Visconti

Here she is, our mentor, sans, surprisingly enough, her black rimmed glasses. I think she, along with our dear Mr. Clark, can be said to be our major influence. And despite the fact that some people think she was awful, and others that we need to just get over her, she did bring together this rather randomly glorious group, so she can't be all that bad.

She was a new teacher in an age-old program when we entered it last year. For eons it had remained exactly the same, but just before we arrived, the teacher who had been teaching it forever moved, and Visconti was instated. She was, as we would find out, an "improvisational" teacher. She believed "all stereotypes are based on the truth," that freud was the greatest psychologist ever, and she didn't believe in that whole following the high school curriculum business. So we read about four books total, only one of which was actually what sophomores are supposed to read. One was Hamlet, a book done by all seniors. Of course, we did Shakespeare's greatest work in five days.

The anal students of the Isolation Society didn't resent her prejudices and clinical insanity as much as they did the fact that she failed many essays. "But our precious GPAs!" they cried, aghast. They also couldn't appreciate the fact that the class was a break from the rigorous academic structure out school is obsessed with. "But the AP is next year! We shall all surely fail!" So half of the students threatened to switch out at the semester.

This was a catastrophe of immense proportions to the administrative staff, since it would seem to imply that they had made a mistake. So they managed to alternately scare and pacify the frantic students until only one lone macaroni actually left. However, she continued with her GPA destruction and her flaunting of the proscribed system, and the students became more and more restless, until it came to a point when they were studying the Frech Revolution in history and acting it out in english. As the end of the year loomed, the class was split between those who would stay in the class and those who would leave, and the ones caught in the middle knew not where to turn.

To add to the hilarity of the situation were two other things. First of all, the history teacher, a sweet woman who had been with the program for quite some time, was now forced to work with someone who followed no program at all, with the possible exception of her own. The two did not get along at all, but dealt with it in passive aggressive ways, which were quite amusing. Most notably when our sweet old history teacher would mutter things like "it's too bad my hitman Guido doesn't work on the weekends," and "the way I see it, there's already someone on the cross. There isn't any room for her to get on it."

The second amusement came when a mystery student turned in an anonymous paper for an assignment about one of the propositions. Our poor, confused teacher couldn't tell if it was supposed to be an attack or a joke, but she did manage to totally miss all the humor in the paper entirely. For the next assignment, another anonymous entry appeared! This one she declared to be brilliant when first reading it. However, after spending a weekend stewing over it she decided it was "poisoning our relationship," and so, to build back the wall of trust that had previously existed, she administered a handwriting test on the class, announcing that she knew who did it, and expected them to confess soon.

The interesting part was that by the end of the year we found out that she really did NOT know who it was (and needless to say there was no confession) but that she had two suspects: our very own scarab and roly poly! Now, however she could have come to that conclusion we've no idea, save perhaps the constant laughter, meaningful looks, and notes exchanged by the two in class.

At the end of the year, about three-quarters of the class decided to leave the program. In a desperate attempt by the administration to save face and circumvent the total destruction of the program, moved Mrs. Visconti to another class and brought in another teacher who could be relied upon to maintain GPAs and rigorous Standards. However, only 13 of the 21 students decided to return, the others deciding to leave that ship before it drowned entirely and to place their academic fate in a much worthier captain, one Mr. Dorman.

As for the V, she teaches her new classes with her head held high. For the moment, at least. Because soon we shall establish contacts within, and the phantom student will live again!

To view the works of the phantom student, look under Demosthenes here.

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