Our Ninth Grade English Teacher is still in our thoughts. Even forty years later, we are still thinking about him. We might remember how he loved Robert Frost. We might recall what he said about the story, "The Lottery." There could be some of us who recall how he felt about Robert London. Others will know that he didn't treat all of the students equally. But there he is. In our heads. In our memories. Sticking around. Pacing about the place like he has other places to be. This small essay is a memory. There are fourteen parts to it. But it is all one memory. It is not total. There are gaps. There are inaccuracies. But that is memory. It can't be trusted. But it is all we have.