by Studs Terkel
“I was a ladies’ maid before. For Mrs. Rockefeller McCormick. When they have company, you take their wraps and you see that they have powder in the powder room. If they have a run in their stockings, you see that it gets mended. Then you take them into the room where the hostess is to introduce her.
“You clean silver. You change beds, even if nobody’s sleeping in the room. I arranged all the flowers. We had fresh flowers every day on the table. You do a lot of things. We had Mrs. Rockefeller out there once. She had lunch. Of course, we were all on our toes. There were thirteen servants there. That’s something of the past. Nobody appreciated my work there.”
Babies are rewarding. No matter what, they cry all night, I like ’em. I go baby-sitting for those that need me, two-, three, five-year-olds. I even babysat last week.
I’m never gonna retire. What for? As long as I can be useful and needed someplace, I’ll work. Even if I can’t scrub floors, I’ll do some other things. When that day comes when I can’t work, I’ll be a lost soul.
ROSE HOFFMAN
I’m a teacher. It’s a profession I loved and still love. It’s been my ambition since I was eight years old. I have been teaching since 1937. Dedication was the thing in my day. I adored teaching. I used to think that teachers had golden toilets. (Laughs.) They didn’t do anything we common people did.
She teaches third grade at a school in a changing neighborhood. It is her second school in thirty-three years. She has been at this one for twenty years. “I have a self-contained group. You keep them all day.”
Oh, I have seen a great change since January 6, 1937. (Laughs.) It was the Depression, and there was something so wonderful about these dedicated people. The teachers, the children, we were all in the same position. We worked our way out of it, worked hard. I was called a Jewish Polack. (Laughs.) My husband tells me I wash floors on my knees like a Polack. (Laughs.) I was assigned to a fourth grade class. The students were Polish primarily. We had two colored families, but they were sweet. We had a smattering of ethnic groups in those times—people who worked themselves out of the Depression by hard work.
I was the teacher and they were my students. They weren’t my equal. I loved them. There isn’t one child that had me that can’t say they didn’t respect me. But I wasn’t on an intimate basis. I don’t want to know what’s happened in the family, if there’s a divorce, a broken home. I don’t look at the record and find out how many divorces in the family. I’m not a doctor. I don’t believe you should study the family’s background. I’m not interested in the gory details. I don’t care if their father had twenty wives, if their mother is sleeping around. It’s none of my business.
A little girl in my class tells me, “My mom’s getting married. She’s marrying a hippie. I don’t like him.” I don’t want to hear it. It is not my nature to pry. Even a child deserves a certain type of privacy in their personal life. I don’t see where that has anything to do with what a child studies. I came from a broken home. My mother died, I was eight years old. Isn’t that a broken home? I did all right.
I have eight-year-olds. Thirty-one in the class and there’s about twenty-three Spanish. I have maybe two Appalachians. The twenty-three Puerto Ricans are getting some type of help. The two little Appalachians, they never have the special attention these other children get. Their names aren’t Spanish. My heart breaks for them.
They have these Spanish workers that are supposed to help the Puerto Rican children in their TESL program.72 I’m shocked that English is the second language. When my parents came over I didn’t learn Jewish as a first language at the taxpayers’ expense. The Polish didn’t learn Polish as a first language. But now they’ve got these Spanish-speaking children learning that at our expense. To me, this is a sin. As long as they’re in this country, English should be the first language. This is my pet peeve. One of these teachers had this thick Spanish accent. So they picked up this accent too. He pronounces dog “dock.” That’s horrid.
The language! I could never use some of the words I hear. Up to five years ago I could never spell a four-letter word. Now I can say them without any embarrassment. The kids come right out and say it: “Teacher, he said a bad word.” I said, “What’s the word?” He said, “Jagoff.” I said, that’s not a bad word. And they all started to laugh. I said, “Jagoff means get out of here.” They laughed. I came home and asked my husband, “What’s jagoff?” So he explained the gory details to me. I didn’t know it before. These children know everything. It’s shocking to me because I think that anyone that uses that language doesn’t know any better. They don’t have command of any language. (Sighs.) But maybe I’m wrong, because brilliant people use it nowadays, too. I must be square.
