The Didactor

by Roy F. Chandler

  Boden could have slapped Hightower. Did he really have to spell out the facts of life to this man? He guessed he did.

  "Mr. Hightower, I find it difficult to accept that position for a number of reasons. Primarily I reject it because, disregarding organization membership for the moment, Mr. Troop is a fellow teacher at Newport high and is deserving of unstinting support by his associates."

  Hightower squirmed uncomfortably.

  "Isn't it also clear, Mr. Hightower, that in this matter, Mr. Troop represents the side of discipline in the school and the right of a teacher to defend his person?"

  Boden found his voice rising in irritation and drew a slow breath to regain composure.

  "When I stand before the board tomorrow evening and present the position of this administration toward the Ruby incident, am I to be faced with dissent or evasion by Mr. Troop's fellow educators? Am I to understand that the teaching community does not intend to support an associate because he elected not to join your strictly voluntary organization?"

  Hightower's rejoinder was spluttery. "Mr. Boden, you misunderstand. I merely pointed out that the organization does not necessarily feel that it must support a nonmember. That is not to say that it has decided not to support Mr. Troop, only that it does not feel itself bound to do so."

  Hightower shifted through various gears maneuvering his way to a more defensible position. He was quite aware that if challenged, the position he had chosen for the organization might be readily overturned by the membership. Troop had friends, Hightower supposed, and some teachers would, as a matter of principle, side with a teacher in trouble. He pulled back with what grace he could muster and chose a new line to defend.

  "We have not had the opportunity to formally determine a position in this case, Mr. Boden. Indeed, my comments must be considered . . . ah, perhaps quasi-official until the organization's officers can meet and determine an appropriate course of action."

  "Mr. Hightower, as fellow educators we must stand together! If there were suspicion in my mind that Mr. Troop was at fault I would, of course, withhold my request for teacher organization support, but I have no such reservations. All of the facts, evidence if you prefer, indicate a simple case of self-defense. The only rub is that Mr. Troop hits extremely hard. If Mrs. Little had struck Tom Ruby, he would have laughed. Mr. Troop broke his jaw. It is as simple as that.

  "Now I must, for Mr. Troop's sake, for the school's sake, keep the school board investigation equally simple. If this incident is allowed to drag on through conflicting objectives or mere indecisiveness, it could balloon into an attractive opportunity for outsiders to get a foot in the door of Newport school system. You will recall, Mr. Hightower, our past skirmishes with various organizations and individuals. We won those confrontations because we went in prepared and with a spirit of mutual support.

  "Again, in this case we cannot be divided! If the teachers' organization adopts even a 'wait and see' attitude it will imply that Mr. Troop might have been wrong. We simply cannot allow any doubts."

  Boden waited for his words to sink in. If he knew his man, as he thought he did, he'd swing him over to a positive stance right now.

  "Mr. Hightower, I want to go into that board meeting knowing that the entire school is behind me, I want to be able to stand up and say, 'Mr. President, we are unanimous in our support of Mr. Ben Troop.' I want to be able to turn to you and receive your nod of confirmation that Newport schools are as one in backing a teacher in trouble."

  He rose from his chair and stood over Hightower. "Mr. Representative, can I count on that support?"

  Overwhelmed, Hightower could only mutter, "Certainly, Mr. Boden, but . . ."

  "Thank you, Charles!" Boden extended a hand and Hightower accepted it automatically, unable to voice his exceptions. "And I appreciate your coming in like this. I know how important Friday evening is to a teacher. Lord knows, it is to me.

  "Say, what time is it anyway?" He faked a look at his watch and moaned. "Mr. Hightower, I won't take any more of your time. I've many things to get ready for tomorrow's board meeting and you will undoubtedly need to advise your people. I'll see you tomorrow and, (a pause for effect) thank you again."

  Charles Hightower was outside and heading home. He had been steamrolled and he knew it. Boden had made up his mind for him and he'd damned sure gotten a lesson in power politics. Still, he found his thoughts at ease. Boden was right anyway and that made the humbling experience more palatable.

