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Rosemary Roberts: Aycock teacher was a hit

Friday, June 12, 2009
(Updated 3:00 am)

Think back for a minute to your own school days. Do you remember that special teacher who exposed you to bold ideas and a bigger world? Somebody whose standards were exceedingly high and expected nothing less from your own?

Meet Johnson Harriss, a beloved teacher at Aycock Junior High School (now Aycock Middle School), who later taught at Page High School until he retired in 2002.

Last Sunday afternoon, former students, now in their 40s, came from Ohio, Washington, Virginia, South Carolina and towns and cities across North Carolina to gather at downtown’s Kress Terrace to honor Harriss. They were alums of the Aycock Drama Department, even though there wasn’t exactly a drama department but rather a yen to put on plays.  

“Today we’re celebrating everything that’s good about education,” said Jay Harris, a local banker who emceed the tributes, summing them up perfectly.   

Back in the 1970s, Harriss had taught him and hundreds of other students at Aycock. Harriss taught English, history and drama, but most important, he taught kids to think big, dream big, and believe in themselves. And when you think about it, those are life’s best lessons. 

There were dozens of tributes Sunday afternoon.

Jim McCleskey, known as “Jamey” at Aycock, lives in Washington, where he is director of the Office of the Governor of North Carolina. He remembered first hearing about Bertoldt Brecht, the German playwright, in Harriss’ junior high class. “I didn’t hear about Brecht again until years later as a student at Duke University,’’ he said.

 Harriss introduced students to authors, playwrights and scholars who today, might seem “over their heads.” 

Harriss didn’t just teach drama, he staged lavish, ambitious, Broadway musicals performed by kids who’d never set eyes on Broadway and didn’t know they could sing or act.

Months later (rehearsals often lasted three months), these same kids found themselves standing on Aycock’s stage, their knees wobbly from nerves, performing in such Broadway classics as “My Fair Lady,” “Auntie Mame,” “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown,” “Fiddler on the Roof,” “The King and I,” “Oliver,” “Man of La Mancha” and “Camelot.” Altogether, 10 plays were produced in five years. How many Broadway directors could pull off that feat?  

Harriss was producer, director, gadfly, comforter and worrier. He mixed praise with criticism. He once stormed out of rehearsal because the students weren’t giving it their best. They did the next time.

He once sent the cast a stern memo (copied on a mimeograph machine) saying he was “disgusted” by their rehearsal performance. They im-proved.

In today’s politically correct world where kids are too often coddled for fears their egos will be bruised, he might regrettably have to make adjustments.   

None of these musicals could have been staged, of course, without stage managers, costume designers (often mothers of students), and musicians.

A few days before “Charlie Brown,” his first play, the pianist fell through. When Doris Bernhardt, a gifted pianist and parent, was asked to rescue the production, she went to Aycock where “I heard those kids singing their hearts out. I couldn’t say no.” With only two days to practice, Bernhardt mastered the score. She also got hooked and continued as pianist until the last play, “Camelot,” was performed in 1979. 

Harriss, a native of Wilmington and a Morehead Scholar at UNC-Chapel Hill, where he also received a graduate degree, arrived at Aycock in 1971, the first year of school desegregation and cross-town busing.

Donna Peruse Pruitt, who is African American, said Harriss taught her that race didn’t matter.

“He loved you and treated you the same no matter what color you are,” she said in a touching tribute.

Tyrone “Tiger” Butler, another African American, said something similar when he sang a song from “Man of La Mancha.”

When Harriss got his turn at the microphone, he reminisced, handed out roses and explained that “one reason I love musicals is because they have lessons of life in them.”

And that, of course, is what all fine teachers hope to achieve. After hearing Sunday’s tributes from former students, Harriss will surely know he’s had a powerful influence on students and, as they say on Broadway, been “a big hit.”

Rosemary Roberts writes a column on alternate Fridays. E-mail: rmroberts@triad.rr.com.
 

Comments

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minkheel

June 12, 2009 - 11:37 am EDT

I wish I had know about this event. I had Mr. Harriss (2 "r"s and 2 "s"s as he told us on day 1) for "Humanities" my sophomore year at Page, which was around 1988-89. In Humanities, we studied art history (ancient through modern), musical history (from Gregorian chant through classical and beyond), architectural history, the history of drama and literature -- all the things that make human civilization great. That class was so far beyond ANYTHING I had ever experienced that it is difficult to explain the impact it had on me. It opened my eyes to a whole new world of wonder and beauty.

Later in the year we took a class trip to New York City -- 20 some 10th graders. Mr. Harriss took us the the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art. He took us to see the Mets play at Shea Stadium. He took us to see Les Miserables on Broadway. It was an incredible trip.

