes a big difference for job-search success. But ironically, the worst outcome of having a
recruiter search for you on the Web would be if he or she found nothing at all.
In a digital age, having nothing listed in Google is the equivalent of wearing an invisibility cloak; that may
work for Harry Potter, but it doesn't do anything to help a job-seeker whose main priority is being found.
It may surprise candidates who make a habit of protecting their online privacy stringently to know that a
Google search fails to reveal results. Someone who wants to learn about a candidate and finds no obvious
results may be inclined to use search tools that offer access to the "deep Web,"or "invisible Web."
Pipl.com—a site that provides such access, explains, "The term 'deep web' refers to a vast repository of
underlying content, such as documents in online databases that general-purpose web crawlers cannot
reach. The deep web content is estimated at 500 times that of the surface web, yet has remained mostly
untapped due to the limitations of traditional search engines."
There are two types of information available online: data posted by a candidate, and things someone else
posts about him or her. Think of the former as a "digital footprint" and the latter as a "digital shadow."
Don't let a shadow dictate what employers will find out. Why? Because it gives control to someone else,
which can be dangerous.
For example, Patrick Ambron, the chief executive officer and co-founder of BrandYourself.com, shared a
story about Cody, who was applying to law schools without success. A Google search of his name
revealed a post created by an ex-girlfriend that contained embarrassing, unflattering comments. Since
Cody didn't have other information online to combat one person's vendetta against him, admissions
officers were left with questions about his character.
Even if a job-seeker has no enemies, it does not prevent an unflattering digital shadow from clouding his
candidacy. It's not uncommon to share a name with other people. When this happens online, it is known as
a "digital doppelganger." Some people find themselves unwittingly implicated by unflattering accounts
about their doppelgangers.
For example, one highly qualified job-seeker received no replies to his applications. After consulting with
an online-savvy friend who suggested he Google his own name, the job-seeker found out that his digital
doppelganger was charged with murder. Any prospective hiring manager could find this information, but
nothing about the job-seeker. It wasn't until he created a social resume using HisName.com and filling in
his own professional information that he began to land interviews. Upon greeting him, the job-seeker's first
interviewer said, "So, I guess you're not the murderer."
So what can someone do to regain control of an unflattering or nonexistent online identity? Ambron
suggests these five steps:
36
1. Google yourself. This is crucial, because it's impossible to know what could negatively affect your
reputation. Ambron explains, "Most people find that the top search results for their name fall into three
categories: negative, irrelevant, and 'Hey, that's not me.'" All three of these results can damage someone's
reputation.
2. Claim your domain name and build a personal website. Owning Yourname.com and other versions
of a personal URL, such as YourName.org, will give you more control of your online identity. It's easy to
do, and domain names usually cost no more than $10 a year.
Why is this important? Ambron notes, "These URLs show up high in searches for your name. Even if
you're not planning to create a personal website, you'll prevent others from buying the domain and
hijacking Google search results for you."
Owning the domain is a first step, but using it to create a site that highlights professional information is
key for anyone who wants to control their online identity. Ideally, the website will be highly optimized,
presenting a professional picture of the candidate.
3. Set up profiles on Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter. Ideally, capture online "handles," or user names
that include your actual name. For example, use "Patrick Ambron, not Pattyboy22," Ambron notes.
"Search engines tend to rank social networks' links high, so you should definitely have a presence on them.
Even if you don't plan on using your accounts much, it keeps other people from hijacking search results of
your name."
Posting updates frequently via social media sites is an excellent way to let search engines know what you
want them to find out about you. Doing so creates that digital footprint that is so important for your online
presence.
4. Do some basic search engine optimization. In addition to using your own name in online monikers,
Ambron reminds job-seekers to "Link all your various pieces of online content to one another. Include a
link to YourName.com on your Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn profiles. Add links back to your social
media profiles on YourName.com. Taking these steps gives your content a huge boost in search engine
rankings."
