The Shadows of Fergus
A Classroom Christening
I got off to a late literary start as a teenager. I spent most of my childhood swimming in toxic masculinity and it prevented me from developing a love for reading literature and creative writing. Men were scientists or athletes, not readers and writers.
So it may sound surprising that during the 2008–2009 school year I started an after-school writing club for boys. I’m not sure what I felt I could offer the boys who decided to sign up. I was young and passionate about equity work in my school. Unfortunately, since my school lacked racial diversity, I decided to focus my efforts on the persistent writing gender gap that I both felt and saw. Most boys I encountered hated writing. Like me, they were socialized to believe that writing one’s feelings, or describing something with sensory detail, was effeminate and weak. The gender binary is strong in public education. Boys play sports. Girls read. The only writing boys do is in Math and Science class, and by compulsion, during Writing class.
Even though I didn’t know how to motivate them to write, I could empathize with the boys in my class. I didn’t start enjoying reading and writing until high school. My girlfriend’s father was a creative writing teacher and published poet. She grew up surrounded by literature. They talked about the books they read; they argued about the books they were reading; they discussed characters from their books, treating them like actual people they met during the day. You will never believe what Meg said today? My soon-to-be father-in-law, Mike, could discuss Shakespeare for hours and every time I came over to the house for dinner, I felt about 16 years behind everyone else. I didn’t read A Wrinkle in Time and I didn’t know why everyone at the table revered Roald Dahl. I certainly didn’t pretend to waste my time with Shakespeare. I couldn’t even understand the language. Mike would ask me about poetry. When I admitted to not having read any, he sent me home with a stack of books that he wanted me to read so we would talk about them when I came over for dinner again.
By the time I became a new teacher (and married to my girlfriend), I had spent the previous ten years unlearning my preconceived ideas about gender and relearning how to appreciate literature. Looking back, I thought I could help boys in my club view themselves as writers at ten-years-old, instead of waiting so long to figure it out on their own. J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows had just been released and my wife and I devoured the book in two days, excited to finally see how the wizarding saga would end. I was also deeply into Michael Gurian’s gendered brain research at the time, and had read The Minds of Boys and The Purpose of Boys. For my boys writing club, I wanted to create a rite of passage for male students so that they felt valued, loved, and seen for things other than sports. I wanted the recruitment process to mimic Hogwarts: I wanted these boys to feel chosen to be a part of a secret society of male writers; a place where they could be male and write; no girls allowed.
When I told my father-in-law about this idea, he insisted I find a poem or mantra to choral read that would serve as an opening and closing ritual, adding to the mystique of our fledgling secret-society. He spent a week thinking about it and settled on Who Goes With Fergus, by W. B. Yeats.1 I commissioned a friend, Michael Dee, to design a logo. I wanted a crest that encapsulated Yeats’ poem and the ethos of our writing club.
In 2008, I launched The Shadows of Fergus on a Tuesday afternoon in my classroom. I created posters, stickers and letterhead for my boys writing club invitations. The eight boys I had received acceptance letters from were buzzing with anticipation because they didn’t know exactly what to expect. What were they being accepted to? Truth be told, I didn’t really know what to expect either. I had informed parents that this would be tutoring sessions that met once a week and would help their child improve their writing abilities. I wanted to get the boys excited about writing and thought that if I made the writing activities “cool” or boy-friendly, then I could get them to work to improve the craft of their writing. We could write comics, movie scripts, and poems about farts; anything I could think of that would get the boys to think that writing was worth their time and effort. I leaned heavily on Ralph Fletcher’s books Boy Writers: Reclaiming Their Voices and Pyrotechnics on the Page, teaching myself the logistics of a writer’s workshop, while simultaneously trying to captivate my reluctant writers.
Our first meeting was clunky. The boys didn’t understand the poem. We wrote down all of the things we hated about writing (writing prompts, teachers’ obsessions over penmanship, revision, sharing feelings, school) on a piece of paper, crumpled them up and threw them away. Evoking the spirit of Robin Williams’ John Keating, I melodramatically ripped my sheet into tiny pieces before aggressively throwing them in the trash can. This club was not going to be about what we had written down. We were going to create this experience together. This club was going to be different.
I believe my Mike chose Who Goes With Fergus? because he knew that I was trying something different. I was turning away from how everyone else teaches writing, and pursued a more creative, mystical experience. Yeats wrote this poem as a call to Ireland to follow Fergus’ path. In Celtic mythology, Fergus mac Róich was a mythical and renowned poet-king of Ulster. Yeats uses the woods, the sea, and the wandering stars as symbols of a mystical realm where one can explore the shadows of the wood, / And the white breast of the dim sea / And all dishevelled wandering stars. I aimed to create a safe writing club where male students could be vulnerable and creative.
Yeats is speaking to both young men and maids. As a teacher, I want this for all of my students: to be present; not to brood in their minds on previous fears or future anxiety. Yeats’ liminal imagery suggests that Irish lore is mystical. The fifth grade is a liminal space between childhood and adolescence. I believe that learning is magical and that all students should have a classroom where they can experience that magic.
