“This about the name of the teacher who influenced you the most.” The question came from Kurt Vonnegut, American author and icon. “And don’t say it out loud.” It happened a couple of decades ago; I sat in an auditorium at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, where Mr. Vonnegut was holding a public lecture. A jumble of thoughts seemed to whirl through the audience. I, however, did not have to ponder. For me, that teacher was Miss Carroll. Way back in the 1960s, she’d been my English teacher in both sixth and ninth grades, in West Springfield, down the road from Northampton. For some mysterious reason, she’d recognized that writing would be my life. “We’ve had fun,” Miss Carroll wrote in my yearbook. “You have a talent. Write! Write! Write!” She was young, energetic, and clearly loved teaching. (I can still see her long, polished fingernails clicking the beats of iambic pentameter when she taught us to embrace poetry.) Most of all, she encouraged me to daydream, to make up stories, to write them down. In an era when, in many small towns, career opportunities (and expectations) for girls were still limited, Miss Carroll taught me to be me. Did…