People Who Hate Me: Mr. Levington
Thursday, November 03, 2005
During November I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month. All of the stories appearing in November have been written in advance as has this generic little opening you’re reading right now. Instead of comic book plugging I’ll be linking comic sites, blogs, artists, publishers and writers I dig and I encourage you to go check them out, have some fun, try something new, whatever. Today’s link is:
Crisis/Boring Change
If you're up to the challenge, feel free to read my NaNoWriMo novel right here. The novel will likely be very raw and extremely offensive, both to your moral sensibilities and the English language.
Story time…
____________________
Mr. Levington never did anything wrong to anybody. Really, he was just a good guy with a shitty job that he loved regardless. He was the music teacher in my elementary school; he was there since before my time and I’m pretty sure he’s still there today.
If you showed promise with the violin (the instrument we all started out with) you were fast-tracked to Mr. Levington’s orchestra. You could play the cello, viola or the much coveted xylophone. In the fourth grade you were part of the orchestra and you not only played concerts at the school, you traveled around to play in other venues. If you showed any sort of musical talent, Mr. Levington’s music class was likely a good time.
If you weren’t good with the violin, music class meant that you spent kindergarten through third grade playing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star one-hour a week. Occasionally you watched Peter and the Wolf. At the year end assembly you’d play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star while the parents cringed in their seats. The orchestra would come on afterwards and cleanse the air (except for this one year when Erica, who was a caricature of Mrs. Piggy in personality and appearance, sang a Whitney Houston song – nobody in the audience could keep from laughing – Jesus, I gotta do a Peanut Gallery entry with her).
Anyway, we all hated music (or “strings” as we called it) and started cutting it at an early age to at first play tag in the hallways and to later play football in Carroll Park. By the time sixth grade came around my friends and I all opted for Mrs. Stanichi’s Opera class where we fell asleep while watching Madame Butterfly, Fiddler on the Roof, Carmen and other opera classics.
When we were done with Mr. Levington’s class we simply walked away and never looked back and I don’t think he cared – we were his “lost” students, the ones that didn’t give a shit if the little star twinkled up above the clouds so high like a diamond in the sky.
In Junior High School we’d always leave early to go back to 58s for things like the Dance Festival and Field Day. Later on, in High School, I’d go back to 58s on these outdoor event days as well to see my sister – field day and the dance festival were like holidays in my neighborhood – everyone took off and came.
One year at the Dance Festival I was there to see my sister and my cousin Luis was there cutting out of Junior High. We hung out together, laughed and reminisced as the little elementary school kids got down with their bad selves.
Luis spotted Mr. Lenvington first, sitting in the crowd, minding his own business and enjoying the festivities. I don’t know what inspired this stroke of genius but Luis shouts out, “Hey Mr. Levington! Meeeaaghhhh!” Now, you really can’t appreciate the sound that came from Luis’ mouth in text so I went ahead and recorded the famous phrase for your listening pleasure. Please feel free to click here and enjoy the sweet sound of mocking.
The thing that made the phrase so funny is that it meant nothing but at the same time was just insulting as all hell. I think Luis was trying to convey the sound us bad musicians’ violins made when we played them but I don’t think anyone would have gotten that. To us, and by “us” I mean the group of twenty or so kids that were standing near Luis and I, Luis’ taunt was a rallying cry.
We all started yelling, “Her Mr. Levington! Meeeaaagghhhh!”
Over and over and over and over and over again. Until he got up a left. He never looked behind him once; he just sat there, dying inside.
A classical music lover, trying to bring some culture into the lives of kids that were listening to nothing but rap music and the sounds of their parents fighting. Doing fundraisers for the school to get new instruments – facing cancellation every year because the parents never gave a shit. But he fought on, tirelessly – a fucking journeyman for public elementary school music programs. And he touched a lot of lives – a lot of kids coming out of his program were talented musicians, taking their skills to junior high, high school, college and some even landing gigs in philharmonic orchestras across the globe – they’d come in and visit him sometimes during class.
Here was a man that got paid dick and didn’t care. He wore cheap suits and drove a piece of shit car. The joke of the school. His dedication to his students made Mr. Holland look like a fucking child molester. And the kids loved him.
The ones that were good, that is.
