Read my snorts (London)

Speech-writer Peggy Noonan gave the then-presidential candidate George H. W. Bush his most prominent sound bite in his nomination acceptance speech in 1988: “Read My Lips: No New Taxes”.

This reminds me of the desperate attempts by one of the exchange teachers from China during the revision period before the final exams.

This particular exchange teacher had the unfortunate-sounding surname of 朱 Zhū, which means “vermillion”.  (Emperors in the Manchu Qing dynasty would use vermillion ink to write on reports submitted by the ministers, to indicate they’d read them, a practice called 朱批 zhū pī / “vermillion approve”.)  

I say “unfortunate-sounding” because it sounds exactly like zhū 猪, which means “pig”.  

Even more unfortunate for the poor man was his problem with his sinuses, which caused him to make loud nasal noises regularly to try and unblock his bunged-up sinuses.  Unsurprisingly, the students (on the full-time degree programme that he taught) called him “Mr. Pig” behind his back.

Being a teacher from China, Mr. Zhu was more accustomed to students sitting respectfully upright, listening attentively, and dutifully making copious notes of what the teacher is saying.  This would be common enough in an everyday lesson, never mind a revision class just before the final year degree exams, when they should be hanging on to every word uttered by the teacher in case they were all significant.

Such would be the case with a class of Chinese students.  Mr. Zhu’s students in the second and final year of his exchange arrangement at this particular Western university, however, were more laid-back British students.  He was particularly desperate to help them pass their exams — and presumably also to ensure his own teaching reputation was untarnished.

He turned up with a list of vocabulary (some actually used in the exam paper, some red herrings) which he was going to read out as revision.  The students were supposed to be feverishly scribbling away as a last opportunity for gleaning hints at what might be in the exam papers.  

Instead, they were slouched or actually sprawled over their desks: some barely awake, some eating an apple, some doodling, with even the best students note-taking only listlessly.  The students, who told me this story, said he was a very boring and uninspiring teacher.  The same students also gave me an account of what happened at this final revision session:

Mr. Pig:  (reading out, in Chinese, words from his list of vocabulary) 

(I’m just throwing in, at random, a list of words I’ve put together, to illustrate the story — they might not have been the actual words used by Mr. Zhu, it being some 30 years ago now.) 

发展 fāzhǎn / development

改革 gǎigé / reform

经济 jīngjì / economy, economic

增长 zēngzhǎng / growth

提高 tígāo / to raise [the level of something]

促进 cùjìn / to promote [e.g., growth]

制度 zhìdù / system

体系 tǐxì / structure

管理 guǎnlǐ / to manage, management

控制 kòngzhì / to control, control

Mr. Pig was getting desperate about the students’ lack of enthusiasm, so for the words that were actually going to appear in the exam paper, he’d take the following steps:

Step 1:  Emphasise the relevant word (e.g., 改革 gǎigé / reform), saying it loudly: 改革

Step 2:  If the students don’t twig and start scribbling it down, he’d say the word loudly a second time, lean forward in his seat and look around the class to check that it was sinking in.

Step 3:  If the students still don’t take the hint, he’d stand up and say the word a third time but even more loudly, lean forward and look around the class, snort grunt, and sit back down.

The students would grade the words: 

saying loudly = important;  

standing up and saying loudly = very important;  

finishing off with a series of snorts and grunts = definitely coming out in the exam paper.

(London, 1990?/92?)