er, maturer version of Bob. He never gave an inch, always had high expectations of each of us, and most importantly, he too flitted from subject to subject, which of course got my attention.

I remember he would start off with some really boring topic in grammar —"Let's talk about our old friend, the verb" — as we all groaned in protest, and then delve into current events such as the Cuban crisis or the Civil Rights Movement at different points along the way, keeping us enthralled and distracted enough to actually learn a thing or two.

He used an intriguing disciplinary system he called "taking checks," in which he would place one or more checkmarks next to the name on the class roster of anyone who made too much noise during our silent reading time or got too disruptive during his lectures. Enough checks would subject the offending pupil to various kinds of punishment such as running laps around the baseball field several times or sitting in corner for an entire hour facing away from the class. I earned my share of "checks" to be sure, but I learned to respect Mr. Engval.

Mr. Engval was very big on book reports, and in this I think we butted heads. He knew I was skimming through the assigned reading from the school library, so he suggested to me that I pick a book of my own choice — any book — and use that book for my report. Over the summer I had started George Orwell's 1984, and I had regretted not finishing it. He seemed genuinely taken aback by my choice, but he enthusiastically encouraged me to go forward with it. He also generously allotted extra time for it, knowing it was not standard 6th grade reading material.

Over the next 2 weeks I struggled to stay on track with it, paragraph by paragraph, chapter by chapter, sprawled on my mother's favorite chaise lounge in the early mornings before school and over the weekends. I would read several pages over I didn't fully understand, with a dictionary close at hand, until my eyes blurred.

Eventually I got caught up in the story of Winston Smith, alone in his struggle to get out from under oppressive Big Brother and his agents, and suddenly the words were more real to me than what they represented. I almost cried as Winston relented and learned to love Big Brother's lies, as he and his ex-lover