Roosevelt was a progressive public high school. Mr. Craft taught a course called Individualized Reading. His model for it was simple. It worked like this: we would choose books we wanted to read, any books.
There were no restrictions.
I would tell him which book I had picked. There were no classes and no deadlines. Mr. Craft would read the book too if he hadn’t already read it. When I had finished the book I would let him know.
Then it was time to discuss it. The Roosevelt campus had a lovely meadow where we could go to talk. Ancient oaks stood as silent sentinels observing our strolls. How I looked forward to my hour long book discussions with Mr. Craft.
During that semester we took our book walks on a weekly basis. He told me that his students often selected books which he had already read and then expressed his pleasant surprise when I picked several books that had been previously unknown to him. He read them all.
During our conversations we would delve into the things that had piqued our interest; plots, characters, story lines, writing styles, and those messages and ideas we had gleaned from our readings. It was a pleasure to talk about books with this thoughtful and articulate teacher.
Everett became my mentor and friend.
Our high school sponsored annual summertime excursions to Europe. I took part in one during the summer after my graduation. Mr. Craft was one of the chaperones. When we were in Paris I awakened early each morning so that I could join him as he took his morning constitutionals, the sun cresting on the horizon. We two ambled through an awakening city. He reminisced about his Parisian experiences following the war. And we talked about books.
Eleven years ago, before I began reviewing books for this newspaper, I attended my high school reunion. Mr. Craft was there. We sat down together. I explained that I have a radio program; I interview authors about their books for an hour at a time. His joy at hearing this news was boundless. I had spent all those happy times with him talking about books and now I had made a vocation out of of doing exactly that?
Everett was ever so pleased.
That night I also told Mr. Craft how much he meant to me and that his mentorship had set me upon this path into a world of books, into a place that I love. He looked into my eyes and he smiled.
Last week I received several messages from high school friends. One dear fellow, a guy I have known since the first grade, sent me an e-mail. The subject line read: “Your Mentor.” He was referring to Everett Craft. I already knew that Mr. Craft had died last week. He was 90 years old. My friend had known what Mr. Craft had meant to me.
His obituary in the Des Moines Register contains this line: “his main interests were reading, classical music, baseball in general and the St. Louis Cardinals in particular.” My friend, my mentor, Everett Craft always put reading first. As do I. Thank you, Everett.
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