5. Sign up for alerts. It's important to keep up-to-date on which Google indexes could affect you. Ambron
suggests starting a Google alert, which will send an email when your name (whether it's you or your digital
doppelganger) appears in a news article or blog post. He notes, "Socialmention.com also provides alerts
that will inform you when your name pops up in a tweet or is tagged in a photo on Flickr or Facebook."
Job-seekers who take charge of their own online reputations will benefit in the long run.
Miriam Salpeter is a job search and social media consultant, career coach, author, speaker, resume
writer, and owner of Keppie Careers. She is author of Social Networking for Career Success. Miriam
teaches job seekers and entrepreneurs how to incorporate social media tools along with traditional
strategies to empower their success.
Bibliography
Salpeter, Miriam. US News and World Reports. 26 April 2012. <http://money.usnews.com/money/blogs/outsidevoices-careers/2012/04/25/5-painless-steps-to-controlling-your-online-rep>.
37
Focusing Activity
Lead students in a discussion of what information they think is available on the internet about them or their
lives.
First-Draft Reading Activity
Have students do an internet search on themselves to see what is actually on the internet.
Rationale
It is important that students understand the impact that what they place on the internet can have a longlasting effect on their lives. This article may help some of them avoid future issues by becoming aware of
the issues now.
38
Current Event 2
4 Qualities That Make a Good Job Great
What qualities do many of our Best Jobs of 2012 share?
By JADA A. GRAVES
April 26, 2012
If you did a poll on the street, asking people what constitutes a "great job," most would probably mention
pay. There are a few problems with salary being an exclusive component, though. One: Plenty of people
who make hefty salaries are miserable in their jobs. And two: Plenty of people who adore their jobs don't
earn much money.
When compiling and ranking The Best Jobs of 2012, U.S. News used a methodology that weighed salary
as well as other statistical data, such as employment rate. Still, the components that raise a good job to a
great one are somewhat abstract. Here are four qualities that several of our top jobs share:
Flexibility. Does your job offer the chance to telecommute? Or can you map your schedule around your
kids' soccer games and your spouse's doctor's appointments? A key ingredient that buoyed some of our
Best Jobs to a different stratosphere was whether they offered workers the flexibility to better balance
work and life.
That's definitely one of the attributes that Robert Miller, a New York City-based financial adviser,
appreciates about his profession. "You get the opportunity to be an independent businessperson, so you
have the freedom to practice your profession in the way your desires take you, to control your own hours,
and to be active within your community," he says. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS),
about one-fourth of all personal financial advisers are self-employed.
Flexibility is also one of the positives that Brent Braveman, an occupational therapist who serves as
director of rehabilitation services at MD Anderson Cancer Center, mentions about his profession.
Occupational therapy is "a great job for moms and dads," he says, "because there are lots of both part-time
and full-time opportunities, so you can find a work schedule that fits your life."
Other flexible jobs: About 17 percent of Web developers, our No. 6 job, are self-employed. And about 29
percent of those working our No. 8 job, physical therapist, do so part-time.
Variety. Are your responsibilities varied? Or is your 9-to-5 beginning to feel a little like Groundhog Day?
This could be what's keeping your OK job from being outstanding. "It's really hard to get bored as an
occupational therapist," Braveman says. "There's variability in the job opportunities in the population that
you work with—from pediatric care to geriatric care—and in your specialization, be it mental health,
social health, and more."
Asha Asher is an occupational therapist who works in Cincinnati's Sycamore Community Schools. She,
too, appreciates her profession's scope. "I work with kids once they enter school all the way up to age of
22," she says. "And at different times in their lives they may be experiencing different issues. At each
stage we're hoping to develop an environment where the child can have maximum independence."
39
Miller, who also serves as president of the National Association of Insurance and Financial Advisors, has
30 years of experience. "When I first started, it was a pretty small industry," he says. "But financial
services has now changed. The technology has changed as well, and the problems people are facing have
changed. Now, you can go into many different areas [of financial advising]. It's like snowflakes—no two
cases are 100 percent alike."