I had never been to an art museum before, and, before Mr. Harriss, could not have imagined that I would enjoy such an experience. But I loved it -- and so did everyone else. We got to see some of the paintings and sculpture we had been studying - Van Gogh's Stary Night . . . Chagall's I and the Village . . . Matisse's Dancers . . . Dali's The Persistance of Memory (all at the MoMA) . . . Michaelangelo, Leonardo, Durer, Degas, and on and on (at the Met). It was amazing. From then on, I loved art and still do. Had Mr. Harriss not opened my eyes to that world, I don't know that I would ever have found it. Same goes for music. I still cannot -- after more than 20 years -- listen to Vivaldi's La Primavera without saying in my head "Vi-val-di says its spring-time" to the tune of the refrain (this is the pnumonic device Mr. Harriss taught us for identifying this piece).

When I went to UNC, there were a disproportionate number of my classmates from Mr. Harriss's Humanities class enrolled in Art History courses and we all did well because Mr. Harriss taught us what was -- unbeknonst to us -- a college level art history class in 10th grade. We had studied the same pieces in the same ways, with the only difference being that we did not have to buy a $100 textbook for Mr. Harriss's class.

I still love art (I eventually minored in Art History at UNC) and History (my major at UNC) and drag my wife and kids to museums. Johnson Harriss is -- hands down -- the best teacher I ever had (including college and graduate school) and had the single greatest impact on my life of any single teacher. It makes me sad that a course like Humanities could not exist in a public school today. I learned more -- learned how to think and see and experience and appreciate and write about more -- in that class than in any other class in High School or College.

Thank you Mr. Harriss.

Bobby98104

June 13, 2009 - 5:11 pm EDT

Dear Ms. Roberts;

I received via email a copy of your article on the ADD's (Aycock Drama Department) recent reunion & honoring of Johnson Harris.

I so wanted to attend but being in Seattle made it a bit of a logistics problem with my scheduling etc.

You were so right on when you wrote about the effect Mr. Harris had on "his kids".

I was one that he helped save & give purpose to a life that had been so terrible to the point when I started Aycock.

You see as a child I had been a victim of some of the worse child abuse the state of North Carolina had ever seen. Beaten, burned, locked in a closet from the ages of 2-4 off & on & even sexually assaulted. My birth mother was an alcoholic & was in and out of Mental Institutions three times during my early years. (Cherry Hospital & Dorthea Dix).

At 5 I was taken away from them & placed in the last of the big southern Orphanages in Charlotte - Thompson Orphanage. I stayed there until I was 10 & then they were trying this new tactic for their kids of assimilating them into society earlier. I was the "guinea pig" for the first group home in Greensboro.

I was so shy & afraid & so sad at living there. But, one day when I was in sixth grade at the old Aycock elementary school I was wondering the halls late in the afternoon so I didn't have to go back to the group home & I heard singing coming from behind these big wooden doors. I snuck in a took a seat. (They were in a dress rehearsal for Oliver - about an orphan boy & I was mesmerized). I had never even head the words Broadway Play! The next year I started my participation in ADD & with the help of Mr. Harris I started to flourish I went from a D & F student to a B student & eventually mostly A's & B's.

I never got the starring role in any of the plays some chorus roles & minor parts. But, Mr. Harris made it clear that there were no stars we ALL were important. In class he opened my eyes to things about music & the world I never knew. He told about Carolina I had never even thought about college but it soon became a dream.

One of the thing I'm most proud of him about was his being ahead of his time with race relations. We never saw people of color as different. In Greensboro at the time that was a miracle. (One day you should do a story on Audrey Evans, a true Angel. Audrey was our class President 7-12th grades) She happened to be black. She died way to early of a brain anuerism - I cried when I found out. She was one of the ushers for several of the plays. To think a young balck girl could have been President of a class in a mixed, moslty white sshool during that time is a testament to her & to the teachers we had who refused to let us go down to the level of a lot of the community around us

This year when I got in contact with Mr. Harris he shared that I was "his greatest savior of a role moment of all his plays". I had forgotten one of the kids got sick DURING the show & couldn't go back on. Mr. Harris & Ms. Bernhardt were running around like mad helping get me into costume & going over the two or three lines I had. I guess I went out & knocked it dead on. He said he never been prouder of any of his students.

For me to hear that touched my heart & for the first time gave me a new image of myself that I could do anything.I went on to graduate from Carolina, have lived a mostly great life & could not wait to write & thank him for his part in saving a boy who needed saving.

It is true what they say about teachers that they play one of the most important roles in helping kids grow. I had many great ones at Page & Aycock and am living proof they made a difference.

Thanks again for your article honoring Mr. Harris, a director & teacher who like so many others never get the thanks or appreciation they deserve.

Robert (Bob) Loomis ADD '73-'75

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