Levant Shant as an Educator
In this third segment of the abridged translation of the first chapter of Antranig Zarougian’s book titled “The Greats and the Others” (ՄԵԾԵՐԸ ԵՒ ՄԻՒՍՆԵՐԸ», Zarougian reminisces about Levon Shan as an educator. Translated by Vahe H. Apelian.
“A few episodes as a testament about the Shant’s pedagogical methods.
We have a teacher who although teaches English, but his main responsibility is to supervise the students in the dormitory where he also lives with his wife. His name was Matheos Papazian. He was a mild mannered and a good-natured person who had graduated either from Oxford or Cambridge University with a master’s degree in theology. He knew the bible by heart. Many a time it has happened that he would hand the bible to us and ask us to read a segment and he would then continue reciting the rest of the passage noting the verse. He stayed in Jemaran for two years and left for Egypt where he was ordained as a priest.
Once that mild-mannered person lost his cool in the classroom because of the commotion the girls were making. Unable to confront them, he took his frustration on one of the boys and slapped him but immediately left room in a hurry upset by his very own act
A deafening silence fell on the classroom. Only the sobs of the student could be heard. Garabed was a grownup boy, almost a young man. He was hurt more by the indignity he suffered in front of the girls than from the pain of the slap itself, especially that he was the most obedient, punctual and low-keyed student in the classroom. If there ever was a student recognized for orderly conduct in our class, he would be the one.
The bell rang. We moved slowly and subdued. He continued sobbing moaning: “because we attend school for free, they treat us in this manner….”.
Moshegh and I decided to write a letter of complaint, in fact a warning to the principle. We explained that “we demand an end to such Turkic act, otherwise we will take the matter into our hands.”
We signed the letter. The girls, without exception signed the letter as well. Everyone else in the classroom signed the letter with the exception of three students. We did everything we could to have them sign the letter as well, but they remained adamant and refused to sign. We reasoned that although the letter is not unanimously approved, three students abstaining from the class of twenty is not bad. We put the letter in an envelope, sealed it and took it to the principal’s office.
Half an hour later Shant entered the classroom. I should have said, he rushed into the classroom with the letter from the unsealed envelope in his hand. He thundered waving the letter over his head.
- “What kind of audaciousness is this? Never to be repeated again. How dare you remind my duty to me?…Do not ever attempt that again….otherwise you all will be returned where you came from …”
Even though Shant was irritated but I realized that his words were measured. “Do not remind my duties to me”. He surely meant to say that he was already going to take the matter into his hand. But the class was not grasping the covert message. They were all muted, remained seated with their heads bowed. After chastising us for ten minutes or so, he was prepared to leave. He had already opened the door to exit the classroom when he looked back as if he had forgotten something. No trace of anger was palpable in his demeanor. He asked, looking at the letter.
- “I see that three students have not signed this letter. Who are they?”
The three stood out ready to be complimented.
- “Why have you not signed the letter?”
- “We, Mr. Shant, as you said , we did not agree to the letter….”
Shant interrupted them.
- “If you were not in agreement with them, you had to stop the rest of your classmates from writing this letter. You could not, you also had then to sign the letter….”
He left the classroom.
The faces of the three students looked like a wrinkled newly washed laundry ready to be squeezed dry.
No, I will not cite their names. But I wonder if Garabed every forgot them.
***
For a long time, the “Who Will Be? – I Will Be” scandal became the talk of the community. But it was forgotten when I resumed writing poems and had them published in Armenian journals. Shant did not mind any more seeing our signatures in journals. I sign A. Tzar (note: tzar is the spelling for tree in Armenian).
Hrant, from our class, liked to joke. He had started to pull my leg. On the blackboard he would draw pictures of three trees and call them A. Tzar, B. Tzar, and C. Tzar. A senseless and a silly joke. The only person who seemed to have fun was him. For a while I put up with him, but it eventually got into my nerves.
