Devonne Brown

Ode to a Teacher

Hammat. John Charles Hammat. Unconventional teacher of the universe died last month. Taught for four years, my four years, enough to get one class through, and quit to clean houses and live however he chose. He’d had enough of public schools. He taught Drama and English, but I only had him for Drama.

Rehearsals, endless, wonderful.

Hammat said, “Ted said, ‘the red thread from Jed’s led bed spread, fed dead Ned and Ed.’” out of no where during a particularly difficult rehearsal. Nobody was on point anyway.

I countered with, “You har that boy thar to go down to the far tar with the war plars and change the tar on the car for t’mar.” Which translates to, “You hire that boy there to go down to the fire tower with the wire pliers and change the tire on the car before tomorrow.” End scene.

Hammat couldn’t figure out how my mind worked and thought that was a hoot. Finally someone, even if it was a teacher, didn’t think my mind was too weird. He loved the stupid shit I thought of, encouraged it, celebrated it.

Hammat was the most creative human I’ve ever known. He led the charge of the school plays with casts of thousands that grew until the curtain call for the last performance. There was always another chance to stick a kid onstage. 

I remember his classroom hung with black drapes, art, candles, colors, glitter, clowns, and roses. Barbara Striesand or Neil Diamond usually wafted throughout the room. Reconfiguration was commonplace. One day rows, one day circles, one day no desks at all and where the hell did he put them? 

I do not remember one lesson, but he taught me to love theatre, art, and writing. 

I loved theatre enough to follow it the rest of my life. I studied theatre in college, acting and directing and practiced community theatre for several years after that. Life got in the way of drama and became it, and he understood. We talked about how I let it go but not really, like it was a church.

That I didn’t raise my children in the theatre has always been a sticking point for me. Hammat was the one who pointed out that both of the boys’ first jobs were in film as background actors. He pointed out that they seem to have been washed in the blood of the boards despite my departure from it. 

He handed me the love of my life. A brief candle who’s bright light was blown out with cancer a few years later. We talked about that before he died. He brought up the time Alan and I made a bid for king and queen of the world, drew signs on torn up brown grocery bags, and laughed at memories of how the two of us rocked the school with our joy. He had the audacity to encourage us and voted for us, I’m sure.

Unconventional teachers do that. They make sure their kids are King and Queen of the world, respectively.