  +++++

  Boden, finished for the moment, tucked Ruby papers into his attaché case to look over at home, shrugged into his aging overcoat, and perched a bright Tyrolean hat on his head. Because it invariably landed askew, the hat lent him a jaunty air that endeared him to his students, but this evening he did not feel jaunty. A dull ache persisted behind his eyeballs and his back throbbed heavily just above the belt line. He wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a good supper, and an evening without thought of school. The bath and the meal he could arrange, but how to shut off one's mind, Boden didn't know.

  +++++

  Huntington school system, 1962

  David Green assumed he appeared confident as well as knowledgeable. Seven years of supervising student teachers gave him experience and now that his doctoral dissertation was before his examining board, demonstrated academic acceptance as an educator of significance.

  He knew his freshly pressed gray suit properly uniformed him as a middle-of-the-road administrator, neither overly conservative nor alarmingly liberal, a choice that offended no one.

  He allowed his mind to savor the phrase for a moment. "A choice that offended no one" might describe much of his life's philosophy. If he was not a young turk, he was also not numbered among those who tirelessly advocated maintenance of the status quo. Now, with his doctorate virtually assured, he intended to continue his policy of appreciation of all points of view and the selection of a personal, moderate, middle-road course.

  For all his qualifications, Green found himself uncomfortable with David Campbell. Although sharing a common given name, the two men had never attained first name status. Green felt little rapport with the older man. He had supplied student teachers for Campbell's classroom for many years but he had failed to gain a close personal relationship with the master teacher.

  Green mentally corrected "Failed." Campbell had failed, not he. It was not the responsibility of the superior to adjust to his subordinate. Not that Campbell, a classroom teacher, was exactly controlled or directed by Green. True, Green provided the student teachers for Campbell and validated the pay vouchers that added a pittance to Campbell's salary for assisting in the training of teachers, but David Campbell was employed by the local school district and David Green by the university.

  Green often wished he possessed looser purse strings. Certain teachers he encountered might then show a bit more humility when dealing with the supervisor of student teaching.

  Humility, that was what Campbell lacked. He accepted student teachers as his due. He worked them diligently, judged them severely, and apparently never noted the payment received for his services. He settled his rare student problems to his own satisfaction and submitted a written report that allowed no arbitration or disagreement.

  Campbell's attitudes left David Green feeling little more than a delivery boy who later recovered the same bundle, hopefully polished and smoothed with practical experience absorbed and assimilated. Green resented what he considered cavalier treatment but could find no demonstrable slight or indignities, so kept his peace; but he remembered.

  It was Campbell's record as a teacher difficult to please that induced David Green to assign one Ben Troop to him as a student teacher. Campbell's reputation as a man who never gave an "A" sweetened the pot. A semester with Campbell, Green felt, would considerably tone down Troop's blatant arrogance and would no doubt endow the student with an awareness of subservience that he had obviously never developed.

  That Troop's independence would be crushed by Camp
bell's unremitting severity, Green never doubted. Ben Troop would either adjust or fail. It was that simple.

  David Green made the assignment without personal qualms. He felt, in fact, somewhat ennobled by his reasoning. He assured himself that his decision to create a student/teacher confrontation was based on a desire to improve the student. If he had been accused of being personally desirous of seeing Ben Troop humbled, David Green would have been outraged. If it had been pointed out that his decision was determined by an emotional bias against a student of uncommon ability and self-assurance, he would have considered the reasoning absurd.

  Along the way something had gone askew. Campbell's periodic reports were as usual laconic, but he gave the student teacher top grades. Initially, the ratings were "B's," which was the highest mark Campbell gave. Green noted them with mounting irritation and waited for the clash he believed imminent.

  At mid-semester Campbell gave Troop an unprecedented "A," and David Green decided he could remain on the sidelines no longer.

