Mark Randolph: The Wondrous Company of Author Adam Plunkett ’05 and Friends

By Mark Randolph, English Department Teacher. 

Perhaps the most meaningful award a teacher can receive is to be recognized by their student. At least that is my opinion. Strictly speaking this might be more of a reward, but given the paucity of anything approaching a public or professional honor for teachers, I will take what I can get and call it what I will. So, when my former student, good friend, and best editor that I know, Adam Plunkett (Class of 2005), called me up and invited me to share the stage with him for his book talk at Literati celebrating the release of his much-heralded critical biography of Robert Frost entitled Love and Need, I was bowled over. Unprepared for my Oscar moment, I mumbled in disbelief something falsely modest and emotionally overwhelmed while I pretended not to be all verklempt. What I did communicate effectively was that I was all in. Adam cleared a path for us with the bookstore, sent me an e-copy of his book and turned me loose to think of questions that his work stimulated in me. It was a brilliant assignment. I was determined to measure up to his fine effort, if I could. But with the turning of each page of real insight, critical acumen, taut but mellifluous prose, and just plain wisdom, I grew more and more doubtful that I could meet the moment required to present this fine scholar fully-fledged as the powerful critical figure that he had become. He needed someone with more academic heft and intellectual currency. Or so I thought, until I traced my relationship with Adam and his mates back to 10th grade, when I was his and their English teacher and Class Principal.

Full disclosure: Adam and his crew still gather at my house once a year around my birthday for a tippling session that involves exploring the Irish concept of aqua vita. Many, if not most, of the world’s problems get solved at this annual meeting, and laughter is the shared currency. It is an amazing experience to watch these accomplished men telling stories dedicated to keeping one another humble even as they ascend to real professional heights. Adam is the omphalos of this wheel—the hub that holds the spokes in place. He arranges everything. As I sit and listen I can’t help but think back on what a bunch of goofs they all were. Absolute fans of the TV show Jackass, they spent countless hours in my room throwing various objects off of one another with the intention of debilitating each other and perhaps even hampering their chances at procreation. One day, when I walked into my room, the tables were rearranged to set up a medieval jousting ring. Rolling chairs were being pushed at one another horse-like while the riders sported lances of long cardboard tubes. One of the lads was the knight and his mate was the horse pushing his chair. The results were catastrophic, painful, and ridiculous. This is what they all took from my lessons on Chaucer’s Knight. I couldn’t tell whether to applaud them or give them detentions. This was their modus operandi, their daily bread. Like myself, they were round pegs who couldn’t fit into the prescribed square holes. They spent the year inventing games like Hocker (Hockey plus soccer) and running WWE matches in the alcove. They took turns stepping on one another’s toes and then worked it all out, They were an enigma to most of my colleagues. Trouble with a capital “T.” To me, they were a bunch of sea monkeys that were growing in a bowl where I worked. At least this time, I think that I got it right.

When one member of this group tragically died by suicide, we gathered to honor him. Adam was his closest friend. Adam gave him and his memory all of the honor that a friend could give, and then some. The Giving Tree had nothing on Adam. We still pour a little out for our lost mad one when we gather together. It is a defining characteristic of Adam that he reads the world as scrupulously as possible, missing no detail, no matter how subtle. Having read so carefully, so assiduously, he renders a piece of art worthy of the complicated, terrible and beautiful truth that is our existence. In his hands, our world, our selves, are rendered with integrity and value. We are seen and counted. We matter. Reading Adam’s book on Frost means more than just experiencing a new and more profound reading of an often misunderstood genius. Reading Adam’s book and talking with him about the journey that led to this destination, is, in itself, a journey worth taking, because it is more than reading. It is a pilgrimage to Canterbury where we all must have stories to tell and we all must settle down to listen to one another. No one is racing to beat out another. We all travel together. No one gets left behind, This is the faith at the center of this goofy clan. It is the guiding theme and faith of our redemption. It is the artistry of Adam Plunkett, who is our Chaucer poet. Me, the one invited to share the stage and join in the conversation, I’m just the Host who approves and loves this wondrous company, and is glad to ease us along the way.