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I could have done this series sharing a story from every school I’ve been to.

I could’ve told how though school visits I’ve bumped into an old friend of my sister’s, the former director of my summer camp, and a kid who (erroneously, it turned out) claimed his father was Jerry Siegel’s nephew.

I could have told how, at a Manhattan school, I fumbled through selling my own books (on behalf of an independent bookstore that I said didn’t have to bother sending a staff member). I am not great with math under everyday circumstances so imagine how I was with kids crowding around a table, their hands crammed with crumpled bills and coins, and dismissal imminent.

I could have told how during a delightful lunch with a young writer’s club at a Kansas school, I became convinced that at least one of them would be a published author one day.

I could have told how a Connecticut school set me up in the gym with the screen for my Power Point on stage—directly behind the basketball net. I asked if that could be raised out of the way and was first told that the kids wouldn’t mind if it stayed as is!

I could have told how the Power Point wasn’t working at a Bronx school and the kind staff endeavored to fix it—spilling twenty minutes into my allotted hour. We couldn’t figure it out so I did a shortened talk with no visuals—luckily, the only time that’s happened (so far).

I could have told how, at a century-old school building in Ohio, a tile plummeted from the ceiling—luckily not hitting anyone.

I could have told how, after a presentation in Nevada during which I said the name of their state several times, a student said that the “vad” syllable rhymes with “bad,” not “pod.”

But instead I will look forward to hearing other authors’ adventures in pre-adolescent academia. And I suspect I will update my list after another eighty or so schools.

Read the whole countdown.

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“Dork in High School”

year: 2004
state: Connecticut





In the closing Q&A portion of my presentation, a student asked what inspired me to be a cartoonist.

I said that the first character I remember drawing is Scooby-Doo. I was seven and copied a picture of the detective dog from TV Guide. That opened the Doo floodgates. I began to draw Scooby relentlessly, and when kids today ask me what my favorite cartoon is, the first Scooby-Doo season from 1969 still gets my nod (tied with Super Friends).

1980

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“The First Time Someone Got It Right”

year: 2008
state: Nevada






My first time in a Nevada city besides Las Vegas brought another first.

At a Reno middle school, I combined my standard presentation with another I do called "What’s So Funny? – The Language of Cartoons." It’s not a how-to-draw workshop—I don’t do those. Rather it’s a look at the (visual but also verbal) tricks cartoonists use that add up to a language we all learn without being formally taught—and without realizing it. Think of it as the special effects of the printed page—the PGI (pencil-generated imagery).

I show kids that when we read cartoons, we’re being detectives. The mystery, though always the same, is not always obvious: why is this funny? The clues are the words and the art. How do they work together to give meaning, but not quite all the meaning, letting the reader figure out some of it on his own?

In one segment of this presentation, I sketch various types of word bubbles one at a time and ask the kids what each means. They all know the standard oval speech bubble and the cloudlike thought bubble; many also know (or guess) the shout bubble:

Then I draw this:

And it stumps them. Of course they have guesses for that, too, some of which have been so clever I really should remember them. Yet I did remember that of the dozens of times I’d asked what that bubble means, no one (student or educator) had yet answered it correctly.

Until Nevada.

Jason (let's call him) knew that the slight difference from a shout bubble—the more angled points—makes it a static bubble. It is shown coming from devices that transmit sound electronically—a TV, loudspeaker, cell phone. I told Jason that he was the first ever to give me the right answer.

I went on, I finished, the students left. Then a teacher came up to me and said something to the effect of, "You have no idea how cool it was when you told Jason he was the first to know that type of word bubble." She explained: Jason kept to himself. When I praised him in front of his classmates, it was a huge boost for him.

The teacher was so moved by how this positively affected Jason that she said she was about to cry.

For that alone, yet another worthy nominee for Teacher of the Year.

Read the whole countdown.

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“Underdogs Over Time”

year: 2008
state: Ohio





NOTE: This is a tweaked version of a post from September 2008. My first rerun! (But the last line is all-new.)

Two days after Election Day 2008, something happened in a small room at the Cleveland Public Library, Glenville branch, that made me more excited about politics than I think I'd ever been. Except it wasn't really about politics at all.

Glenville is the neighborhood where Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster lived when they created Superman in 1934. At the time, it was predominantly Jewish. Today it is predominantly black and poor.

Earlier that day I had spoken at the main branch, downtown. The audience was mostly young black people. I was expecting the same in Glenville. Instead I was ushered into a room where about 35 or 40 members of the adult community leadership organization were finishing up a meeting. They, too, were almost all black. Some of them were holding Obama signs—two days after the election. The purpose of the signs had switched from tool of persuasion to badge of honor.

I gave my presentation, hoping they would feel pride for the seminal event that had occurred in their neighborhood. They did seem moved by the story, which some had not known before.