  He waited while Campbell settled himself in the swivel chair. Inwardly, Green chafed at Campbell seating himself behind the desk of the conference room while he had to select another chair, placing him at a psychological disadvantage. It left him feeling as though he had reported to Campbell's office rather than to the neutral ground of a conference room.

  Campbell had once been a large man, but age had begun to wither him and time had bowed the powerful shoulders and stooped the tall figure until it was difficult to measure the man he had been. Campbell packed an old pipe with loose tobacco flakes drawn from a thin folded plastic wrapper. Green thought how inevitable that this aged fossil should smoke an even more ancient pipe. Now he will take four or five matches getting the filthy thing lit.

  Finally he seemed satisfied with his pipe and raised his eyes toward David Green. Even then he did not appear to focus them directly on Green. He seemed to be contemplating a point of mild interest some three inches behind Green's forehead.

  "Mr. Campbell," Green began in what he felt a cooperative tone, not condescending, perhaps slightly conciliatory. He intended to be understanding but concerned by the obvious overrating of one of his students.

  He found he had paused. Slightly disconcerted, he began again. "Mr. Campbell, I've been reviewing the current grades achieved by our current student teachers." He cursed his clumsy re-use of "current" and, observing no indication of interest from Campbell, was forced to continue.

  "I find myself concerned by the very high grades you have given our Mr. Troop." Again he paused, but no response was forthcoming and he pushed aside a ghastly suspicion that Campbell cared nothing for his concern.

  "In view of our rather continuous . . . er, difficulties with Mr. Troop, we find it . . . ah . . . remarkable that he should prove so exemplary a student teacher."

  A cloud of rather pungent smoke obscured Campbell's face and, as no comment rose from behind it, Green hurried on.

  "Mr. Troop's attitude has been regularly cavalier." He found himself being pressed onward by the listener's lack of participation and, suddenly desperate, added, "And we cannot understand your granting him extraordinarily high grades."

  "I like him."

  Green was stunned. "You like him? Mr. Campbell, you cannot give a student an 'A' simply because you like him!"

  This time Campbell's eyes did focus on him and Green wished they hadn't. They saw too much and they observed David Green too clearly. Odd that he had never before noted the impact of those eyes. He became aware of perspiration under his arms and his mind frittered with a TV ditty about Secret deodorant.

  "I like him because he is the first good teacher you have ever sent to me."

  Green wished himself away from all of it. He thought, I am dealing with a fool. I should have known.

  "Mr. Green, I have been handling student teachers for, oh, fifteen years or so. Most of them are vacuous individuals, empty vessels you might say, who are in education after dropping out of engineering or perhaps pre-med. They graduate to become adequate teachers. Adequate, because we have so few that are better. Adequate, because the best potential teaching talent is not majoring in education but in business, law, and engineering. So we do with what we have."

  He paused, allowing Green to squirm in his seat but in no way surrendering the floor.

  "I have been in the classroom for thirty years, Mr. Green. I would estimate your own experience as about two years."

  How in the name of all that was holy did he know that? Had this conceited old man been checking his records? His attempt to speak was terminated before it reached his throat.

  "I am aware that it is convenient, perhaps comforting, to think of classroom teachers as low men on the totem pole, but I would remind you that some of us remain in the classroom because we prefer it and not always because we are unable to attain the ethereal heights of administration."

  The pipe sucked noisily, covering Green's beginning denials of any such demeaning opinions.

  Campbell leaned forward across the desk, becoming more direct and intense.

  "I am a good teacher, Mr. Green. I know that as surely as God gave me brains to use, and I tell you now that Ben Troop is already far better than I am. If he is not diddled around or twisted into the usual stupefying conformity the university regularly demands, he may become one of the great teachers of our time."

  He continued, "We enjoy mouthing platitudes that teachers are made, not born. It gives us a sense of competence and purpose, sort of justifies our efforts. It has been my observation, however, that the best teachers should be recognized as naturals. Just as some athletes excel with little coaching, or a child prodigy plays Bach at four years, they will surpass others without direction and training, and often despite their teachers, not because of them. Troop is a natural. At the rostrum he possesses presence and charisma. His classes are exciting to attend. Troop deserves the highest marks a teacher can receive."

