Making a mark on the lives of children (11/15/06)

It was a Tuesday, just a couple of weeks ago.

Doug Inman and Kent McClung of The Portland Foundation and I were distributing dictionaries.

For five years now, The Commercial Review has sponsored the local Dictionary Project, partnering with the foundation. I'd read an article about it in The Wall Street Journal, reading how a woman named Annie Plummer in Savannah, Ga., had launched the idea at her kitchen table.

Her thought - both simple and profound - was that third graders will perform better as students if they have their own dictionary. Not the big clunky thing on the teacher's desk or in the library, but a kid-sized, student-oriented dictionary.

She focused on third grade because it's pivotal. Experts say kids learn to read from kindergarten through third grade. After that, they read to learn.

Those kids whose reading skills lag at the end of third grade will struggle or deal with remedial classes for years.

One day, a little more than five years ago, I happened to mention the article to Doug and suggested that it would be cool if something like that could be done locally. Roughly 15 minutes later, he called me to say he'd done some research on the Internet, hooking up with the national Dictionary Project organization. He'd learned that, at that time, no one was doing such a thing in Indiana.

And he'd made a phone call to the Jay School Corporation to learn how many third graders there were that year.

He gave me a figure - a surprisingly modest one - and I told him instantly that The CR would sponsor the project, forever as far as I was concerned.

So it was that I joined foundation staffers to distribute dictionaries in late October.

The newspaper makes a "pass-through" donation to the foundation to fund the project, making it a charitable contribution and not a commercial promotion.

Just the same, it's certainly in any newspaper's best interests to have future generations who can read.

Since its inception, Dictionary Day has been a highlight of my fall calendar. I've missed a few and have regretted it. This year, I made it to all but one of the Jay elementaries. The Bloomfield distribution collided with my schedule, so I had to miss it.

We started this year at General Shanks, then East, then Judge Haynes, my old school and one that's named for my great-grandfather. Then, in the afternoon, we went to Pennville, Westlawn in Dunkirk, and Redkey.

At every school, the kids were delightful, excited to get a free book they could call their own and genuinely pleased that it was one they could use with their school work.

But the real surprise came at Westlawn, our next to the last stop.

Doug and I were on our own at that point and had missed lunch because of the schedule. But the kids were still enthusiastic.

We did our thing, each of us talking about the importance of third grade, of reading, and the fact that the community cares about the future of each student, wanting them to succeed.

Then we passed out the red, paperback, student-edition Websters to the kids.

And then, just when I thought we were done, a little voice piped up.

"Could I have your autograph?" a third-grader asked Doug.

Now, what's he going to say? "No"? I don't think so.

Momentarily befuddled, Doug said, "Sure" and started to write his name in the student's book.

That's when the floodgates opened.

"Sign mine!" "Mine too!" "I want your autograph!"

Noah Webster never got this kind of fan reaction.

I grabbed my camera and tried to get a few shots of the chaos, but it was difficult because I was laughing.

I'd no sooner put the camera down than it was my turn.

"Can I have your autograph?"

What could I say?

I signed. And I signed. But as I did, I kept wondering what Josephine Corle, my own third grade teacher, would have thought of my illegible handwriting.

Chances are, I would have had to stay in at recess to practice writing my own name.[[In-content Ad]]