There’s a saying: Spanish people don’t look you straight in the eye be-cause of their religious background. It isn’t respectful. I don’t believe that. These children, they look you straight in the eye when they use those words. I have never learned how to use these four-letter words until I came into contact with them. I never could even swear. Now I’m brazen. I had a fight with my husband one day. You know what I said to him? “Fuck you.” (Laughs.) And I never talked that way. (Laughs.) I hear it all the time from the students. They use it the way we use “eat” and “talk.” They don’t say “pennies,” they say, “f-pennies.” Every word. It’s a very descriptive adjective.
They knew the words in the old days, I’m sure. But they knew there was a time and place for it. I have never had this happen to me, but I was told by some teachers that the children swear at them. A child has never done that to me.
I loved the Polish people. They were hard-working. If they didn’t have money, they helped out by doing housework, baby-sitting for ten cents an hour. No work was beneath them. But here, these people—the parents—came to school in the morning. This is a social outpost for them. They watch their kids eat free breakfasts and lunches. There isn’t any shame, there isn’t any pride. These Polish people I knew, there was pride. You didn’t dare do anything like that. You wouldn’t think of it.
I see these parents here all the time. A father brings his kids to school and he hangs around in the hall. I think it’s dangerous to have all these adults in the school. You get all these characters. I’m afraid to stay in my room unless I lock the door.
We see them at recess. They’re there at lunch time. These people, they have a resentment that everything is coming to them. Whereas the Polish people worked their way out of the Depression. They loved property. They loved houses. My father loved his little house and if anyone would step on the grass, he would kill them. (Laughs.) He’d say, “Get out of here! This is mine!” (Softly.) There was a great pride. These people, they have no pride in anything, they destroy. Really, I don’t understand them.
They take the shades. They take the poles. Steal everything. Every window is broken in our school. Years ago, no one would ever break windows. These kids, if they’re angry with you, they’ll do terrible things. (Sighs.) Yes, the neighborhood is changing and the type of child has been changing, too. They’re even spoiling a nice little Jewish boy who’s there.
There were middle- and upper-class people in this neighborhood when I first came. They were very nice people and their children were wonderful. There was an honor system. You’d say, “I’m going to the office for a moment. You may whisper.” And they would obey. I was really thrilled. I don’t dare do that now. I don’t even go to the toilet. (Laughs.) I’m a strong teacher, but I’m afraid to leave them.
In the old days, kids would sit in their seats. If I had to leave the room for a few minutes, I’d say, “Will you please be good?” And they were. These kids today will swear, “We’ll be good, we’ll be good.” I don’t know what it is, their training or their ethnic background—or maybe it goes back to history. The poor Spanish were so taken they had to lie and steal to survive. I tell them, “You don’t have to lie and cheat here. Everyone is equal.” But their background . . .
The first contingent of Puerto Ri
cans that came in were delightful. They were really lovely kids. I adore some of them. I don’t care what ethnic group you belong to, if you’re a low-down person, I don’t like you.
Today they have these multiple chairs instead of the pedestals, seats that were attached. The kids slide all over the room. Anything to make life more difficult. (Laughs.) If I didn’t laugh at these things, I couldn’t last. Whereas it was a pleasure to teach a motivated child, how do you motivate these children? By food? By bringing cookies to school? Believe me, these children aren’t lacking in anything. If I ask for change for a dollar, I can get it. They have more money . . . We have seventeen that get free lunches, and they all have this money for goodies.