Other jobs that offer variety: Change of pace is one of the perks of our No. 11 job, maintenance and
repair worker. You could fix a leaky faucet indoors one day, and paint shingles outdoors the next.
Paramedics (the No. 15 job) also face different challenges daily.
Community. The career and company review website CareerBliss recently released a list of the 20
Happiest Jobs in America. Several professions that made the site's list also appear on U.S. News' 25 Best
Jobs list, including customer service representative, accountant, and human resources professional. What
common thread weaves through these occupations? "What we found was that people are happier in jobs
where they have the opportunity to help others," says Heidi Golledge, the site's chief happiness officer and
co-founder. "This is particularly true for those in HR management roles and in customer service roles, but
it also affects accountants, who work with people directly, helping them with their taxes."
Miller says helping others is a plus within his profession, too. "I'm in a relationship business," he explains.
"I spend a lot of my day dealing with people. You're helping people financially plan for the future,
sometimes through unhappy circumstances, like the loss of a job, or the loss of a spouse and [income]."
There's an obvious correlation between therapy and helping others. Asher says: "As an [occupational
therapist], you see people with disabling conditions that have interrupted their lives. Every client is
someone unique who brings out the creativity of a therapist. It's satisfying to help people live life to the
fullest."
Community could also translate into how much you enjoy working with your peers. Many accountants
wrote on CareerBliss' site with appreciation for their intelligent co-workers. "It's a misconception that all
accountants care about is math," Golledge says. "They also like having competent people around them to
bounce ideas off of, to make the work experience better. People like to feel good about the people across
the cubicle from them."
Other jobs that involve helping others: Several jobs on our list afford you the chance to help others,
including top healthcare posts like registered nurse and physical therapist, as well as social services
occupations like social workers and elementary and high school teachers.
Opportunity. Are you slaving away in a dead-end job with no realistic prospects for advancement? Then
you probably aren't working as a financial adviser. Miller says "the ability to control your own destiny is
ultimately one of the most attractive parts" of his profession. "There's no ceiling to what you can earn, or
to your potential to grow," he notes.
Job competition is high for financial advisers, but their profession is still expected to hire considerably in
coming years. The BLS predicts employment will swell 32 percent (much faster than the average for all
occupations) from 2010 to 2020. The number of occupational therapists should increase by 33 percent by
the year 2020. Also, "it's not a bad career in terms of financial rewards," Braveman says, adding that new
graduates hired at Houston's MD Anderson Cancer Center have starting salaries in the mid-60s. The BLS
reports that the best-compensated OTs earn six-figure salaries, work in home health care services, and live
in the metropolitan areas of Elizabethtown, Ky., Las Vegas, and Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.
40
The occupations of accountant, human resources specialist, and customer service rep also have good job
prospects to the year 2020, even though their respective salaries aren't always as lucrative as other top
jobs. Still, "people are less focused on having a BMW and are interested in having true career happiness,"
says Golledge. "A lot of times that has to do with company culture, with the opportunity to excel within
your skill set, and to get the chance to do what you really like to do."
Other jobs with good opportunity: Some of the fastest-growing occupations for the next few years
include meeting planners (43.7 percent employment growth by 2020) and physical therapists (39 percent).
Bibliography
Graves, Jada A. US News and World Reports. 26 April 2012.
<http://money.usnews.com/money/careers/articles/2012/04/26/4-qualities-that-make-a-good-jobgreat>.
Collaborative Activity
Team up with a partner and do research on a job that you would be interested in. Write a report on your
career choice and why this would be a good choice for a career.
Rationale
Once a student is in high school, they should start considering what they want to do with their lives.
Combing research on their career choice with writing will be beneficial to their long-term goals
41
Play: Romeo and Juliet
by William Shakespeare
Focus Activity:
Watch the film “Romeo + Juliet” (1996)
During Reading Activity:
Assign parts to different students and have them read the play in class acting as the different characters.
