I have come to my unwillingness to be lumped together with others of my race over many years of watching young Negro men come into Chelsea. All too often they have been given some sort of dispensation or aid to come to the school, and all too often they spend their brief time here huddled together, looking out at the other students and the faculty with a cynical gaze that condemns us all and offers little appreciation for the gift they have been given. These students are being presented with a chance to study the greatest works of the greatest minds of Western civilization, and they would rather spend their time listening to so-called music with no perceptible melody performed by young thugs and reading, if they read at all, works by vastly inferior contemporary writers who happen to be the same race as they. I feared young Mr. Bryson might be such a one. His quiet, measuring gaze on me as I spoke did nothing to dispel that impression.

The first class of the year, I do most of the talking. I offer a brief history of Greek civilization as it affected the Roman and talk a bit about the Latin roots of our own language as well as that of the Romance languages. I make little attempt to be jocular or engaging. I want them to be engaged by the journey we are embarked on, by our efforts to learn this elegant, controlled, and graceful language. I don’t require that we have fun. I require only that they give it their best effort and their full attention. They generally look slightly shell-shocked after the first class. Inevitably, a few have dropped out by the end of the second week.

“Well then, gentlemen,” I concluded, “the period is nearing an end and you have your assignment for the first week. It should keep you fairly occupied after you settle into your dorms this evening. Are there any questions?”

To my surprise, Mr. Bryson raised his hand. “Is there any extra credit work?” His voice was unusually low pitched for someone only thirteen or fourteen years old and his gaze an odd combination of frank and fearful. His eyes were the same unfathomable dark brown that my brother’s had been, the challenge in his look similar.

“Oh-ho, an eager beaver here,” I replied. I must admit that I was impressed by such a show of initiative so early in the year, especially from such an unexpected source. “Why don’t you see how you do with tonight’s assignment and allow me to prepare something for those who are interested for next week? Fair enough?” The boy nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. To the class as a whole, I said, “All right, you gentlemen are dismissed. Don’t make too much noise as you depart.”