by Bel Kaufman
There are a few good, hard-working, patient people like Bea–a childless widow–“Mother Schachter and her cherubs,” as the kids say, who manage to teach against insuperable odds; a few brilliantly endowed teachers who–unknown and unsung–work their magic in the classroom; a few who truly love young people. The rest, it seems to me, have either given up, or are taking it out on the kids. “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.” Like most sayings, this is only half true. Those who can, teach; those who can’t–the bitter, the misguided, the failures from other fields–find in the school system an excuse or a refuge.
There is Mary Lewis, bowed and cowed, who labors through the halls as overloaded as a pack mule, thriving on discomfort and overwork, compulsively following all directions from supervisors, a willing martyr to the system. She’s an old-timer who parses sentences and gives out zeros to kids who chew gum.
There is Henrietta Pastorfield, a hearty spinster who is “married to the school,” who woos the kids by entertaining them, convinced that lessons must be fun, knowledge sugar-coated, and that teacher should be pal.
There is Fred Loomis, a math teacher stuck with two out-of-license English classes, who hates kids with a pure and simple hatred. “At the age of 15,” he said to me, “they should all be kicked out of school and the girls sterilized so they don’t produce others like themselves.” These were his words. And he comes in contact with some 200 children a day.
The school nurse, Frances Egan, wears white space shoes and is mad for nutrition; Mrs. Wolf, the librarian, cannot bear to see a book removed from its shelf; and Miss Ella Friedenberg, an ambitious typing teacher promoted to Guidance Counselor, swoops upon the kids and impales them with questions about masturbation. She has evolved a PPP (Pupil Personality Profile) into which she fits each youngster, branding him with pseudo-Freudian phrases. She has most of the teachers bamboozled, and some of the kids terrorized.
My other colleagues I know just by sight: Desk Despots, Blackboard Barons, Classroom Caesars and Lords of the Loose-Leaf, Paul calls them. He has the gift of words. Lyrics are his forte; he composed an amusing song about our principal: “Hark, hark, the Clarke / At heaven’s gate … something–something,” I forget. He wrote a verse about me too: rhymed me with “14 carat.” Very attractive man.
McHabe, of course, is the kind of petty tyrant who flourishes best in the school system, the army, or a totalitarian state. To me he personifies all that is picayune, mean and degrading to the human spirit. I’ve had a head-on clash with him over one of my boys, Joe Ferone, whom he had accused of theft–unjustifiably, as it turned out; and he has alluded darkly to the danger of my getting a U (Unsatisfactory) end-term rating.
I don’t know why I am championing Ferone, who is the most difficult discipline problem in the school, except, perhaps, that I dimly sense in him a rebelliousness, like mine, against the same things. When he is in school, which isn’t often, he is rude and contemptuous; hands in pockets, toothpick in mouth, rocking insolently on his heels, he seems to be watching me for some sign.
Most of the time, I am still struggling to establish communication. It is difficult, and I don’t know whom to turn to. Dr. Clarke? I don’t think he is aware of anything that is going on in his school. All I know about him is that he has a carpet in his office and a private john on the fourth floor landing. Most of the time he secludes himself in one or the other; when he does emerge, he is fond of explaining that education is derived from “e duco,” or leading out of. He is also partial to such paired pearls as: aims and goals; guide and inspire; help and encourage; and new horizons and broader vistas; they drop from him like so many cultured cuff links.
And Dr. Bester, my immediate supervisor, Chairman of the English Department, I can’t figure out at all. He is a dour, desiccated little man, remote and prissy. Like most chairmen, he teaches only one class of Seniors; the most experienced teachers are frequently promoted right out of the classroom! Kids respect him; teachers dislike him–possibly because he is given to popping up, unexpectedly, to observe them. “The ghost walks” is the grapevine signal for his visits. Bea told me he started out as a great teacher, but he’s been soured by the trivia-in-triplicate which his administrative duties impose. I hope he doesn’t come to observe me until I get my bearing. I’m still floundering, particularly in my SS class of “reluctant learners.” (Under-achievers, non-academic-minded, slow, disadvantaged, sub-paced, non-college-oriented, underprivileged, non-linguistic, intellectually deprived, and laggers–so far, I’ve counted more than ten different euphemisms for “dumb kids”!)