- “Hrant, end that nonsense” I said.
He did not pay attention and continued with his whimsical way continuing to draw trees on the blackboard and laughing looking at me, he-he-he.
One day he had drawn his wonder art on the blackboard again and was challenging me. I went to the blackboard, took the eraser and offered it to him.
- “Hrant, grab it”.
- “I grabbed it, he-he-he”
- “Hrant, I will count to three, and if you do not erase ….”
He remained nonchalant, jovial, smiling, leaning on one foot, then on the other.
- “Hrant, I will count to three, and if you do not erase….”
The same indifference.
_ “Hrant, I will count to three, and if you do not erase, one, two….”
The third was followed by a slap. It was a strong, and a harsh slap, the kind that will leave the mark of the fingers. I realized that it was a little bit stronger than I intended. He dropped the eraser and looked at me with eyes that blazed with fury. He was a fair and a soft skinned boy, my contrast. For a while he contemplated to retaliate, but my eyes and my posture discouraged him. I had newly left my boxing and soccer days behind. Confronting me was not an option for him, especially that I am taller than him.
Suddenly, he left the classroom and went straight to Shant’s office. I hear Hrant’s “he-he-he” have given way to sobbing with a futile fury.
I waited to be called to the principal’s office at any moment, but there was no sign from the office. I saw Hrant coming down wiping his eyes. The school day ended. We had no classes in the afternoon. It was devoted to reading or taking a group walk with a teacher. I was seated next to a small library at a small desk in the reading room. The student came, picked books from the library and read seated around a large desk. An utter silence prevailed in the room. Shant, his hands behind his back, was pacing back and forth in the hall.
Hrant approached the desk. On a piece of paper, he had written the title of the book he wanted to read. He did not talk to me. He presented me the paper and looked the other way, visibly irreconcilable. Shant noticed us and approached us and confronted me.
- “What do you want from this boy?”
- “I want nothing from him, Mr. Shant.”
- “Why did you slap him?”
“ I did not slap him.”
He looked at Hrant and said.
- “My son, when you came to my office this morning, the mark of the slap was visible on you face, but since he says that he did not slap you, therefore he did not slap you. Your friend would not lie…..”
And again, with his hands behind his back, holding his head high, his goatee preceding him, Shant resumed his silent pace, after having given me a stronger blow than my slap and causing me much more pain.
For a long time afterwards, I could not look straight at his eyes.
 |
| Jemaran Building and its terrace. |
***
Shant’s humor is not impulsive. It is thoughtful, qualified, that is to say always meant to be educational.
It’s lunch time. In the middle of the table there is large basket full of loquats (nor-ashkarh). Hrant had his hand immersed in the fruit basket picking one fruit after another looking for the ripest and the best looking. He went on and on. Shant was also seated and was watching him going on with his search on and on. He stood up from his seat and came next to Hrant and said:
- “Son, you choose with your eyes and only pick up with your hand…..”
***
Shant was standing on the terrace of the Jemaran building looking the boys and girls playing on the playgroun. Moushegh and I were next to him. From below the voices of the playful students were being heard. Sako (Vartabedian) was running after Knarig (Attarian). Both of them were hardly ten years old yet, if that. Sako was being heard saying:
- “Boy, boy, golden boy; girl, girl, doggie girl” (shan aghchig).
Shant called from the terrace.
- “Sako, come here”
Sako, a bit hesitant, apprehensive came and stood in front of Shant, the principle of the school.
- “Sako, what were you saying? Do not be afraid. There is no punishment, just tell me. What were you saying?”
Sako, a bit assured but still hesitant and apprehensive, murmured:
_ “I said dogy girl, sir”.
Shant, playfully solemn and philosophical..
- “ Never mind, when you grow a bit more, you will change your opinion…”
Sako, had no comprehension of what was said but us, standing next to him, understood Shant’s words very well. We had already changed our opinion about the girls…..
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