About halfway through our first meeting, a couple of boys saw through my ruse. Their parents had told them (despite my explicit request not to) Mr. Neibauer was tutoring them in writing. These boys wanted to know if there would be grades and if I would tell their parents about what they were writing and how they were doing. I assured them that the first rule of The Shadows of Fergus is that we don’t talk about The Shadows of Fergus. There would be no grades. We would write in community. I convinced them that writing has the power to change the world and ourselves.
The Shadows of Fergus lasted for seven years, before I changed schools, and eventually left the classroom to become an instructional coach. At its peak, I was holding club sessions for third, fourth, and fifth-grade boys. We created an initiation ceremony for new members, involving an obstacle course/scavenger hunt on the playground. We collected our writings and published a literary magazine for each student to take home. At the end of the year, I ceremoniously gave my oldest students a journal for them to step out of the shadows of the wood, and leave fifth grade to write among the dishevelled wandering stars. It was a fitting end to a wonderful learning experience.
During the summer of 2022, I learned that I would be moving from my indoor classroom to a mobile building next to the school. At a family BBQ that summer, I shared that I would be moving and half-seriously imagined how cool it would be if I had an A-frame chalkboard menu for the outdoor entrance to the mobile classroom. I could “advertise” the day’s learning experiences, as well as any sort of important announcements for the day. During a lucid dream, I envisioned a wooden pub-like sign that I could hang above the entrance proudly displaying Mr. Neibauer’s Classroom!
I have since been in this mobile classroom for the past two school years. I may not have been able to fabricate my fantasy pub-like classroom entrance, but inside, I worked hard to create a classroom space that stands apart from the school building, challenging the way things are done in other classrooms. My core values are still firm.
British House Names and Toponymy
A name can tell you a lot about its namesake. The ancient Romans believed names were important identifiers, reflecting social status and family lineage. They typically had three names: a praenomen (first name), a nomen (family name), and a cognomen (nickname). This helped distinguish individuals within complex Roman society.
The custom of naming one’s home is quite old. The Knap of Howar, a neolithic farmstead in Scotland, is the oldest known house name, built around 3500 BC. The mead hall in Beowulf, the oldest known work of English literature, is called Heorot. It was a central gathering place for feasting, storytelling, and celebrating King Hrothgar’s reign. Today, it survives as the White Hart, a common pub name.
This centuries-old practice of the English gentry naming their properties was based on who the property belonged to or where it was located. For example, the Earl of Eddington could have a property named Eddington Manor, Eddington Lodge, or Eddington Hall. During the 12th and 13th centuries, tradesmen named their properties based on their occupation. For example, The Forge, The Dairy, The Bakery, The Mill House, The Stables, and Wool Cottage. Each house name told an important story.2
Whereas today, it can be considered tasteless to stick a haughty name to your house, there is something beautiful about the reverential respect for an intentional name. To know that someone (or clan) took time to consider what they would be called, connecting it to their familial, cultural, and environmental history, is inspiring; especially since today, many of our buildings are referred to with numerical addresses. A properly-chosen name can have the effect of placing you within a shared history of people and place. I may not be a member of the British gentry, but I feel it is time to dub my classroom with a name that is meaningful and has a special history I can share.
Christening my Classroom
After that initial summer daydream three years ago, I started seriously thinking about naming my classroom. I wanted a name that encapsulated my core values as a teacher, as well as honor all of the work I’ve done with students during my career. It made sense to revisit Who goes with Fergus? and reflect on those early years, working with boys after school, helping them see themselves as valued writers with voices to share.
The more I’ve learned about the science of teaching and learning, the more I appreciate the importance of connecting with my students and to something larger than ourselves. Learning shouldn’t be a mundane experience; it must be connected to the natural world beyond the ordinary banality of worksheets and standardized tests.
I’ve also been thinking about names. Whereas names can be important in creating a lasting learning experience, naming ourselves based on negative stereotypes or traumatic experiences, can also be harmful. When I created The Shadows of Fergus, I wanted a protected space. I used secrecy to assure my students that our writing space was a safe place for learning how to write. Yes, we were working on improving our writing skills and slowly gaining an appreciation of the written form. However, many boys, especially my boys of color, had been shamed into believing that they were not writers. They named themselves non-writers. They rejected the act of writing as a protective measure for their burgeoning identities. My Black and Brown boys saw writing as a weapon of white supremacy that had been used against them, instead of as a tool for social justice. By being vulnerable myself (to the process of creating a boys writing club and my own adolescent shame about writing), we excavated a lot of hurt during our time together after school. By sharing my own shame story, I developed a collective empathetic learning experience that helped us all heal together.
It’s been over 20 years since I worked with that first group of boys. I’ve grown as a teacher, and although I’ve experimented a bit with other after-school clubs, I have yet to recreate the magic of The Shadows of Fergus. I’ve realized, however, that in my two decades of working with students, I don’t need a special club for boys to hold space for all of my students. On some level, I’ve been operating my classroom with the same Shadows of Fergus spirit. My classroom has always been a place where all students feel valued, loved, and seen. We are a special family with a unique esprit de corps that challenges assumptions. We LEAVE places better than we find them; LEAD from wherever we are; LIVE a life that matters; and LOVE our classroom community.