But I am busiest outside of my teaching classes. Do you know any other business or profession where highly-skilled specialists are required to tally numbers, alphabetize cards, put notices into mailboxes, and patrol the lunchroom?
What a long letter this has turned into! I’ve quite lost touch with the mainstream, you see, isolated as I am in 304, while bells ring, students come and go, and my wastebasket runneth over.
Write, write! And tell me of the even tenor of your days. If things get too rough here, I might ask you to move over.
Love,
Syl
P. S. Did you know that in New York City high school teachers devote approximately 100 hours a year to homeroom chores? This makes a grand total of over 500,000 hours that they spend on clerical work. That’s official school time only; the number of extracurricular hours spent on lesson plans, records, marking papers, and so on is not estimated.
S.
NOTES FOR FACULTY CONFERENCE MINUTES
MET: On Monday, Sept. 28
At 3:06 P.M.
In: School Library
Attendance: 100%
Dr. Clarke’s after-summer greeting: “Shoulder to wheel & nose to grindstone”
1½ min.
Bea Schachter brought up urgent problems left over from last term: the burden of the teaching-load and of clerical work, and inadequate facilities
1 min.
Above problems postponed for time being.
Two Feuding Floaters sharing same room were given floor:
Floater #1:
When enters classroom, finds writing on blackboard with “Do not Erase” over it; feels it’s unfair usurpation of valuable blackboard space.
Floater #2:
Desk dictionary found in back of room; obviously taken by kid! Dictionary not to be removed from desk at any time!
Floater #1:
No room left in left-hand desk drawer.
Floater #2:
Left-hand drawer not #1’s but #2’s.
Subcommittee of Grievance Com. on Rotation of Teachers to more Equitable Room Assignments formed to look into above.
6 min.
Bea Schachter raised question of student dropouts.
McHabe: Must stick to mimeographed procedure.
½ min.
Main topic for discussion: Marks to be entered on the left or the right side of blue line on PRC?
Various Pro’s and Con’s. Which is best way to save time?
Committee formed to look into.
8½ min.
Barringer suggested abolishing afternoon homeroom.
Vetoed by McHabe
½ min.
Discussion on School Aides:
Aides were finally assigned to us to relieve teachers of non-teaching chores, but now teachers have been assigned other non-teaching chores. Also, Aides turned out to be in the way: they are not allowed to take over a class; not allowed to work on records; not allowed Late Room or Health Room. Also, cafeteria workers resent them for just sitting around.
Conclusion: School Aides to guard exits of building and challenge visitors.
10½ min.
Problem raised re dope addiction among students, and “pushers” in school area.
Shelved for lack of time.
½ min.
McHabe warned re smoking in lavatories. Urged rereading of Smoking Circular.
1½ min.
Manheim: re inad
equate Science Lab. equipment. Had made several requisitions.
McHabe: Must go through channels.
½ min.
Miss Egan (School Nurse): Urged importance of hot breakfasts. Start day by stoking engine. Affects marks.
Dr. Clarke: “Mens sana in corpore sano.”
1 min.
Mrs. Wolf (Librarian): When return books to library shelves, put in straight. Otherwise wastes time. Warn kids re crooked placing of books.
2 min.
Teacher (? gray suit, mustache): suggested adjourning.
McHabe: Not time yet.
½ min.
Bea Schachter: re problems of integration. Dr. Clarke: Due and orderly process. Patience and Fortitude. Professional Dignity. Brother’s Keeper. The Constitution.
2½ min.
Mary Lewis: re plaster falling from ceiling of her room. Grayson not cooperative. McHabe: Must go through channels.
½ min.
