Last month, Sir Paul McCartney surprised his alma mater, the
Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts. The school’s most famous pupil
slipped inside unannounced, wearing a navy jacket and his trademark round
sunglasses. He asked to see his old music classroom – a room he hadn’t set foot
inside in more than sixty years. The school’s staff handed him a weathered
report card, showing Sir Paul’s music teacher’s evaluation: “lacks application”
and “struggles to progress.” The man who went on to write and perform some of
the greatest songs in history laughed. “Blimey! I failed music! Not bad for a
failure, eh?” When asked if his classmate, John Lennon, had fared any better in
the same subject, Sir Paul said he had not. I suppose, if I ever feel I’m doing
less than my best as a teacher, I can remember that over six decades ago,
someone had half the Beatles in his music class without knowing it.
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