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In contrast to his apathetic performance in Burnett’s sessions, Salinger was more conscientious in his poetry class. He doubtless felt that he had more in common with Charles Hanson Towne than with Whit Burnett. Towne had been more successful as a writer than Burnett, and his interests in acting and playwriting matched Salinger’s own. In Towne’s class, Salinger developed a genuine interest in poetry, attempting verse that revealed a simmering contempt for upper-class pretensions. Though his short-story assignments have disappeared, a sample of his Columbia poetry still survives. Among the collected papers of Charles Hanson Towne are a number of assignments written by his Columbia students in 1939, including one by “Jerry Salinger” entitled “Early Fall in Central Park,” which begins, “Slobber and swarm, you condemned brown leaves …”2

At the end of his first semester at Columbia, Salinger was rewarded in recognition of his attentiveness, if not his talent, with a copy of Towne’s 1937 poetry book, An April Song. It is probable that each of Towne’s other nine poetry students also received a copy. Salinger’s was inscribed:

To Jerome Salinger,

for his unfailing attention in the Spring Course, 1939,

at Columbia University,

from Charles Hanson Towne, New York, May 24:1939.

At Columbia, something profound happened to Salinger that drew him out of his complacency. The event did not occur in Towne’s poetry class, as Jerry might have expected. It happened in Burnett’s class; and although the event was a subtle one, it changed Salinger forever. One day, Whit Burnett decided to read William Faulkner’s “That Evening Sun Go Down” aloud to his pupils. Burnett read the story in an impassive voice: “You got your Faulkner straight, without any middlemen between,” Salinger remembered. “Not once … did Burnett come between the author and his beloved silent reader.”3 The exercise taught Salinger the boundaries of good authorship and respect for the reader. Throughout his career, he would remember Burnett’s lesson and strive to write from the background, to never interfere with the reader and the story, submerging his own ego to allow direct participation between the reader and the character.

Jerry in 1939, in a photo taken by his friend Dorothy Nollman while he was on break from Columbia University. Within a year, Salinger’s first short story would be published and his career launched. (Dorothy Nollman/Peter Imbres)

According to Salinger, Burnett often arrived late to class and left early, but he taught with humility and effectiveness. He had a passion for short stories that pervaded the classroom, and his love of the art form was itself the greatest teacher. Introducing his students to authors of all statuses and styles, he presented each story absent of opinion, teaching his students not only the importance of good writing but also a reverence for good reading.

So in the end it was Whit Burnett’s inspiration that took hold. As a result, Salinger finally applied himself to his studies. He also began to write outside the classroom, at home and on his own. After drifting through his first semester staring out of the window and shooting wisecracks to the student sitting next to him, Salinger reenrolled in Burnett’s class and gave it another try.

In September, Jerry took his place in Burnett’s Monday-night class, again sitting quietly in the back row, disguising the fact that something inside him had changed and that that something was chipping away at the cocky, sarcastic attitude he had sported throughout his school years. In a letter to Burnett that November, Salinger declared his repentance, admitting that he had been lazy and too wrapped up in his own ego.4 Serious at last, in a moment that required a certain courage, he approached his professor with an assortment of his own writings. Flipping through the pages, Burnett was astonished to discover the serious talent buried within the indifferent young man in the back row. “Several stories seemed to come from his typewriter