Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 14

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

Richard got into his ancient Mercury, and started driving. He was a little nervous about trying to climb into a house, but it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing he’d ever tried, particularly since he’d become a teacher. More importantly, it seemed like the only way he’d ever get to be alone with Jennifer.

Richard had been having a bad year. When he’d arrived back from Europe, he went to see his girlfriend, who he’d assumed had been waiting, informed him she’d found a new, better boyfriend.

“You left for Europe,” she’d told him. “You didn’t tell me when you were coming back, or even if you were coming back. Did you really think I was going to sit and wait?”

“I was hoping,” he’d told her, a response which did not impress her in the least, and here he was, driving around in rain so heavy he could barely see through the windshield.

He cleverly stopped the car a few houses away from hers, so that her aunt wouldn’t suspect. As he walked to her house, he considered how much more clever it would’ve been if he’d brought an umbrella or a raincoat. As he feet sank several inches into the mud that now comprised Jennifer’s lawn, he wondered if tennis shoes, though generally comfortable, had been the best choice for this mission.

Richard was getting cold, as the freezing rain had soaked through his sweatshirt. But he was determined to continue. When he reached the house, he grabbed onto the window frame, which came off of the house, causing him to fall backwards into the mud.

Richard shouted an expletive, which the noise of the rain prevented the neighbors from hearing. He began to push himself up, but lost his traction and fell once again.

Undaunted, he tossed away the now useless piece of frame, which left him with an irritating splinter he did not have time to tend to. He carefully tested another piece of the frame, which seemed sturdy, and managed to pull his muddy miserable carcass up the wall so that his muddy wet feet were resting just outside the windowsill of Jennifer’s crazy aunt's home.

He found a hook on the wall, and managed to pull himself up. It was working! He was almost at the top. He could see the dormer, and he could see Jennifer smiling at him through the window. He got a firmer grip on the ancient piece of gutter.

There. This was good. It was perfect. It was just a little loose, though. It was coming apart—Uh oh.

Richard fell down the side of the house into the mud. He hit his arm on something and wasn’t feeling all that good.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw a figure climb down the wall like an iguana. It was uncanny. It was Jennifer.

“Oh Dios mio, are you OK Richard?”

“My arm doesn’t feel so good,” he told her.

“Give me your car keys,” she said.

“But…”

“No buts. Just give me the keys.”

Jennifer helped Richard to his feet, and in what seemed like a very long walk, led him to his car. Then she drove him to the emergency room.

Next Week: The Assembly

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 13

Observations on Observations

Summer school and Tier One is sitting at his desk after having finished one more day of the odious task that would increase his pension. His supervisor, a young woman with an absent expression, walks in with an observation report. Tier One signs it and she leaves.

Tier One then tears up his copy and tosses it in the trash, unread. Unbeknownst to Tier One, the woman is watching.

“I spent forty-five minutes writing that,” she bellows. “I’ll be back tomorrow with another copy!”

Tier One is unmoved. He learned long ago that observation reports are far easier to take if you don’t read them, and no force in heaven or earth, including this young woman, is going to persuade him otherwise

************************************************************

Richard was nervous. He had just been observed teaching math, a subject about which he knew next to nothing. The only good thing was that the kids he taught knew even less. He’d been plodding along just fine with the book of lesson plans Mr. Benjamin had given him, but then Keisha and Sonia had complained for days that he was making them do all the work, following up with a complaint to Mr. Benjamin himself.

They wouldn’t have complained to Ms. Goodrich, thought Richard. Kids never approached her. They were frightened she’d correct their grammar, and with good reason. Few kids got past her ongoing critiques of the way they spoke.

And now Mr. Benjamin had walked in and observed his math class. Well, what could he say, really? Richard had told him he was no good in math. It wasn’t like he studied it or anything.

“Please come in, Richard.”

“Thanks, Mr. Benjamin.”

“And please call me Julius. I’m not your English teacher.”

“Um, okay…I’m sorry about the lesson. I never taught math before, I never taught anything before, and I…”

“Whoa, just wait a minute. Who said you had anything to be sorry about?”

“Well,” said Richard, “I know the girls came and complained, and I figured that’s why you came to observe the class.”

“You’re right, Richard. But I thought the class was fine.”

“You did? Really?”

“It was fine. The kids complained because you made them go to the board and work out the problems. They said you’d been making all the kids go to the board and work out all the problems. From what I saw, they were right.”

“So then why do you think the lesson was fine?” asked Richard.

“I want all my teachers to do that. Most teachers in this department just talk. The kids sit. Especially at this low level, I don’t think the kids retain much unless they actually get up and do things themselves.”

“Ms. Goodrich didn’t like my lessons very much,” said Richard.

“Come on,” said Mr. Benjamin. “Everyone in the building knows she invited you for meatballs and you turned her down. Did I, or did I not do you a big favor by getting you away from her 80% of the time?”

