Thank You, Paris M. Goodrum

Please visit the Thank You, Paris Goodrum Blog, started by Angie Engelhardt-Wittenberg, to read more stories and to submit you own Thank You to Angie.



Raise curtain.
Lights up.
Begin scene.

I was a fourteen year old freshman in high school, when I walked into third period in Paris Goodrum’s classroom on my first day of high school. I remember the stage at the back of the room, and I remember the black and white photos that adorned the walls.

That was fifteen years ago, which means that I have known this man for over half my life. But, the true reality of it, is that because I let my life get in the way, I’ve only had a few good years with him. Luckily for me, even when we were not in contact, the impression he left on my mind and soul have always been present, and have helped shape me into the person I am today.
It was November of 1994, when I was the only freshman male cast in “You Can’t Take it With You”, when I stood on stage and after each performance got to hear one of my senior cast mates give a “Thank You” speech to Mr. Goodrum, and how much he meant to them. It was at this moment, in my infancy of theatre experience, that I vowed to myself that I would be in all eight productions throughout high school, and in February of 1998 – that would be ME.

In a sad twist of fate, the Greater Power decided that wasn’t going to happen. It was fourteen months later, when Mr. Goodrum was forced to leave during production of “I Remember Mama” and it was in May of that year when it became official that Mr. Goodrum was going to have to retire from teaching. And with that decision, I was forced to forever give up that moment, in front of an auditorium of people, to publicly give thanks and adoration for the man who shaped me, taught me, and mentored me. It’s now, at this time, over ten years after my original planned time, that I take the time to open up my thoughts, feelings, and emotions to say “Thank You” to a man who I never got the chance before.

Henry David Thoreau. If Mr. Goodrum hadn’t have picked “The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail” for our Winter Play in February of 1995, I’d never have had my mind opened up to the transcendentalist philosophies of life. It would take eleven years, and numerous readings of “Walden” and “Civil Disobedience” before I made it to Concord, Massachusetts to visit Walden Pond, and see the history I had read about.

It was in November of 1995, during the production of “My Sister Eileen”, when I finally got Mr. Goodrum to allow me to read “Dear, High School” – the play that Mr. Goodrum had written, and performed at least once during his time at Lawrence Central. Mr. Goodrum said that his plan was to make this his final play, the year he decided to retire from teaching. I can’t lie when I admit, that in my perfect world, that would have been my senior year. More importantly, my senior year would have been mr. Goodrum’s 30th year of teaching, and I often told him, “Thirty years would be a good time to quit”. Sadly, he only made it to twenty-eight, and more sad is that life took us both in different directions. Those who know me, know that I have OCD tendencies, and when something important in my life changes, I do not adjust well to those changes. Instead of going into my junior year with aspirations of continuing my theatre career, I went in as wayward student who no longer knew where or what he wanted to do. This arrogant and egotistical person that I turned into, rebelled against the new regime of the theatre department, and quickly found myself an exile from it, at which point I walked away for good.

I can’t remember if it was 1998 or 1999, but I remember Mr. Goodrum contacting me to let me know that there was a showing of his play “Quanita and Beula vs. the Killer Squirrel”. It was in the basement of a Seniors Center, if I remember correctly. I’m going to have to go to my Parent’s house and dig through some old boxes to try and find the program, which I hope I still have. I remember sitting next to Mr. Goodrum during the production.

In 2000, Jason L. Maier and I went over to Mr. Goodrum’s house numerous times with copies of the script for our first film, “Consternate”. Mr. Goodrum read our various drafts, and did a lot of work with us on character development, among other things. I learned a lot about the revision and development processes from those long afternoons sitting in his kitchen, and going page by page through the script, and figuring out what worked, what didn’t, what could be cut, and what needed to be explained better. It was the last time I saw Mr. Goodrum was in January of 2001, right before I moved to Los Angeles, when I stopped by his house to drop off a DVD copy of “Consternate”. Once I got settled in L.A., we continued to keep in touch via snail mail, and I know somewhere I have a few letters written to me from Mr. Goodrum.

