Mr. Potato Head

I owe a tremendous apology to someone I offended 30 years ago but the roots of this apology began 322 years ago. I would rather apologize in person but I am unable to overcome three obstacles. I don't know where he is. I don't know his name. I am pretty sure he is dead. This public admission is not the first as I have recounted this story to many friends and family. But then I presented myself as a persecuted student. This version comes imbued with remorse and regret.

On March 1, 1692, Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne and Tituba were arrested, accused of witchcraft, in Salem, Massachusetts. On July 19 of that same year, Sarah Good and four other women were hanged to death. Those troubling times have become know as the Salem witch trials. Centuries later, Arthur Miller used the witch trials to create his work,  The Crucible. I discovered the book as a young teen and enjoyed multiple readings prior to entering high school.

Louise Hess taught Honors English during my 11th grade year. Mrs. Hess did not care whether your opinion aligned with hers as long as you could justify how you reached your conclusion. She enjoyed a spirited discussion and used every trick at her disposal to spark debate as we discussed classic works of literature. At any rate, Mrs. Hess required heart surgery in early 1984. She was going to be out long enough that the district provided a long-term substitute.

Some of us called him Mr. Potato Head behind his back. That wasn't his real name, but he seemed old and slow witted. When, on his first day, he presented The Crucible as our text for the upcoming term I was elated. However, that excitement vanished shortly after he asked what the book was about. When I answered that the text was a cover so that Mr. Miller could criticize Senator Joseph McCarthy for his congressional witch hunt, our substitute teacher called me wrong and confused. He corrected me by explaining to the class that the work dealt with the Salem witch trials.

I had enjoyed great success in debate tournaments and was accustomed to respond when challenged, as long as I had facts to support them. I chose these three facts:

I had read the book multiple times.
Arthur Miller himself had written a preface in later editions explaining the true, thinly veiled, meaning behind his work.
Clearly, he had not read the book.

And then I added "You are not our teacher!"

After asserting that final sentence he appropriately sent me to the office. I didn't realize my error at the time and ended up completing all of the coursework that term outside of the classroom as he refused to have me return to his class. It has taken 30 years but I now know that even if I was right in everything that I said, I was wrong. I don't know your name. You're probably dead.

Nevertheless, I am sorry.