One more thing.
An excerpt ---
Winter: "Kiddies, Graphic Design, if you wield it effectively, is Power. Power to transmit ideas that change everything. Power that can destroy an entire race or save a nation from despair. In this century, Germany chose to do the former with the swastika, and America opted for the latter with Mickey Mouse and Superman." He hesitated, alarmed at his own observation. "Jesus, that's worthy, of a good afteroon's disertaion in itself."
Was that next?
"But do you know what's best about America?" He wasn't asking us. "Jackie Robinson. Frank Lloyd Wright. Billie Holiday. Albert Einstein. Cole Porter. In other words: A shine. A misogynist fop. A strung-out jigaboo. A displaced kike. A flaming flit. And who the hell CARES, because they're all so goddamn GREAT. They do what they do, and they're the BEST, and that's all that matters. That's what's best about America--'good' is never good enough, no matter WHO you are." He stopped to breathe, and leaned in to level his face against Margaret's.
"Now, Pigtails, I want you to repeat after me."
Margaret, terrified: "Y-yes?"
"Good."
"G-good."
"Is."
"I-is."
"Dead."
"D-d--"
"SAY IT!"
"Dead." She started to sob.
"Now, all together, Sunshine."
She couldn't.
He waited. "Say it, Pigtails."
She did what she could to pull herself together, slowly got her things in order, and walked out.
Winter went up to his chair in front of the room, lit his pipe, and sat down. he was as rattled, actually, as she was.
"This class is not a pretty picture postcard..." He put his Zippo in his shirt pocket. "...it's an urgent telegram." We started to breath again-- he'd come back down to human size. Converstaional. "Telegrams, by the way, if you've never seen one, are visually quite intriguing, because the static, sober typography and lack of puntuation can never accurately reflect the usually frantic and disquieting nature of the content."