  He hesitated, to reflect a moment, again becoming aware of his pipe, then added, "Ben Troop is not a student teacher, Mr. Green. We, you and I, waste our time and his talent. He should be given his credits and allowed to pursue subject areas from which he could profit."

  David Green felt defensive. Where he had expected to dominate, he was again being told by Campbell just how it was. He mustered his degrees and title about him and thrust them forward, an armored phalanx to force enemy withdrawal.

  "Mr. Campbell, we at the university have found Mr. Troop's attitudes uncooperative and, at times, insolent. We have serious doubts as to his stability as a potential teacher. As supervisor, responsible to the university for the quality of student teachers, I find your appreciation of Mr. Troop's classroom antics surprising and your endorsement of his peculiar abilities unexpected." Green paused for emphasis and lost the floor.

  "Green," There was no courteous 'Mr.' much less 'Doctor' that was already beginning to be bestowed upon him, "if the university is unable to see Ben Troop as a fine teacher, it is blind. If your exposure to Ben Troop has manifested primarily negative attributes, it has been too limited in scope, or you, sir, are imperceptive."

  Enraged, Green lurched to his feet, to be called incompetent by this self-important classroom teacher, this bumpkin with a bachelor's degree was intolerable! He felt himself quivering in indignation and found that Campbell, looking singularly unimpressed, had risen with him and now towered above the desk. Brandishing the wet pipe stem at the end of a long arm he continued in a voice so cold that Green's anger dissolved into an acidy trepidation. "When you use the pronoun 'we' Mr. Green, it should mean more than one. You, and you alone, are pecking and poking at Ben Troop!

  "I determine his competence as a student teacher, not you! And I provide his grades, not you! I suggest you never again attempt to influence a change in my grades or my attitudes toward a student."

  Green felt sweat trickle from his armpits.

  "And I further suggest you do not attempt to make a test case of this matter as you wi
ll surely lose.

  "And if that is all, Mr. Green . . . ."

  +++++

  Fort Ord, California, 1950

  You really going to do it to 'em, Trooper? Jesus Christ, I saw it done at Fort Benning once. The lieutenant'll have a fit!"

  "Well, don't anybody tell him."

  Muttered "No sweat's" and "Never happen's" ran through the assembled cadre.

  "Hey Trooper. I'll bet he'll dive for cover along with the trainees."

  "Look, I'll do the dirty work, but you guys be in place ready to sound off big. That's important. It's like a cattle stampede. You've got to sort of urge 'em on or they'll just sit there, and for Christ's sake, don't get in front of them or they'll stomp you down for sure."

  They broke up then, moving off to various strategic positions. Troop and his assistant instructor stood alone.

  Corporal Gilquist looked quizzically at Troop. "Is it worth all the trouble, sergeant? I've never seen it done. Heard it was funny as hell though."

  "You'll see, Gil. It's funny all right. Just be sure you're out of the way. If I don't screw up, you'll see some trainees move faster than you ever saw 'em move before."

  "The lieutenant isn't going to like it, sarge! Why don't you tell him?"

  "Look, Gil, he'd say 'no.' It's always easier to say 'no.' That's something you need to learn. Any time you want to do something a little out of line or maybe not by the book, don't ask for permission, just do it; then tell 'em about it. If you ask, you'll usually get 'no' for an answer.

  "Now Gil, these recruits get stuffed full of Army bull all day every day, including Sunday. You know how it is, after a while it all runs together and you end up knowing nothing. Nothing stands out. You can't tell one fact from another. You don't know what day it is or what class you're in. So, I'm going to make them remember my class! They'll never forget grenade instruction as long as they live and I figure then they'll remember some of the things I tell 'em. This isn't all just for laughs. I'm not taking any chances on the lieutenant not going along. Anyway, what's he going to give me? Thirty days in the electric chair?"