Reflection Activity:
Write a letter to one of the characters in the play and identify either a problem or a dilemma faced by this
character. Present the character with advice to help them solve the problem or deal with the dilemma.
42
Film: Dead Poet’s Society
Director: Peter Weir
Main Actors: Robin Williams, Robert Sean Leonard, Ethan Hawke
Release Date: 1989
Focus Activity: Focus Poem
Have students read and discuss the poem before watching the movie.
“Oh Captain! My Captain!” By Walt Whitman
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Rationale
Being familiar with “Oh Captain! My Captain! will help the students prepare to watch “Dead Poet’s
Society” and will be beneficial when that scene is shown in the film.
43
First Draft Reading Activity
Active Viewing Guide
Dead Poets Society Active Viewing Guide
1. Jot down a few notes from your pre-viewing discussion. Use additional paper if necessary.
2. Define the following literary elements:
 Exposition
 Symbols
 Foreshadowing
 Character types (flat, round, static, dynamic)
 Setting
 Plot
 Conflict (external and internal)
3. Write a brief description of each character; discuss character type and possible significance of name.
Example: Cameron spies on the others and becomes the fink of the group. He is a flat character whose
name suggests camera.
 Mr. Keating
 Neal Perry
 Neal’s parents
 Mr. McAlister
 Todd Anderson
 Charlie Dalton
 Mr. Noland
 Knox Overstreet
 Meeks
 Pitts
 Chris
4. Look for and discuss the following symbols found in the movie. Add any others that you noticed in the
film.
 Four Pillars of Welton Academy
 one candle burning at the beginning of the movie
 the passing of the candle’s flame from one student to another
 crown of thorns
 snow
 open window
 vomit in the snow
Rationale
It is beneficial for the students to have things to look for and to focus on while viewing the film. This
activity will help them notice things in the film that will enhance the message and meaning of the film.
44
Collaborative Activity:
Create a Slide Show
Divide into groups and each group take a separate poem that was used in the film. The group then
researches the poem and author and prepares a PowerPoint presentation to share with the class.
Rationale
Learning about the different poems and authors from the film will enhance the overall knowledge of
poetry that the students have.
Reflection Activity:
Journal Entry
Choose one of the poems/passages recited in “Dead Poet’s Society” and write in your journal about this
work. What did the passage mean in the film? What does the passage mean to you?
Poem Choices:
“Oh Captain! My Captain! By Walt Whitman
“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” by Robert Herrick
“O Me! O Life! O Me! O life!” By Walt Whitman
“The Prophet” by Cowley Ulysses
“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” by William Shakespeare
Rationale
Thinking about the different poems and choosing one that made a connection with the student will allow
them to make a deeper connection to poetry.
.
45
Article 1: Using the TELLS Prereading Procedure to Enhance Comprehension Levels and Rates in
Secondary Students
By Ashley D. Ridge and Christopher H. Skinner
This article talks about the TELLS Prereading method and how it can help comprehension of texts by
students. The TELLS method teaches students to Look at the title to form clues as to what the material is
that will be covered; Examine the passage for content clues; Look for important words and words that are
used often; Look for hard or unknown words and find out the definition before reading the complete text;
and looking for clues to the Setting of the text.
Citation
Ridge, Ashley D. and Skinner, Christopher H. "Using the TELLS Prereading Procedure to Enhance Comprehension
Levels and Rates in Secondary Students." Psychology in Schools 2011.
46
Article 2
Designing Activities to Develop Students’ Reading Ability
By CAO Ya-juan
This article talks about the importance of designing useful reading activities in all three phases of reading:
Pre-reading, During-reading, and Post-reading. Utilizing these strategies can help boost the
comprehension of students.
Citation
Ya-juan, CAO. "Designing activities to develop students' reading ability." US-China Foreign Language May 2008.
47