Then my friend Tracey Kirksey, head of the Glenville Development Corp. and almost certainly one of the ten kindest people in the world, asked if she could say something. I said of course.

She proceeded to emphasize how Jerry and Joe were underdogs who had a vision and worked hard to see it come to pass. In succeeding, they bucked the odds and made history. Then she unexpectedly compared them to Barack Obama in spontaneous words so eloquent that I wish I had recorded them. The essence was that she felt she could tell her children that they could be president one day—only now, she finally fully believed it to be true. The others, of course, reacted with jubilation.

Of all the Boys of Steel: The Creators of Superman experiences I'd had since the book came out, that was by far the most profound. I felt so lucky to be in Ohio, in Glenville, for that moment.

It is interesting to note that the two colors in competition on Election Day are also the two most dominant colors of the American flag, the flag of Ohio, and Superman's costume.

Read the whole countdown.

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“My First Alma Mater”

years: 2005, 2007
state: Connecticut





I was invited to speak at Norton Elementary in Cheshire, Connecticut—my elementary school. That’s the kind of thing that sure makes you question pride being one of the seven deadly sins.

(In this series, Norton will be the only school I’ll identify by name. My intention with this series is not to rank in the competitive sense but rather to reflect in a fresh way on a range of unexpected experiences I have had on the school visit circuit. I’m hoping to convey a sense of universality among authors and specifying schools could distract from that, plus it could make it seem like I’m slighting some schools when singling out others. However, in the recap posts I often write immediately after school visits, I do name names.)

Norton wasn’t my first alma matter. It wasn’t even my only elementary school; actually, it was my third. But in most respects, it was my formative one, and the one I graduated from.

My 2005 presentation at Norton was the first time either my mom or my sister had seen my author presentation. Of lesser significance, my 2007 presentation marked the first time I used PowerPoint instead of a slide projector. (Yes, I know. But hey, I’ve had a web site since 1999. Does that make up for it?)

One student came up to me afterward and told me that I had been the answer to a question (rather the question to an answer) in the school’s customized version of the game show Jeopardy! (Please note that the exclamation point comes with the title; it is not punctuation I chose.) The topic: who created the school’s first mascot?

1983

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“More Than Principal and Nun”

year: 2005
state: Connecticut






Once upon four years ago, schools would send back my signed contract in the postal mail. (Now most scan and e-mail.)

One Catholic school principal also sent back something extra—a two-page letter to confirm that the school understood my terms and to provide my schedule for the day.

But it wasn’t all business.

First there was a curious line embedded on the schedule between two of my presentations:

"11:30 a.m. Enjoy lunch with the Sisters in the convent"

I loved how she didn’t ask me. She told me—I would not only be eating, but also enjoying, lunch with the sisters.

(And I did. I only wish I’d taken a photo or, better yet, a video. Me and twelve nuns spaced evenly around a rectangular table, eating home-cooked food and talking about my Jewish upbringing.)

Then near the end of the letter, she wrote, “Besides being a principal and nun, I also am an author and cartoonist, as well as a professional magician and an honorary assistant football coach of an NFL team.”

Checklist:

principal - check
nun - check
author - check
cartoonist - check
professional magician - check
honorary assistant NFL coach - check
Olympic bobsledder - oo, so close...

I'm kidding, of course. I was already impressed with principal and nun.

And she wasn’t kidding. After my presentations, she told me how she became each of those things, with visual aids.

The fun of this school didn’t end when I left. Several days later, I received (again in the postal mail) the following photo (8x10):

Even the protective interior envelope the photo was in was addressed with heavenly care:

Read the whole countdown.

Every school I've had the privilege of speaking at has given me a great experience. Some have given me a great story, too.

“Why He Won”

year: 2008
(swing) state: Ohio





I need to set up this small moment with a big moment that happened the night before—Election Night 2008.

For the first time, I was in a swing state on Election Day. And it made me feel as giddy as if I was on the playground kind of swing.

I’d arrived in Cleveland the Sunday before. A fleet of supersized white vans dominated the motel parking lot. Each of them was marked with exuberant red and blue slogans supporting Barack Obama. I soon learned that students from Morehouse College in Atlanta had driven the vans up to try to swing Ohio their way.

On Election Night, a bunch of the students had gathered in the motel lobby to watch the returns. I happened to be there when it was announced that Obama had won Ohio.

The students, of course, erupted with joy—the next closest swing state could’ve heard them. I felt like I was witnessing history on a deeper level than I would’ve if I had been home.

It wasn’t just because I was the only white person in the room. It was also because I was the only non-campaigner in the room, the only outside observer to their profound sense of accomplishment, which was nonetheless dwarfed by their profound sense of optimism.