I’ve always been a strong disciplinarian, but I don’t give these kids assignments over their head. They know exactly what they do. Habit. This is very boring, very monotonous, but habit is a great thing for these children. I don’t tell them the reason for things. I give them the rote method, how to do it. After that, reasoning comes. Each one has to go to the board and show me that they really know. Because I don’t trust the papers. They cheat and copy. I don’t know how they do it. I walk up and down and watch them. I tell you, it’s a way of life. (Laughs.)
At nine o‘clock, as soon as the children come in, we have a salute to the flag. I’m watching them. We sing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” And then we sing a parody I found of “My Country ’Tis of Thee.”
To serve my country is to banish selfishness
And bring world peace
I love every girl and boy
New friendships I’ll enjoy
The Golden Rule employ
Till wars shall cease.
And then we sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I watch them. It’s a dignified exercise. These children love the idea of habit. Something schmaltzy, something wonderful.
I start with arithmetic. I have tables-fun on the board—multiplication. Everything has to be fun, fun, fun, play, play, play. You don’t say tables, you say tables-fun. Everything to motivate. See how fast they can do it. It’s a catchy thing. When they’re doing it, I mark the papers. I’m very fast. God has been good to me. While I’m doing that, I take attendance. That is a must. All this happens before nine fifteen, nine twenty.
The next thing I do is get milk money. That’s four cents. I have change. I’m very fast. Buy the milk for recess and we have cookies that I bring. To motivate them, to bribe them. (Laughs.) I also buy Kleenex for them, because they’ll wipe their nose . . . (Laughs.) By nine forty, which is the next period, I try to finish the marking. Two of the children go to a TESL program. (Sighs.)
Then I have a penmanship lesson on the board. There it is in my beautiful handwriting. I had a Palmer Method diploma. On Mondays I write beautifully, “If we go to an assembly, we do not whistle or talk, because good manners are important. If our manners are good, you’ll be very happy and make everyone happy, too.” On Friday we give them a test. They adore it. Habit, they love habit.
They drink their milk. I have to take them to toilet recess. I have to watch them. No one goes unless they’re supervised. We watch them outside. If there’s too much monkey business, I have to go in and stop them. When they raise their hands in class, I let them go, even if they’re lying. I tell them, “If you’re lying and get in trouble, you won’t be able to go again.” So I hope they tell me the truth every once in a while.
About eleven ’, I give them an English workbook. I pass the free lunch tickets out about a quarter to twelve. Sometime during the day I give them stretching exercises. Sideways, then up and down, and we put our hands on our hips and heads up and so on. I’m good at it. I’m better than the kids.
I have reading groups. One is advanced, one is the middle, and one is the lowest. At a quarter to two we have our spelling—two words a day. Six words a week, really. If I did any more, it’s lost. I tried other ways, they did everything wrong. I didn’t scold them. I researched my soul. What am I doing wrong? I found out two words a day is just right. Spelling is a big deal. We break the words. We give them sentences. I try to make it last till two’. Fifteen, twenty minutes, that’s their attention span. Some days it’s great. Some days I can’t get them to do anything.
I take them to the toilet again because they’re getting restless. Again you watch them. From a quarter after to about two thirty we read together. I give them music, too. That’s up to me, up to my throat. They love music. I have it two, three times a week. At two thirty, if they’re good, I give them art. I make beautiful Valentines. We show them how to decorate it. And that’s the day. If they’re not good—if they scream and yell and run around —I don’t give them art. I give them work. If they’re not nice to me, I’m not going to be nice to them. I’m not going to reward them.
Three fifteen, they go home. You walk them all the way down to the door. You watch them all the way. (Laughs.) I go home. I’m never tired. I go shopping. I give every store on my way home a break. At twelve ’ I go shopping, too. I have to get away from the other teachers. They’re always talking shop.
I don’t take any work home with me. With these children, you show them their mistakes immediately. Otherwise they forget. When I’m home, I forget about school, absolutely, absolutely, absolutely. I have never thought of being a principal. I have fulfilled my goal.
