William Myers
The Most Dangerous Class
Pure terror and sweat. Those were the two things that I felt when I walked through the doors at
6300 Father Tribou Street. Catholic High School, a college preparatory school that did not believe in the
modern invention of air conditioning. A school that was known for its difficulty and fierce competition,
and sending 98% of its students to college. Of course, all of us freshmen were easily identifiable with all
our books stuffed under our arms scurrying around and trying to figure out our schedules. I finally
scrambled into the classroom and found a seat and waited for the morning announcements.
The day was a blur of teaching, writing, and yelling (particularly from our physical science teacher,
who evidently thought that everyone’s last name was KUCKLEHEAD). Finally, I reached freshman
English with Mr. Ben Dunbar. My first thought was “Wow, he’s skinny and young”. He didn’t intimidate
us with a loud voice or an insane smile. However, as I would learn, he didn’t need to intimidate anyone,
he didn’t leave them time. He ran around the classroom with the pace of a professional distance runner,
asking questions to anyone he thought wasn’t paying attention. Topping off this bizarre scene were 8
wasps taped to the wall using clear masking tape. Later in the year he would explain that this was a
reference to Beowulf where the arm of the monster Grendle was hung in the mead hall as a sign of victory
over a defeated enemy. “Today we are going to learn how to take notes,” he said loudly. That phrase was
like a starter’s pistol in a race to see how many words he could cram into a 30 minute lesson. Then, at the
end of class came our homework assignment. “Read The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell” he
fired as the bell rang, “THERE WILL BE A QUIZ!”
I don’t know if I’ve read anything that closely since that day in August. I studied until the words
became alphabet soup, then I studied some more. To this day the names of the main characters, the setting,
plot, traps Rainsford sets (Malay Man Catcher, Burmese Tiger Pit, and Ugandan Knife trap) are ingrained
into my brain. The next day I got all of the questions right on the quiz, and I continued to succeed
throughout the year. That day marks the first time I read a story closely and tried my hardest in a school
setting.
Mr. Dunbar continued to be intense throughout the year, but he always found a way to make the
lesson funny and interesting. He made us work and forced us to learn how to be students, and the skills
required to be successful in college and all of our studies. I swear every time I think about my time in
high school I still picture his high pitched Southern drawl yelling, “KNOW YOUR PREPOSITIONS” and
“DON’T BE A JACKASS DO THE WORK!” This was not meant to be angry or demeaning, it was just
tough love. He was the first teacher that demanded us not to settle for a grade but to try and exceed our
own expectations. Before my freshman year with Mr. Dunbar, school was never important to me. I never
quite fit in to a social circle, and I could do fine without trying too hard. Instead I focused my time on
sports, reading whatever interested me, and hanging out with my friends. Mr. Dunbar changed my attitude
because he made me want to work hard. This hard work was never motivation by the fear of failing, but
the desire for success. I knew that he could tell when I did not turn in my best work. He made me want to
learn for the simple fact that it would make me a better person. When I failed my first test in the class, I
honestly felt ashamed like I had let him down. This is because he knew his students individually and
treated them like adults instead of children. If I was never in his class, I might not be sitting here today,
and all of this started with the first night of high school reading about Evil General Zaroff and the heroic
Rainsford on Ship Trap Island.