The sixth-graders sat transfixed as their visitor, a 46-year-old construction worker, said he once feared that his teen-age daughters would disown him if they knew the truth.
The truth was that James Gourley couldn't read, and no one knew -- not even his wife or his boss, he told about 100 students at Westminster West Middle School last week.
"I hated myself a lot," said Mr. Gourley, who now tells strangers things he used to hide from his closest friends. "I felt there must be something wrong with me. There must be some reason I can't learn like other people can."
After an hour of relating sometimes painful memories of an unhappy childhood, an alcoholic father and the erosion of his self-esteem, Mr. Gourley proudly held up his framed diploma, earned through a GED program.
"I want to put a piece of Scotch tape right here," he said, pointing to the inscription of his name. "I think the next time I look at it, these letters might slide right off and another person's name might be there."
The soft-spoken Chambersburg, Pa., man now uses his vacation days to talk to schools, clubs and other groups in his home state. He has lobbied at the state and national level for literacy, and he will chair a conference on the topic at Pennsylvania State University.
Four years ago, he hit bottom, hospitalized for depression and suicidal thoughts, all related to his lack of self-esteem and his illiteracy, he said.
When his wife learned his secret, she promptly looked up the telephone number of the local literacy council. After about six weeks, Mr. Gourley got up the nerve to call. His daughters, instead of disowning him as he had feared, encouraged him.
"My daughters and I would sit down at the table -- when they'd do their homework, I'd do mine," he said.
Thursday, West Middle teacher Sara Gondwe had invited her friend and fellow literacy volunteer to speak to her students. She had been the person on the other end of the phone line the day he called for help.
While schools are more likely today to catch students who can't read and help them, some students still get as far as middle school without acquiring functional reading skills, Ms. Gondwe said.
"I wasn't totally illiterate," Mr. Gourley told the children. "I was functionally illiterate. That means I had a tough time functioning in society." For example, he couldn't go on a trip without someone to read the map. He couldn't manage a checkbook. He wouldn't go to friends' homes because they'd want to play parlor games, and he couldn't read.
He calmly told the students how he had trouble learning at an early age, how his father would get drunk and belittle him, and how he came to believe that he was stupid.
He failed first and fifth grades, but otherwise kept passing until his senior year, when he was so sure he'd fail that he dropped out three months shy of graduation. He entered the Marine Corps, doing well in basic training until confronted with a thick manual and he had to admit to an officer that he couldn't read it. He had a nervous breakdown and received an honorable discharge.
L He found work in a five-and-dime store as a stockroom clerk.
When the store offered to promote him to assistant manager, "It was easier to quit than to go up and say I had this problem."
He went into construction work, got married, had children, bought a house. When the documents were presented to him at settlement, he would pick them up, stare a while, then hand them to his wife. She would read and sign, and then he would, too, trusting that if she signed the papers, they must be OK.
But the life of deception took its toll. Four years ago, Mr. Gourley became depressed and suicidal and entered the hospital. It was then that he began to deal with his problems.
Ms. Gondwe, a volunteer with the Gettysburg Area Literacy Council, noticed that her phone quite often would ring once and then stop before she could answer it.
The caller was Mr. Gourley, dreading the prospect of having to say yet again, "I can't read."
Once, she picked it up on the first ring, and Mr. Gourley told her he needed help. She linked him with a tutor, and the painful process began.
The students had more questions than time by the end of the hour with Mr. Gourley. A half-dozen hands were still up when Ms. Gondwe said they had to stop to change classes.
"Did kids pick on you?" one boy asked.
"Yes," Mr. Gourley said. Fear of looking stupid kept him from answering or asking questions in class, he said.
"What books do you like to read?" another student asked.
"Where the Sidewalk Ends," by Shel Silverstein, and the "Guiness Book of World Records" are two of his favorites. He belongs to a club of new readers, who choose a book to read and meet after a month to talk about it.
"What do you think you'd be doing now if you hadn't learned to read?" a girl asked.
"I'd be a basket case," he said.
"When you were going to commit suicide, how were you going to do it?" another boy asked.
"I was going to shoot myself," Mr. Gourley said. "But I'm so glad I didn't."