Upon returning from California, I made the mistake of allowing my life to get in the way. Girlfriend, wife, job, film-making, etc… etc… They were all excuses, and none of them are good ones. I failed. Not in a life-threatening way, but in a “I failed to keep in contact with someone I should have way”. But, those ripples continued across the water of my life. I re-read “Walden”, I continued to write, I tried to act in a few of our films. All of these things are leaves, which grew from the branches that I am, from the tree trunk that was Mr. Goodrum. Please let me assure you that this is a HUGE tree trunk, with hundreds of branches growing from it, each branch with many leaves to show the accomplishments of the trunk.

It was October 15th, of 2009 when I was contacted by Angie Engelhardt-Wittenberg, who was in all four of the productions that I was in. She had found a blog I wrote about the time I went to Walden Pond, where I made mention to Mr. Goodrum’s influence on that part of my life. Angie informed me that she wanted to start a blog, where all of Mr. Goodrum’s former students could come and say “Thank You” to the man who mentored so many of us. That brings us to today. And two hours ago, I was sitting in Mr. Goodrum’s living room, talking to him, catching up with him, reminiscing about high school and other times we’d spent together. He said the added weight looked good on me (I disagreed with him), he liked the film strip tattoo, but really liked the profile comedy and tragedy masks tattoo. He made comments about the blonde spiked hair, and told me that despite the changes, he could still see the student he remembered. We talked about the various projects I’ve done over the past eight years, and I was surprised when he asked if he could read any of them. I talked to him about my transition from film into my current project writing a novel. He admitted that his mind is too far-gone to help with any revisions, but he would still love to read whatever I will let him – and I will let him read it all. While he claims he couldn’t do revisions, I still feel like I could sit and have discussions with him, that will involve his insight – which would be just as good to me.

“There is a part in each one of us that never gets over high school.” This is a quote from Paris M. Goodrum today. I told him that I agreed 100%. I fell in love for the first time in high school, with someone I still randomly hear from to this day. Two of the best men in my wedding were my friends from freshman year to graduation, to this very evening. I was exposed to theatre and to the artists lifestyle in high school. It was a care-free and enjoyable time of my life, and I agree that a very large part of me has never moved on, or gotten over what my life was at that point. Mr. Goodrum and I were talking about my novel, and I was giving him the basics of it, and how it revolved around the death of friend, and a group of friends thinking back over the ten years that brought all of them to where they are now, the lies, the secrets, the things we do to keep our friendships as solid as we can. It was at this time that I asked if I could once again borrow “Dear, High School” so that I could re-read it, and see what kind of creative juices could get flowing from reading his play.

I made a decision today, that I want to keep Mr. Goodrum a part of my life for as long as I can. Last year, I lost two grandparents, and only have one left, who lives in Iowa, and I don’t get to see as often as I would like. I want to make sure he knows what he has meant to me, and I want to help him as much as I can. Seeing him in a deteriorating physical condition really hit me in a way that made me sad. I have offered to come over anytime he will let me, and told him that I want to see him as much as I can, talk to him, and hear the things he has to say about my writing.

And, the biggest thing on my mind right now is taking Angie’s idea one step farther. The idea of attempting to put together a documentary on Mr. Goodrum is brewing in my brain. Trying to hunt down as much documentation and pictures as I can from his time at Lawrence Central. Trying to hunt down students and getting their thoughts and feelings on film. Interviewing teachers who taught with him, and others in the performing arts department. I’d love to sit and do interviews with Mr. Goodrum about his many years of teaching, about his many productions and his favorites. I’ve love to pick his brain, and hear all of the stories that he wants to share. I believe it’s an idea I’m going to bring up to Mr. Goodrum at some point, because while I could do it without his involvement, I have to believe that it would be increasingly better with his support.

Mr. Goodrum is directly responsible for my passion and love of the arts, which is still present in my to this day. I entered his classroom as a wide-eyed naïve freshman, who didn’t know what he was getting involved with. Through him, and his student directors, I was able to be molded into someone who fell deeply in love with performing, with art, with storytelling, with physical arrangement, and with emotional connection to an audience. There’s a large number of people and events that have shaped my life, and Mr. Goodrum is one of the most important, because we met at a time when my mind needed to be molded, and he was the sculptor who took on the task. And now it is up to me, to make sure everyone sees his positive molding in all of my works.

Lights fade.
Spotlight on Mr. Goodrum.
Applause.