accompany her to a free concert in a city park. The band played a selection of popular tunes. McLendon enjoyed the music, and when he took Gabrielle home he was astounded when she sat down at a small piano and played some of the same songs. âSing with me,â she urged as she began to play âWhen Johnny Comes Marching Home.â When he did, his horribly off-key warbling reduced them both to teary-eyed laughter. The piano was the centerpiece of the Tirritosâ social life. Every Sunday they hosted relatives and friends for a boisterous dinner prepared by Gabrielle and her aunt Lidia, and afterward everyone gathered around the piano and sang while Gabrielle played. McLendon came and enjoyed the sense of warm camaraderie that was so different from the false relationships that were part of his working life.
On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Gabrielle was never home. For a while she wouldnât tell him why. He suspected she was seeing another man, and felt jealous. One Tuesday night he waited across the street from the dry goods store and, when she left, followed her at a distance. Gabrielle walked a dozen blocks to the Catholic church that she and her father attended on Sundays. She entered the church through a side door. McLendon stood outside for a while. Then, overcome by curiosity, he went inside and found Gabrielle sitting on the floor surrounded by children. She looked up at McLendon and said, âIâm helping my small friends here learn to read. Come be my assistant.â He excused himself because he didnât want to admit that he was illiterate. The next day she told him that sheâd been giving lessons for years: âReading opens up whole new worlds for poor children, who otherwise have difficult lives and little or no schooling. Most of their parents work in factories and have very little money to buy their children food, let alone books.â Gabrielle used a small blackboard to display letters of the alphabet. Her late mother, Tina, had used thechalkboard as an aid in teaching her to read, Gabrielle said. âIâm doing this in part to honor her memory.â But reading materials were necessary, too, so Gabrielle bought used copies of McGuffeyâs
First Eclectic Reader for Young Children
for a few pennies apiece. Because her funds were limited, she could afford only a few at a time, and her students had to share.
âHow much do their parents pay you to teach them?â McLendon asked. âCouldnât you use some of that money for the books?â
âI donât charge for these lessons,â Gabrielle said. âHavenât you heard the saying that good deeds are their own reward?â He had, but considered it a foolish notion. She suggested again that McLendon help with the classes, and when he declined, she insisted. So he came, ostensibly to remind the children to listen to their instructor, and found himself listening too. As a naturally quick learner, McLendon soon recognized letters of the alphabet and then printed words. When Gabrielle began lending him books and encouraging him to read them, he thought she must have guessed that he was unlettered but was considerate enough not to say so. Instead, sheâd made him her helper, and in doing so taught him to read too. That Christmas she gave him
The Last of the Mohicans
, by James Fenimore Cooper, the first book that heâd ever owned. He read it over and over; she was so pleased that she continued to give him booksâother novels by Cooper,
The Scarlet Letter
by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and collections of verse by the oddly named poets Longfellow and Tennyson. He gave her sheet music, more songs that she could play on her beloved piano, the single luxury in the Tirrito household. She told him that she loved him giving her sheet music because it showed that he understood her heart.
Free reading classes for poor children struck McLendon as such a good idea that he mentioned them to Rupert
On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Gabrielle was never home. For a while she wouldnât tell him why. He suspected she was seeing another man, and felt jealous. One Tuesday night he waited across the street from the dry goods store and, when she left, followed her at a distance. Gabrielle walked a dozen blocks to the Catholic church that she and her father attended on Sundays. She entered the church through a side door. McLendon stood outside for a while. Then, overcome by curiosity, he went inside and found Gabrielle sitting on the floor surrounded by children. She looked up at McLendon and said, âIâm helping my small friends here learn to read. Come be my assistant.â He excused himself because he didnât want to admit that he was illiterate. The next day she told him that sheâd been giving lessons for years: âReading opens up whole new worlds for poor children, who otherwise have difficult lives and little or no schooling. Most of their parents work in factories and have very little money to buy their children food, let alone books.â Gabrielle used a small blackboard to display letters of the alphabet. Her late mother, Tina, had used thechalkboard as an aid in teaching her to read, Gabrielle said. âIâm doing this in part to honor her memory.â But reading materials were necessary, too, so Gabrielle bought used copies of McGuffeyâs
First Eclectic Reader for Young Children
for a few pennies apiece. Because her funds were limited, she could afford only a few at a time, and her students had to share.
âHow much do their parents pay you to teach them?â McLendon asked. âCouldnât you use some of that money for the books?â
âI donât charge for these lessons,â Gabrielle said. âHavenât you heard the saying that good deeds are their own reward?â He had, but considered it a foolish notion. She suggested again that McLendon help with the classes, and when he declined, she insisted. So he came, ostensibly to remind the children to listen to their instructor, and found himself listening too. As a naturally quick learner, McLendon soon recognized letters of the alphabet and then printed words. When Gabrielle began lending him books and encouraging him to read them, he thought she must have guessed that he was unlettered but was considerate enough not to say so. Instead, sheâd made him her helper, and in doing so taught him to read too. That Christmas she gave him
The Last of the Mohicans
, by James Fenimore Cooper, the first book that heâd ever owned. He read it over and over; she was so pleased that she continued to give him booksâother novels by Cooper,
The Scarlet Letter
by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and collections of verse by the oddly named poets Longfellow and Tennyson. He gave her sheet music, more songs that she could play on her beloved piano, the single luxury in the Tirrito household. She told him that she loved him giving her sheet music because it showed that he understood her heart.
Free reading classes for poor children struck McLendon as such a good idea that he mentioned them to Rupert
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