At Boothbay Region High School, our teachers sent us a very clear message: college will be different. The work will be harder, the expectations will be higher, and the professors, more likely than not, harsher.

After graduating from BRHS in 2018, I left our little peninsula and headed to Simmons University in Boston. Political science was my field of choice and it was clear from the beginning that most of my time would be spent writing.

Thankfully, I felt prepared. After two years in Advanced Placement English Literature and Language with Mr. Gorey, my vocabulary and confidence had blossomed. However, anxiety has always been my nemesis — so when I walked into Professor A’s office in the fall of my first semester to discuss my academic progress, I was nervous. If I knew anything walking into the meeting, it was that college was going to be different.

Professor A was a white-haired, owlish man with an office like a labyrinth. Books were stacked ten-high on tables. Statues, pictures, and postcards marked every wall. After snaking through the maze, I settled nervously into a worn wooden chair embossed with my university’s emblem and waited for our meeting to commence.

He began with the standard niceties: “How are you?; Do you like Simmons so far?; How are classes?”

“Things are okay,” I squeaked. “I’m a bit anxious about academics but I’m generally anxious about everything, so that’s nothing new.”

Pleased with my answer, Prof. A moved on to my semester-long research paper, telling me he wanted to discuss the quality of my writing. This is it, I thought, this is the moment I flunk out of college. With a bouncing knee and tight stomach, I looked to Prof. A, smiled, and said “alright.” Our conversation went like this.

“You’re very talented, Lennon, you have some of the best writing in the class,” he said with a soft smile. “Where did you go to school?”

“What? Oh, um…” I asked, puzzled. “Well, I went to my local public high school. I’m from a really tiny town in coastal Maine so it was a really small school.”

“Really, no special training? I would’ve assumed you went to private school.”

“Well,” I said, “I took AP English Language and Literature my junior and senior years and I had a really good teacher, his name was Mr. Gorey.”

Mr. Mark Gorey was an icon. The man had a penchant for a good tweed jacket and could often be found with a pencil behind his ear and a coffee mug in his hand. He always came to class excited, which in turn, usually made his students excited (with the glaring exception of AP exam prep days).

If a student wrote a stellar sentence, he would pound his fist in midair and bellow “BOOM!” When we discussed democracy (a frequent conversation topic in our class) Mr. Gorey would whip out his wallet, slap it on the table, and declare, “You vote with your dollar.” He was unlike any teacher I’d ever had.

I will be the first to admit that I was not his star student. I regularly scored six out of nine on our AP practice essays and could never quite grasp the conciseness that Mr. Gorey was looking for in my writing. One day after receiving another six, I told him with tears in my eyes that I could never do better. But he was relentless and declared I was wrong. He told me he knew that I would rise above a six and eventually, I did. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

It’s been four years since I graduated from Boothbay Region High School, and about a month ago I graduated from Simmons University Summa Cum Laude. There is no question that Mr. Gorey played a pivotal role in my academic success and for that, I am grateful. Every student lucky enough to pass through his classroom has received a gift that will stay with them long after they leave our little peninsula. We are better because of Mr. Gorey. I know it, Prof. A knows it, and countless other students from BRHS do, too. Feel free to take this as my testament.