The rest of paid him back for all his efforts by chanting, “Hey Mr. Levington! Meeeeaaagghhh!”
And I think it’s safe to say he despises me for it.
Crisis/Boring Change
If you're up to the challenge, feel free to read my NaNoWriMo novel right here. The novel will likely be very raw and extremely offensive, both to your moral sensibilities and the English language.
Story time…
____________________
Mr. Levington never did anything wrong to anybody. Really, he was just a good guy with a shitty job that he loved regardless. He was the music teacher in my elementary school; he was there since before my time and I’m pretty sure he’s still there today.
If you showed promise with the violin (the instrument we all started out with) you were fast-tracked to Mr. Levington’s orchestra. You could play the cello, viola or the much coveted xylophone. In the fourth grade you were part of the orchestra and you not only played concerts at the school, you traveled around to play in other venues. If you showed any sort of musical talent, Mr. Levington’s music class was likely a good time.
If you weren’t good with the violin, music class meant that you spent kindergarten through third grade playing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star one-hour a week. Occasionally you watched Peter and the Wolf. At the year end assembly you’d play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star while the parents cringed in their seats. The orchestra would come on afterwards and cleanse the air (except for this one year when Erica, who was a caricature of Mrs. Piggy in personality and appearance, sang a Whitney Houston song – nobody in the audience could keep from laughing – Jesus, I gotta do a Peanut Gallery entry with her).
Anyway, we all hated music (or “strings” as we called it) and started cutting it at an early age to at first play tag in the hallways and to later play football in Carroll Park. By the time sixth grade came around my friends and I all opted for Mrs. Stanichi’s Opera class where we fell asleep while watching Madame Butterfly, Fiddler on the Roof, Carmen and other opera classics.
When we were done with Mr. Levington’s class we simply walked away and never looked back and I don’t think he cared – we were his “lost” students, the ones that didn’t give a shit if the little star twinkled up above the clouds so high like a diamond in the sky.
In Junior High School we’d always leave early to go back to 58s for things like the Dance Festival and Field Day. Later on, in High School, I’d go back to 58s on these outdoor event days as well to see my sister – field day and the dance festival were like holidays in my neighborhood – everyone took off and came.
One year at the Dance Festival I was there to see my sister and my cousin Luis was there cutting out of Junior High. We hung out together, laughed and reminisced as the little elementary school kids got down with their bad selves.
Luis spotted Mr. Lenvington first, sitting in the crowd, minding his own business and enjoying the festivities. I don’t know what inspired this stroke of genius but Luis shouts out, “Hey Mr. Levington! Meeeaaghhhh!” Now, you really can’t appreciate the sound that came from Luis’ mouth in text so I went ahead and recorded the famous phrase for your listening pleasure. Please feel free to click here and enjoy the sweet sound of mocking.
The thing that made the phrase so funny is that it meant nothing but at the same time was just insulting as all hell. I think Luis was trying to convey the sound us bad musicians’ violins made when we played them but I don’t think anyone would have gotten that. To us, and by “us” I mean the group of twenty or so kids that were standing near Luis and I, Luis’ taunt was a rallying cry.
We all started yelling, “Her Mr. Levington! Meeeaaagghhhh!”
Over and over and over and over and over again. Until he got up a left. He never looked behind him once; he just sat there, dying inside.
A classical music lover, trying to bring some culture into the lives of kids that were listening to nothing but rap music and the sounds of their parents fighting. Doing fundraisers for the school to get new instruments – facing cancellation every year because the parents never gave a shit. But he fought on, tirelessly – a fucking journeyman for public elementary school music programs. And he touched a lot of lives – a lot of kids coming out of his program were talented musicians, taking their skills to junior high, high school, college and some even landing gigs in philharmonic orchestras across the globe – they’d come in and visit him sometimes during class.
Here was a man that got paid dick and didn’t care. He wore cheap suits and drove a piece of shit car. The joke of the school. His dedication to his students made Mr. Holland look like a fucking child molester. And the kids loved him.
The ones that were good, that is.
The rest of paid him back for all his efforts by chanting, “Hey Mr. Levington! Meeeeaaagghhh!”
And I think it’s safe to say he despises me for it.
Labels: mitc
posted by Jason at
12:00 AM
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