McHabe: Urged cooperation on lateness. Epidemic of. Strict observance late procedures. Parents to be notified by Letter #3. “Academic marks are affected when report cards are distributed” (sic).
8 min.
Miss Finch (School Clerk): “Teachers should function according to instructions.” Means: Hand in on time!
1 min.
Miss Friedenberg (Guidance Counselor): Need more accurate CC’s on PRC’s. (Means: “Capsule Characterizations” for each student entered by teacher on Permanent Record Card.) One phrase enough, provided it’s in depth. Example: “Latent leader; needs encouragement.” Study previous PPP’s (Pupil Personality Profiles).
3½ min.
Barringer: Suggested abolishing morning homeroom.
Vetoed by McHabe.
½ min.
Mary Lewis: Now that reading from Bible on assembly days has been declared unconstitutional, any objection to a minute of silent prayer?
McHabe: OK if word “prayer” is not mentioned, and if don’t move lips during.
1 min.
Teacher ( ? gray suit, mustache): suggested adjourning.
McHabe: Not time yet.
½ min.
Displaced Teachers: Because Fire Dept. found 5th floor Science Office a fire hazard, it was moved to 3rd floor Math Book Room and math books were left in Shop Closet for time being, while Shop Teachers’ Supplies were moved to 2nd floor Storage Closet, the contents of which were moved to Main Office for time being. In the shuffle, 5th floor Social Studies Teachers who used Science Office for marking papers, etc. were displaced. Where can they go? Committee formed to look into.
5 min.
Dr. Clarke’s conclusion: Education is necessary for growth in democracy.
2 min.
Problems of instructional load, burden of clerical work and inadequate facilities were postponed for lack of time.
½ min.
Teacher (? gray suit, mustache) suggested adjourning.
½ min.
Faculty Conference adjourned at 4:06 P.M.
___________
TOTAL: 60 min.
(Rewrite, type up in triplicate, and respectfully submit)
Oct. 2
Dear Ellen,
Another FTG; another week. Time collapses and expands like an erratic accordion, and your letters bring order, sanity and remembrance of things past to my disheveled present. I envy you your leisure to browse and putter and to enjoy your family in peaceful suburbia. As for me–as for me …
The cold war between the Admiral and me is getting warmer; tension between Ferone and me is getting tenser; Miss Finch, the school clerk, floods me with papers from the giant maw of her mimeograph machine, and I’m not at all sure that I will last in the school system.
In my homeroom, I’m lucky if I can get through the D’s in taking attendance. Admiral Ass lurks outside in the hall, ready to pounce at the first sign of mutiny. Or perhaps he watches through a periscope from his office.
In my subject classes, we are still juggling books. Essays Old and New was changed by the powers that be to The Odyssey and Myths and Their Meaning. I have only two weeks in which to teach my SS class the mythology of the race and Homer’s great epic, since other teachers are waiting for these books, since they must be read before the Midterm Exams, since questions on them will appear on the Midterms, and since the Midterms must be scheduled before Thanksgiving to enable the teachers to mark them during the holidays.
I keep looking for clues in whatever the kids say or write. I’ve even installed a Suggestion Box in my room, in the hope that they will communicate their feelings freely and eventually will learn to trust me.
So far, most of them are still a field of faces, rippling with every wind, but a few are beginning to emerge.
There is Lou Martin, the class comedian, whose forte is facial expressions. No one can look more crestfallen over unprepared homework: hand clasped to brow, knees buckling, shoulders sagging with remorse, he is a penitent to end all penitents. No one can look more thirsty when asking for a pass: tongue hanging out, eyes rolling, a death-rattle in the throat, he can barely make it to the water fountain. No one can look more horrified at a wrong answer issuing from his own traitor lips; or more humble; or more bewildered; or more indignant. I know it’s not in the syllabus, but I’m afraid I encourage him by laughing.
I’m beginning to learn some of their names and to understand some of their problems. I even think I can help them–if they would let me. But I am still the Alien and the Foe; I have not passed the test, whatever it is.
