One morning recently, a large man with a friendly smile brought his beige Mercury coupe to a stop at the front entrance of the federal penitentiary in Atlanta, Ga. He jumped out, locked the car and gave the keys to a guard. Then he signed his name in the visitors' book (under "purpose of visit." he wrote "educational") and rushed down a prison corridor to a classroom in which some 35 inmates were waiting.

As he entered the room, he took off his coat and headed for the lectern, where he apologized for being ten minutes late. Reason: as a reporter, he had been delayed covering a late-breaking story. Then, in the role of a teacher, he started his lecture. He began: "The why--the explanation and interpretation of the news--has become increasingly important in the profession of journalism . . ."

The lecturer was TIME'S Atlanta Bureau Chief William S. Howland. He was conducting one of his regular classes for a group of prisoners who want to study the fundamentals of writing and news reporting.

Bill Howland was speaking with a veteran's authority of 38 years in the newsgathering business (Nashville Tennessean and Banner, Atlanta Journal, Winston-Salem Journal and Twin City Sentinel). A New York State Yankee by birth and a graduate of Princeton, Howland has spent his professional life in the South. His first job was on the Nashville Tennessean, and he nearly lost it when he wrote a fantasy on what the monkeys in the zoo thought of William Jennings Bryan's role in the great evolution debate. He wrote the first story on the sensational attempt to rescue Floyd Collins, trapped in a Kentucky cavern. In 1933 Howland became a stringer-correspondent for TIME, and a staff correspondent in 1940, when he opened TIME'S Atlanta news bureau.

Reporter Howland is no newcomer to teaching, either: he conducted a class in journalism at the George Peabody College for Teachers when he was city editor of the Tennessean 25 years ago, and a course in magazine writing at Atlanta's Emory University. In 1951-52 he lectured on interpretive and political reporting to Emory's senior journalism students.

Howland began teaching his prison classes at the suggestion of the late John R. Marsh, husband of Margaret (Gone With the Wind) Mitchell. Howland had known Novelist Mitchell as a fellow reporter on the Atlanta Journal. Before her death, she had taken a deep interest in the literary efforts of the prisoners and established a fund for annual prizes. Howland is also one of the judges for these annual Margaret Mitchell awards for creative writing.

Twice a month Howland visits his class of prison students, trains a critical eye on their copy or gives a lecture on current events, and then throws the session open to informal questions. The meetings are usually pretty lively. Howland finds the prisoners are quick to ask questions, eager to argue. In a recent letter to me, Warden W. H. Hiatt summed up the three years of Howland's classes: "He has provided wholesome tonic by giving vital Howland impetus to realistic thinking about social, economic and political topics."

An article in the current issue of The Atlantian, a magazine written and edited by his prison students, states the classroom attitude toward Teacher Howland: ". . . Bill, who comes to the prison as often as the press of bureau business will allow, is a guy who gets right down to cases. He strides into a room, pitches his coat to the nearest man, and says, 'Now, what do you want to talk about?' If it's politics, just ask him. He's covered the conventions, interviewed almost all the major names on the front pages, and can give an unadorned, thumbnail description of any politico in the field . . . His return is ever welcome. A big man with a big heart, he gives us encouragement to reach again for the goal."

At the end of each class session, Howland promises the men that he will return on the usual condition: that they feel free to needle him with questions just as sharply as he criticizes their writing.

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