Naomi Smith
I recently came across this picture of our eighth grade at the Cornell Elementary School on the south side of Chicago. That's me in the middle of the first row of girls, fifth from the left, next to my friend Nicki Pappas. It brings back memories.
Cornell wouldn't even be in the running with today's schools and their state-of-the-art computers and programs that offer every shading of instruction for every type of student. On reflection, however, I realize my underfunded, overcrowded city school with its dingy hallways and chipped paint offered a good many educational experiences.
It was because of that school I'd been able to go to the Art Institute for lessons. I'd also interviewed a real live author of children's books on the radio, and along with lessons in History and Arithmetic, it was there I heard a speech that contained a remarkable prophecy. A speech given by that most typical of Chicago creatures, a minor political functionary.
He'd come to speak about the upcoming elections even though he wasn't allowed to mention his candidate. Perhaps he felt a patriotic lecture might persuade us to encourage our parents to get out and vote.
He spoke at length, at great length, about patriotism and the importance of voting. We began to shuffle our feet. As he looked out over the room of restless adolescents, our speaker must have realized he was losing his audience, for he drew himself up and, waving a beefy finger, said he could tell just by looking at us, that sitting in this assembly hall were two or three students who would be famous one day.
After a moment of startled silence this got a round of applause. Emboldened by his success, our speaker held up his hand. "No," he said as he scanned our faces, "I was wrong. There aren't just two or three. I can tell by the way this group looks, by the way it listens, that you're a special bunch, that there are ten, no make that a dozen right here in this room who will be famous one day."
The auditorium exploded in a veritable ovation and I joined them, clapping like mad. When the applause died down however, I looked around and had second thoughts. I couldn't see anything in the faces about me that promised or even hinted at fame in the offing. But, I reasoned, maybe this guy had something. While I wasn't foolish enough to think I was among the best two or three in that crowded auditorium, might I be among the best dozen? I liked the odds.
I walked home feeling that I'd been given a view of a distant, but attainable future. I hadn't the foggiest notion of how the gentleman's promised fame and fortune would come, but my world glistened with possibilities. And for a long time that unlikely prediction was tucked comfortably in the back of my mind, there to haul out and examine when needed. More than once it was responsible for my sticking with something when I was ready to give up.
Politicians get a bad rap, but it was because of one that I first thought I might actually be able to accomplish something in my life. So I'[d like to say a belated thanks to that genial, absolutely convincing Chicago politician.