I’m a foe to Eddie Williams because my skin is white; to Joe Ferone because I am a teacher; to Carrie Paine because I am attractive.
Eddie uses the grievance of his color to browbeat the world.
Joe is flunking every subject, though he is very bright. He has become a bone of contention between McHabe and me because I believed in his innocence in the stolen wallet incident. I trust him, and he–he keeps watching me, ready to spring at the first false move I make.
Carrie is a sullen, cruelly homely girl, hiding and hating behind a wall of fat.
Harry Kagan is a politician and apple-polisher. He is running for G.O. president, and I’m afraid he’ll be elected.
Linda Rosen is an over-ripe under-achiever, bursting with hormones.
And pretty Alice Blake, pale with love, lost in a dream of True Romances, is vulnerable and committed as one can be only at 16. She feels deeply, I’m sure, but can translate her feelings only into the cheap clichés she’s been brought up on.
Then there is Rusty, the woman-hater.
And a quiet, defeated-looking Puerto Rican boy, whose name I can’t even remember.
These children have been nourished on sorry scraps, on shabby facsimiles, and there is no one–not at home, not in school–who has not short-changed them.
You know, I’ve just realized there is not even a name for them in the English language. “Teen-agers,” “Youngsters,” “Students,” “Kids,” “Young adults,” “Children”–these are inappropriate, offensive, stilted, patronizing or inaccurate. On paper they are our “Pupil-load”; on lecture platform they are our “Youngsters”–but what is their proper name?
The frightening thing is their unquestioning acceptance of whatever is taught to them by anyone in front of the room. This has nothing to do with rebellion against authority; they rebel, all right, and loudly. But it doesn’t occur to them to think.
There is a premium on conformity, and on silence. Enthusiasm is frowned upon, since it is likely to be noisy. The Admiral had caught a few kids who came to school before class, eager to practice on the typewriters. He issued a manifesto forbidding any students in the building before 8:20 or after 3:00–outside of school hours, students are “unauthorized.” They are not allowed to remain in a classroom unsupervised by a teacher. They are not allowed to linger in the corridors. They are not allowed to speak without raising a hand. They are not allowed to feel too strongly or to laugh too loudly.
Yesterday, for example, we were discu
ssing “The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars/ But in ourselves that we are underlings.” I had been trying to relate Julius Caesar to their own experiences. Is this true? I asked. Are we really masters of our fate? Is there such a thing as luck? A small boy in the first row, waving his hand frantically: “Oh, call on me, please, please call on me!” was propelled by the momentum of his exuberant arm smack out of his seat and fell to the floor. Wild laughter. Enter McHabe. That afternoon, in my letter-box, it had come to his attention that my “control of the class lacked control.”
But I had made that little boy think. I started something in him that emerged as an idea. I got him excited by a concept.
Sometimes, of course, I am misled by their eagerness. There’s a girl who never takes her eyes off me. This morning, when I asked a question about Brutus, she flung out her hand, pleading to be recognized. When I called on her, she said: “You wearing contack lens?”
It’s a good thing Bester wasn’t there to observe me. Yet there’s more to that man than meets the eye. I’m impressed by his masterly handling of what’s known hereabouts as “a discipline problem.” He had stepped into the Early Late Room (don’t ask me to explain what it is, nor why I was there) and asked one of the boys for his program card. “Aw, go jump in the lake,” said the boy. The class sucked in its breath. With icy courtesy, Bester asked the boy to repeat what he had said, please. The boy did. “What were the first two words?” Bester asked, exquisitely polite. “Aw go.” “Would you say that again, please?” “Aw go.” “What was it again?” “Aw go.” “Would you mind repeating the next word?” “Jump.” “Again, please?” “Jump.” “Again?” “Jump.” Do you know how absurd the word “jump” can begin to sound after a while, when spoken solemnly by a boy standing among his peers? The boy was licked, and he knew it; the snickering class knew it; Bester knew it; and as he left, he said, with the same impeccable courtesy: “I’ll be glad to recommend you for a remedial speech class.”
