0 Items

The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

School’s Out

An Interview With John Taylor Gatto

I do not want to present myself as touched by sainthood. I was really hunting for my own sanity and strength. But I was also totally engaged in helping students work out their destinies independent of authority structures.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

“Do nothing. Time is too precious to waste,” said Buddha. If that sounds like nonsense, then read on as I tell you how I and my wife, Janet, came to do nothing with our farm, on purpose. It might help you understand what Buddha had in mind.

Attempting The Impossible

At Saint Vincent’s, every class period began with a simple prayer. “Let us remember,” I would say, and the class would reply, “that we are in the holy presence of God.”

Grave Love

Bill Pody was our love guru. He drank twelve Pepsis a day, smoked three packs of Marlboros, and occasionally ate — usually a cheeseburger. He was forty-one. He lived in a lime green trailer next to a short, concrete silo. From my farm we could see the silo presiding over Pody’s hill.


Poor Mortals

Larry couldn’t stop thinking of Mrs. Foster. He thought he must be in love with her. He never raised his hand in any class except hers. The other teachers didn’t seem to care whether he answered questions or not. Even as they listened to his answers, they seemed to be thinking only of the next question, or staring impassively into space. But Larry could actually feel Mrs. Foster listening. If he was giving an especially good answer, her smile would get larger and larger, and when he was finished she would raise her finger and whirl it in triumph.

Just Wind, And A Creek

Four miles up a logging road in the Coast Range of southern Washington, there used to be a stand of ancient spruce and hemlock. On all sides of it were enormous clear-cuts — skidder-scarred, slash-burned, and replanted in the late sixties with the two-foot-tall monocrop the U.S. Forest Service and other logging companies like to call “trees.” Just across the road to the south was a thousand-foot-high, two-mile-long ridge that had also been clear-cut. In 1971, my big brother, Everett, and his fellow Wahkiakum County Work Camp cons — Vietnam draft resisters and illegal aliens, most of them — replanted this vast ridge.

*NOTE: Original copies of this issue are no longer available. Unbound, laser-printed copies will be provided for print orders.

Readers Write

Getting Caught

I was a good little girl, scrupulously honest. Ask me a question and I’d tell the truth every time.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸


“What does education often do? It makes a straight-cut ditch of a free, meandering brook.”

Henry David Thoreau

More Quotations ▸
We’re Counting on You

Instead of relying on advertising dollars, we rely on donations from readers like you.

Donate Today