By David J. Jackson
In Classrooms and Barrooms, David J. Jackson recounts his stories in the course of a semester-long Fulbright Fellowship in Poland the place he taught sessions on the collage point and realized extra approximately Poland and himself than he anticipated. From the trepidation linked to studying he was once assigned to educate in a urban thought of via so much to be a nasty wilderness to assembly American and varnish colleagues for the 1st time, Jackson's concerns vanished as he fast realized to just accept the demanding situations Poland awarded. midway via his time in Poland he stumbled right into a bar populated with an ever-changing solid of eccentric locals who welcomed him into their international. each one stopover at led him to a different revelation approximately Polish heritage and tradition. Alternating between hilarious, somber, and uplifting, Jackson's reports within the study rooms and barrooms of Poland objective either to notify and entertain.
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Extra resources for Classrooms and Barrooms: An American in Poland
It’s a special course for advanced students where the professor provides a reading list and a final exam: no class meetings between the first and last day of the semester. So I just chopped in half the content of my regular Media and Politics class, and packaged it as a monographic lecture. As it worked out, I would actually be responsible for teaching three hourand-a-half classes for fifteen weeks, and one hour-and-a-half class for eight weeks (but on weekends, precious weekends . ). ” By some measures (number of discrete courses), that’s a lot more than I would teach back home, but in terms of actual time in the classroom it turned out to be about the same.
He demonstrated the move by shaking my hand and pulling my hat out of my coat pocket. I told him I understood. ” I asked him what he meant. “Everyone now is anti-communist. No way it is possible,” he said. “I’m not sure I understand,” I said. ” “Yes! Yes! That is it,” he said excitedly. I wished we could have talked some more, but it was approaching 10:30, and I didn’t want to miss the last tram. I said my goodbyes to Zbyszek and my new friend. I left a five złoty tip as I was leaving, and my new friend picked it up and gave it back to me as if I’d dropped it accidentally.
I was so relieved, I felt like singing. I possess a deep, if flat, baritone, and it rang off the walls of our narrow tunnel as I sang out: The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they called ‘Gitche Gumee’ The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty. That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed When the gales of November came early. The reaction of the other Fulbrighters was just what I’d expected: much laughter and a little singing along.