Mr. Purvis’ prayer

By JANET HART LEONARD

From the Heart

I stood there that day, that final day in my classroom at the end of my career, and I read aloud to the silence Emily’s soliloquy from Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, and I prayed for each and every student I had ever taught:

I prayed that they would always look at the ones they love that they would never take them for granted.

I prayed that they would notice and love all the little things, clocks ticking, the smell of new clothes, flowers, a child’s laughter, a light rain touching an upturned face, a full moon in the black sky.

I prayed that they would understand how wonderful is life each and every moment as they lived life.

I prayed that they be saints! That they be poets!

I turned out the lights … one last time. I closed the door … one last time. I walked down the hall … one last time.

It was 1996 and these are the words from the essay of Mr. David Purvis, my teacher, my mentor, and most of all … my friend.

And so, a few days ago, I, along with my childhood friend, Susan Zinn Crandall, made our way west, a few miles, to the home of David and his wife Judi. We were on a mission to thank the teacher who had impacted our lives and our writing careers.

It was an afternoon of embracing the gift of time well spent. The mutual laughter of friends. The sweetness of Judi Purvis’ pumpkin chiffon pie. The nonstop “remember when?” The hugs your heart feels when you know you are in the company of such caring souls. These are the moments we will remember for the rest of our lives. Moments that tell us just how wonderful life is.

It had been since 1974 that we had seen him. It had been even longer since we had sat in his classroom.

What began as an English/Literature class at Noblesville Junior High School in the late 1960s continued as he followed the Class of 1974 into high school.

And for the next 50-some years we would still hear his teaching voice.

A voice that taught us words that would accessorize our writings. Susan, with her fiction novels that include best sellers Whistling Past the Graveyard and The Myth of Perpetual Summer. Me, with my non-fiction and weekly column in The Hamilton County Reporter.

His voice told us it was okay to think for ourselves. He taught us to capture our reader’s mind with hooks and to bring characters into a scene with pomp and circumstance or a quiet whisper so that the reader would feel the same emotions as our characters.

We would learn that our words are important and that a really good writer would leave the reader wanting more pages to turn.

Lessons taught that would help us create stories and characters that readers would embrace as part of their lives for a few chapters. Characters that the reader would feel abandoned them at the end of a story or book.

Metaphors. Pontification. Innuendos. Words that affirm a belief. Words written from the heart. Words, when written, beckon the heart to stay longer or run for dear life.

Mr. Purvis taught us the power of a story. He brought classical fiction to life. Why did characters think the way they did? Why did the writer say what he or she said? He invited us to think for ourselves. That, my dear friends, is a gift that keeps on giving.

Susan and I may not ever be called saints or even poets, but we just might be called writers and authors. And if we are? We have to thank, in part, our beloved teacher and friend, Mr. David Purvis.

David, you made a difference in our lives and the lives of so many other students who were blessed to call you … Mr. Purvis. You made us think. You made us respond. You made us grow.

And now, 25 years after you prayed that prayer and turned out the lights in your classroom at Noblesville High School, Mr. Purvis, perhaps you realize … your prayers were answered.