Where I’m Writing From eli.cranor@gmail.com February 12, 2023 Eli Cranor is an Arkansas novelist whose debut novel, Don’t Know Tough, is available wherever books are sold. Don’t Know Tough made @USATODAYBooks’s “Best of 2022” list and the @nytimes “Best Crime Fiction” for 2022 Cranor can be reached using the “Contact” page at elicranor.com and found on Twitter @elicranor

I’m writing from somewhere between Little Rock and Russellville.

I’m on I-40, headed west, but my mind remains back at 6300 Father Tribou Street. That’s where Little Rock Catholic High School is located. The street is named after former principal and rector, George Tribou.

I’d never heard of Father Tribou until my visit, but I could feel his ghost as soon as I stepped inside the school. I could feel all the traditions, the history in that place too, and I liked it.

I was there, of course, to talk about my writing. Fellow Democrat-Gazette columnist and current principal of Catholic High, Steve Straessle, was the one who’d set it up. Steve’s dog Mac roams the halls with him. Mac’s got one blue eye and a brindle coat. When Steve took me into his office, Mac waited outside, like a good boy.

Steve’s office has dark wood paneling lined with framed cartoons and shelves upon shelves of books. A letter written by Pat Conroy caught my eye. Come to find out, the acclaimed novelist used to send manuscripts to Father Tribou for inspection prior to publication. When Father Tribou passed back in 2001, Steve reached out to Conroy, seeing if he’d write the letter as a tribute.

Catholic High was founded in 1930 and has many notable alumni including Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones and actor Gil Gerard, known most notably for his role as Buck Rogers. But the longer I spent in Steve’s office, the more I began to realize that he was behind much of the magic I’d felt thus far into my visit.

Steve wasn’t around in Jerry’s or Gil’s day. He’s too young. But he carries the same torch as those acclaimed Arkansawyers, the same fire Father Tribou stoked in all his students over the years.

That’s what good teachers do, after all. They tend to their students’ flames, adding fuel as needed but also knowing when to run for water. In other words, good teachers help build a place like Catholic High, the magical yet unassuming building located behind the Park Plaza Mall.

Steve and I could’ve talked for days, but I wasn’t there to shoot the breeze with the principal. I was there to speak to the boys. As Steve led me down the hall toward the auditorium, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Most of the school visits I’ve done in the past are pretty bland. These are high school students, after all, and I’m a novelist. Everybody knows high school boys don’t read novels anymore.

As the students filed into the auditorium, Steve pulled me aside. “We really take literature seriously around here," he said. "Father Tribou was a voracious reader and he passed it along to all of us.”

I was too busy watching the boys to respond. Minus the shirts and ties, they looked like my students. They had the same sleepy-eyed expression I saw most Friday mornings.

“Okay,” Steve said, glancing sideways at me before starting his introduction. I couldn’t read the look on his face, but it was something like a warning. Like his eyes were saying, “Are you ready for this?”

I wasn’t.

Steve made it half a sentence into my introduction before the boys broke out in a rash of wild applause. Thirty seconds later, they were still clapping and most were standing too. I’d never seen anything like it. Not for a book talk, at least. In my experience, this sort of praise was reserved for Friday nights, for locker rooms and victory speeches.

But not at Catholic High.

Simply put, the Rockets are different. Over the course of my hour-long talk, the boys remained engaged. They asked questions that would put most book clubs to shame. They were everything a visiting author could ask for, and more.

When it was finally time for me to head home, I was sad to go, but also proud to have contributed a small offering to the school’s already deep-rooted tradition.