It turns out that my classroom has always been The Shadows of Fergus. I just didn’t realize it. So, at the beginning of the 2024-2025 school year, I started talking to my brother-in-law, Fritz Duggan, about creating a wooden Shadows of Fergus sign for my classroom. He jumped at the opportunity to play around with his new CNC machine.
It’s been quite a process, but the more Fritz has worked to take Michael Dee’s original logo and create a physical pub sign, the more I’ve been excited to name my classroom.
I want this new year to be filled with possibility, both as an homage to my late father-in-law, and also as an intention for a new school year. Without realizing it, I’ve always held the values represented in the Shadows of Fergus logo sacred: academic knowledge, wisdom, and perspective. This will not be a new classroom ethos. Instead I am layering onto our existing positive classroom community and core values. I’m looking forward to a big reveal and introducing my students (and the rest of the staff) to Yeats’ beautiful poem. During the first week of school, we will discuss how students can relate to the various elements of the woods, sea, and stars. Yeats uses these three metaphors to describe the mystical realm, probably evoking the holy trinity. I plan to use these metaphors to represent the academic virtues I center in my classroom. The stars represent knowledge; the deep woods represent wisdom; and the water represents perspective. Academic knowledge, deep wisdom, and perspective are all virtues that help me and my students grow, both academically and personally.
When I first started The Shadows of Fergus, I wanted to create a space where boys felt seen and safe enough to share their voices and experiment with a new identity: writer. What I didn’t realize was that over course of the years The Shadows of Fergus lasted, with each new cohort of reluctant male writers, I, too, was adding a dimension to my own identity. Boys can feel things and write about them and teachers can (and must!) create a student community with shared values, and this does not interfere with the rigor of teaching and learning. Community strengthens our human abilities to share with our peers and learn together. Without realizing it, The Shadows of Fergus was helping me create a pedagogical purpose grounded in my students and my values.
There have been times, these last 20 years, when I grieve the loss of those magical afternoons writing and sharing and growing in community with my boys. I have sometimes wondered if I made a mistake disanding the club and leaving the classroom to be a coach. But, what I’ve realized in hindsight, was that The Shadows of Fergus never really disappeared; I have embodied its ethos. How I run my classroom, how I interact with students and facilitate their academic growth, are all rooted in the values I established 17 years ago with that small group of resistant boy writers. When new students enter my classroom, they are immediately part of The Shadows of Fergus. Perhaps my classroom has become a mystical realm of sorts where students are always welcome and have educational experiences that shape how they see themselves.
In The Shadows of Fergus classroom, we emphasize storytelling over lecturing; relationships over assignments; wondering over worksheets; collaboration over competition; flow over finality; flexibility over rigidity; non-conformity over compliance; continuous feedback over grades; deep learning over rote memorization, and civil disobedience over authoritarianism. When students enter my classroom, they will see the woods, sea, and stars, and be reminded of the importance of gaining knowledge, seeking wisdom, and celebrating differing perspectives.
I have a feeling this is going to be a magical school year!
Have a great week!
— Adrian
Resources
12 House Names as Iconic as Their Famous Owners
If, like me, you want to geek out over house names, this article has a list of famous celebrities and their iconic homes.
The Human Brain Is Hardwired for Poetry
I love reading, writing, and teaching poetry. It turns out that all of our brains benefit from reading, writing, listening to, reciting, and studying poetry.
Again, if you want to geek out on the importance of names and naming, check out this video discussing all of the wonderful names (and their etymology) in the Potterverse.
How to Create a Values-Driven Classroom | edutopia
One of the most important thing I do at the start of every school year, is make sure I am clear on my values. I use Dr. Brene Brown’s values exercise with students to help them journal their intentions. Marcus Luther takes values to another level, making sure everyone in his classroom knows each other’s values. I highly recommend his values exercise. I plan to do it on Day 1 with my students.
I’ve been following CJ Reynolds on YouTube for quite some time. His previous classrooms are incredible! Next year, like me, he is moving to a brand new classroom. I can’t wait to see how he transforms this space into an awesome learning environment. If you are looking for some advice, here are his tips for setting up a new classroom.
Before You Decorate Your Classroom, Here’s a Better Idea
I can go a bit overboard in decorating my classroom. Over the summer, I read (and listened to the podcast) this interview with Tom Rademacher about his opening day activities. I am definitely going to be doing this with students.
I love using TED-Ed as an instructional resource. Their videos are always of such high quality and they make teaching certain concepts easier. In this video, poet Jane Hirshfield, discusses metaphors. Here is the full lesson.
Yeats uses woods, sea, and stars as symbols, so I incorporated these key elements in the club logo. In our club meetings, I connected these elements with knowledge (stars), wisdom (tree), and perspective (water).
Such an inspiring journey—The Shadows of Fergus beautifully shows how care, creativity, and community can transform both students and teaching.
https://dudetheftauto.github.io/
This is awesome! The sign is 💯!