As for retirement, yes and no. I’m not sixty-five yet. (Laughs.) I’m not tired. It’s no effort for me. My day goes fast, especially when I go out the night before and have a wonderful time. I’m the original La Dolce Vita. If I have a good time, I can do anything. I can even come home at two, three in the morning and get up and go to work. I must have something on the outside to stimulate me.
There are some children I love. Some have looks and brains and personality. I try not to play favorites. I give each one a chance to be monitor. I tell them I’m their school mother. When I scold them, it doesn’t mean I hate them. I love them, that’s why I scold them. I say to them, “Doesn’t your mother scold you?”
These children baffle me. With the type of students we had before, college was a necessary thing, a must. They automatically went because their parents went. The worship of learning was a great thing. But these children, I don’t know . . . I tell them, “Mrs. Hoffman is here, everybody works.” Mr. Hoffman teases me: “Ah, ah, here comes Mrs. Hoffman, everybody works.” Working is a blessing. The greatest punishment I can give these children is not to do anything. If they’re bad, you just sit there and we fold our hands. I watch them. They don’t want a teacher, they want a watcher. I say, “Mrs. Hoffman is too dumb to do teaching and watching. If you want me to be a teacher, I’ll be glad to be a teacher. If you want me to be a watcher, I’ll have to watch you.”
The younger teachers have a more—what is their word?—relaxed attitude. It’s noisy and it’s freedom, where they walk around and do everything. I never learned to teach under conditions like that. The first rule of education for me was discipline. Discipline is the keynote to learning. Discipline has been the great factor in my life. I discipline myself to do everything—getting up in the morning, walking, dancing, exercise. If you won’t have discipline, you won’t have a nation. We can’t have permissiveness. When someone comes in and says, “Oh, your room is so quiet,” I know I’ve been successful.
There is one little girl who stands out in my mind in all the years I’ve been teaching. She has become tall and lovely. Pam. She was not too bright, but she was sweet. She was never any trouble. She was special. I see her every once in a while. She’s a checker at Treasure Island.73 She gives no trouble today, either. She has the same smile for everyone.
PAT ZIMMERMAN
He is “headmaster” and administrator of the Southern School in Uptown.74 It’s an alternative school. It began in 1969. “I knew the kids were getting in trouble around here. I simply felt I could teach them and make their troubles less. Someone offered me a storefront church which was used only on Sundays. Someone gave us desks and a couple of tables. I s
crounged up some textbooks, and we began—even though there was no income for a while. There was none of the planning and campaigning that many free schools have for months . . . It began with about eight kids.
“It’s changed in its four years. We’re much more diverse now. No more than fifty percent are poor Southern whites. The others are Chicago kids—blacks, Puerto Ricans, and a couple of Indians. Mike Mayer teaches a class of boys between the ages of eight and sixteen. lean Fisher and Mary Ryan have a class of girls between the ages of seven and fifteen. I have a class of boys between the ages of twelve and seventeen. There are three classrooms, a large recreation room, and a TV area. We’re up for accreditation in May.”
He is thirty-one from South Carolina, of a working-class family. He “drifted until ’67. Suddenly I had the urge. At one time, I’d have said I had the calling. I started teaching . . .”
I’m a strict kind of teacher. When I say something to one student in a very quiet voice all the way across the room, I want it quiet enough to reach him. I don’t have to tell them to shut up very much. It’s self-enforced. †I make a lot of demands on my students and I get honestly angry if they don’t live up to their possibilities. The importance is not whether a teacher is strict. Is it for the kid’s benefit or is it to make his teaching role easier and not get involved? My idea of being a teacher is influenced by my idea of being a particular person. I’m dealing with a particular kid.
I don’t have any idea what any of them will end up being. So I’m an unsettled teacher in a classroom. A certain tenseness, nervousness about me because I don’t like facing a lot of kids who have the cards stacked against them. They catch on and have some hope and that helps a little.
