In my high school drama class, each student had to memorize and perform two monologues. I chose one of Garrison Keillor's radio monologues in which he talked about resolving to do better in physics class. He vowed to keep up with the material and not let it get the best of him. Unfortunately for him, weeks passed, and he couldn't figure it out. He sat in the back of the classroom, trying not to be noticed. Eventually, the teacher noticed him hiding and called on him. Keillor couldn't solve a problem that the teacher posed.
"We took this up last week, Mr. Keillor," the teacher said. "You were here, as I recall. You seemed to be awake. Your eyes were open."
Keillor recalled the class laughing and thought, "Teachers aren't supposed to make of fun of kids. They're supposed to teach kids. What kind of man is this? Why does he hate me?"
Then, the story took an unexpected turn.
"And I turned around," Keillor said, "and his eyes were empty...Big chunks of his face were falling off. I grabbed for the pointer. Well, I didn't, really."
I was determined to pick monologues that no one else would think to choose. Instead of relying on the same few books of monologues that most other students used, I decided to use my own sources. (My first monologue was a sarcastic Andy Rooney column about how newscasts would sound if they only reported good news.) My choices irritated another student.
"Oh, do a real monologue," he said. "(Choosing a Garrison Keillor piece) would be like me doing something from 'Star Trek!'"
"Strong material is strong material," I replied. "Most people in this room can probably relate to falling behind in a class and being called on when they have no idea how to answer a teacher's questions. Keillor's material works on the radio, and it works for this class."
And, so it did. More than a quarter-century later, I still think I made the right choices. Thank you to Garrison Keillor for helping me earn an A for my second monologue performance.
