Jay Gearan '73, teaches English at Gardner High School in Massachusetts and frequently writes articles for the Worcester Telegram & Gazette . His usual subject is sports; but while visiting his alma mater one day last fall, he was inspired to write a personal essay, headlined “Teacher Inspired a Love of Language” in the September 24, 2004 edition. The following is an excerpt.

Most people can probably name that special teacher in their lives. For me it was Edward Gleason, my freshman composition teacher. He was energetic, intelligent, witty, and inspiring. He brought literature to life, made it interesting and worthwhile. Words, sentences, paragraphs were sacred to him.

I graduated in 1973, moved on in life, and I had never seen Professor Gleason since. Until last week.

I said to myself, he’s got gray hair and glasses. And another quick thought: So do I.

“Professor Gleason,” I said extending my arm for a handshake. “I know you don’t remember me, but I had you for English comp years ago.”

Of course he didn’t remember me. When I reminded him I took his course in 1969, he laughed, lowered his head and said, “Oh my, that was only my second year.” He invited me for a walk back to his office. Inside we sat down for a talk.

Our conversation eventually, of course, turned to literature. “You’ve got to read William Trevor and Edna O’Brien,” he said, talking about his course Contemporary Irish Fiction.

They’re terrific writers.” “What’s your favorite novel?” I asked him. “Ulysses,” he answered quickly. “I’ve read it so many times from so many different perspectives.” We caught up on the years, our families, children, jobs, more books, more thoughts on writing, more thoughts on the teaching of English. “If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “How old are you?”

“I’m 62 now,” he said with a smile. “I still love what I’m doing.” “I’m 52,” I told him. “We were both so young then, really.” Then it was time to go. He was on his way to lecture, but I had one more important thing to say. “I just want to thank you for being such a great teacher. You were a big influence on my life. When I teach or write, I often think of you.”

Then I said goodbye and left his office. On my way to the parking lot, I stopped by the bookstore. I bought a blue fleece jacket with “Saint Anselm” stitched on the front pocket.

In the cool weather this fall, perhaps while reading a William Trevor work, I will wear it proudly.