I gestured to the TV and said (inadequately) to the student nearest to me, “That’s because of you.” We’ll never know exactly how many votes they influenced, but I like to believe that it was this particular group that pushed Ohio to blue. It reminds me of that Margaret Mead quotation that is some variation on this: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

Now to the school visit moment. The next morning, I was standing in the gym of an elementary school. As kids were coming in and filling up the floor, row by row from front to back, two third grade boys sitting two paces from me got my attention.

“Did you know that Barack Obama was elected and he’s our first black president?” the white boy said to me.

I smiled and nodded, but before I could speak, the black boy did. And his response was far wiser than whatever mine was going to be. “Yes,” he said, “but that’s not why he won.”

Read the whole countdown.

state: Kansas
year: 2009

Because Clark Kent grew up in Kansas, I made my first trip there to promote Boys of Steel: The Creators of Superman. The media dubbed it the "Superman's First Home on Earth Tour." ("Media" is misleading. I mean me. No dia. Though two papers did cover it: here and here.)

The final school of my four days in Kansas did something no school I'd spoken at had done before (or has done since).

My presentation was set up in the gym. The 250 or so middle school students filed in and sat on the bleachers. I was the lone man on the floor before them, with the expanse of the empty gym behind me, except for some kind of sound system in the back. When my kind hosts (the principal and media specialist) were ready to introduce me, they surprised me in two ways.

First, someone scurried to the back of the gym and pushed a button on that sound system. The theme from Superman: The Movie filled the room. That music transports me in the cocoon of my iPod, so to hear it blasted in that space for that purpose was, simply, super cool. I had no opening move grand enough to match it.

Then the music stopped. The media specialist, with whom I’d arranged the visit, stepped up to introduce me. In my experience, most school visit intros, regardless of length, are built on the basic facts—where he’s from and what he’s written.

But this one was different.

The media specialist told the story of our “evolution”—how I e-mailed her the previous spring, how she politely but not definitively deflected me, how I tried again, how she given me a closer look but no commitment, and how I contacted her a third time…at which point, she realized she had some fondness for my efforts…but still thought I was a little too dedicated.

However, she went on to say, something did compel her to take a chance on me. And she came to see that what I was doing was consistent with what I do in all aspects of my career, and what I was about to talk about with the students—the importance of persistence. Only she said it so much nicer.

I was moved that she thought about the process in that way. In my presentation. My presentation added another level to the topic: I mention (as does the book) that Superman was rejected for more than three years before a publisher said yes.

To wrap, back to the music: I find it funny (in a good way) that they played the Superman theme not for a guy who played Superman or even a guy who wrote Superman stories but for a guy who wrote about the two guys who created Superman. Is that six degrees of super-ation?

Read the whole countdown.

One of the greatest privileges in writing for young people is interacting with young people. I began speaking at schools in 2001 through a New York City volunteer program called Authors Read Aloud and launched my own school visit program in 2004.

It did not get off to an auspicious start, as you are about to see.

Since then, I have visited around 80 schools across 13 states and, like any author, have had experiences from sublime to strange (but mostly sublime).

In honor of those kids heading back to school this week, hot as that is to believe, so begins my first TEN-part series: Most Memorable School Visit Moments.

For the first year or so, I didn’t take photos, but I did take notes. Of course, I have loved something about every school visit. And in a year, this list may be completely different. But for now…

Most Memorable School Visit Moment #10
state: Connecticut
year: 2004

To introduce myself to schools, I made my own mailing list. In October 2003, using a school directory web site, I went town by town in my county, calling every public elementary school and asking for the name of the person to whom I should address such a mailing.

In case you missed that word, it was every.

My list ended up including close to 400 schools. Took me the full day every day for a work week to compile.

Then I spent two more days stuffing envelopes and sticking on not one or two but four adhesives—school address, return address, a “teaser” label, and the stamp. The teaser was about a writer and cartoonist wanting to visit their school…so, not such a tease (and therefore, not such a good use of time).

I mailed off those 400…and got one call.

That school, praise be, booked me for January 27, 2004.

Which ended up being the first snowstorm of the season.

We rescheduled for February 6, which—no joke—became the second storm of the season. Look it up.

So we rescheduled for February 25 at 9:30 a.m.

Then one of my best friends had his first child, a son, and scheduled the brit milah (commonly known as the bris) for February 24.

At 5 p.m.

In Washington, D.C.

So my wife and I drove down to D.C., stayed for several hours, then drove the four hours home, arriving in the middle of the night.

The next morning, when I actually could’ve used a snow day, was perfectly clear. So I lugged the slide projector I’d bought on eBay (for $60! Who knew they’d be so expensive?) and did my first official school visit in a state of exhaustion so strong that I came home after and napped for almost as long as the drive from D.C.

A first is always memorable, and that one even more so.