Howard Zinn was magical as a teacher. Witty, irreverent, and

Alice Walker, the poet of human dignity and seer of hidden truths, once spoke of her own guide, saying: “Howard Zinn was magical as a teacher. Witty, irreverent, and wise, he loved what he was teaching and clearly wanted his students to love it, also.” In these words, she unveils a portrait not only of a man, but of the very essence of what it means to be a true teacher. For beyond facts, beyond lectures, beyond the cold delivery of information, the true guide is one who ignites fire — who loves with such intensity that his passion becomes contagious.

The origin of this reflection lies in Walker’s own experience as a student of Zinn at Spelman College. She was young, gifted, and seeking her path, and before her stood a man who was not content to recite history, but to awaken conscience. Howard Zinn, historian of the oppressed, was indeed irreverent toward the false idols of power, yet deeply reverent toward justice and truth. His wit made knowledge alive, his wisdom gave it depth, and his love of teaching gave it soul. To Alice Walker, he was not merely a man in a classroom — he was a beacon, showing how education could stir the heart as well as sharpen the mind.

Throughout history, we find similar figures who embody this same spirit. Recall Socrates, who walked the streets of Athens, asking questions not to display knowledge, but to awaken it in others. He too was witty, often irreverent, and filled with wisdom. His students, such as Plato, felt the same magic Alice Walker described in Zinn. Or think of Confucius, who taught not just rites and rules, but the love of virtue and the cultivation of the human heart. These men, like Zinn, knew that the true power of a teacher lies not in what he knows, but in how he awakens others to love knowledge themselves.

Consider, too, the story of Anne Sullivan, who guided the blind and deaf Helen Keller. It was not only knowledge of signs that Sullivan brought, but passion, patience, and the conviction that her student could learn. In her, Helen found a teacher whose love of learning became her own. This is the same alchemy that Walker described: when the teacher loves, the student cannot help but be drawn into that same love. Passion multiplies; it is never contained.

The lesson here is both humbling and exalting. Too many see teaching as duty, or drudgery, or mere obligation to curriculum. But as Walker shows us, when a teacher is “magical,” it is because they embody joy, irreverence toward falsehood, and a love so palpable that it transforms the atmosphere of the classroom. Students feel it, absorb it, and are changed. What they carry from such a guide is not only information, but inspiration. Such teaching does not end at the classroom door; it endures in the choices, the courage, and the conscience of those who have been touched by it.

What, then, shall we practice? If you are a teacher, let your students see your joy. Let your passion shine, for it is more instructive than any textbook. If you are a student, seek out those guides whose love of knowledge radiates outward — for they will teach you not only facts, but how to live with depth and courage. And for all of us, whether or not we dwell in classrooms, let us remember that the true magic of life is to love what we do so deeply that others catch fire from our flame.

Therefore, O seekers of wisdom, take Alice Walker’s remembrance to heart: “Howard Zinn was magical as a teacher.” Be magical in your own labors. Do not bury your joy in silence, but let it overflow. For the world needs not only information but inspiration, not only knowledge but love. And when you teach — whether in schools, in homes, or in life itself — remember that the most enduring lesson you can give is the passion to love learning itself. That is the gift that transforms generations.