“Well…” began Richard.

“Don’t say anything,” said Mr. Benjamin. “Never, ever talk about your supervisors to other supervisors. They’ll think you’ll talk about them next, and they’ll never trust you.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t care what you meant to do. Let’s just talk about you, now, OK?”

Richard nodded.

“I think you’re a good teacher, a little rough around the edges, but I think you’re gonna turn out OK. You seem to like the kids, which not everyone does.”

Richard nodded again.

“Don’t worry about those girls. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Keep sending them to the board, along with everyone else, and let me worry about it, OK?”

“Yes, sure, thanks Mr. Benjamin.”

“Julius”

“Thanks, uhhh…”

“OK. Call me Mr. Benjamin, if that makes you happy. But remember this. You’re new, and at the end of the year, you could easily lose your job. It’s not that you did anything wrong. It’s a seniority thing. You don’t have any. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Richard.

“Now, I’m not saying you will lose your job, but if you do, remember this—use me as a reference. Do not use Ms. Goodrich, do not use Dr. Canales, and do not use the principal. Do you understand?”

Richard nodded his head.

“It’s not that they’d say bad things about you, except for Ms. Goodrich. It’s just that they never have anything good to say about anyone.”


“OK,” said Richard.

“One more thing,” said Mr. Benjamin. “I’d like you to keep those kids on their toes. Please give them a test every Friday. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” said Richard.

“OK, Richard. Now get back to work.”

“Thanks, Mr. Benjamin.”

Next Week: A Nocturnal Visit

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 12

The Principal Observes a Class

Mr. Jacobs, social studies AP, and Ms. Robinson, working teacher and apprentice AP, entered Ms. Mudd’s classroom via the back door five minutes into the lesson. Ms. Mudd, on the advice of Mr. Jacobs, had taken the new methodology to heart.

The students were working in groups, as suggested by the chancellor, and Ms. Mudd was circulating around the room, answering questions and offering advice to students.

This went on for about five minutes. The observers sat quietly scribbling notes. Suddenly, the principal and Seymour, assistant principal of organization, entered via the front door.

“How is everyone today?” asked the principal. “What are you all learning here today?”

All activity ceased and the students sat mute.

“Come on, someone needs to speak up. Your teacher’s job could be on the line here, you know.”

Ms. Mudd turned pale.

A female student began to explain, but the principal interrupted. “Ms. Mudd, do you have a lesson plan?”

Ms Mudd stammered, “Of course I do.”

“I want to see it,” demanded the principal.

Ms. Mudd went to her desk and recovered her notebook, then handed it to the principal. The principal glanced at it, then to the floor, then examined the floor more closely and asked, “Why is all this paper on the floor? How can anyone learn in this environment?”

He walked to the front of the room and picked up the trashcan. He handed it to a student and said, “This is unacceptable. Please pass this around the room, and drop any papers you find into it. “ He then dropped the notebook on Ms. Mudd’s desk and said, “This classroom is a disaster. Don’t you agree, Seymour?”

Seymour adjusted his tie, and nodded his head. “Oh yes, sir, absolutely.”

The principal then looked at a desk, which was covered with graffiti.

“Seymour, please go get a couple of buckets, some soapy water, and some sponges.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Seymour, and quickly ran down the hall to the custodian’s office.

When Seymour returned, the principal instructed several students to start cleaning the desks. They refused.

“Ms. Mudd,” began the principal, “is this how you teach your students to obey? I’m very disappointed at your lack of control.”

Ms. Mudd fought back tears as best she could.

The principal walked out of the room, with Seymour following closely behind him.

Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Robinson followed.

“Well, Mr. Jacobs,” the principal asked, “What did you think of that lesson?”

Mr. Jacobs was flabbergasted. “The lesson…did you even see the…”

“I’d like you to write it up as unsatisfactory,” said the principal.

“But, you didn’t see anything. She was… "

The principal gave Mr. Jacobs the look he’d been practicing. “Are you refusing to follow instructions?” he asked.

“I’m not refusing,” Mr. Jacobs replied. “It’s just…”

“Make a note, Seymour. Mr. Jacobs is refusing a direct order. That’s insubordination, isn’t it, Seymour?”

“Yes, sir. Refusing a direct order is insubordination. I’m shocked and stunned.”

“Well, Seymour, make a note of it. We can’t have that here. No wonder those kids are behaving so poorly. I made a simple request, and they refused. And how dare that girl interrupt me when I’m asking questions?”

Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Robinson just stood there, speechless.

Next Week: The Observations Continue

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 11

A Minor Alteration

Richard hadn’t been summoned to the principal since ninth grade. But little had changed—there was the long wooden bench, and the bespectacled lady behind the wooden counter bade him to sit and wait. There were photos on the walls—the principal with this guy, shaking hand with that guy, smiling with the baseball team, certificates of gratitude, letters…how long would he have to wait.

After many minutes, Richard could bear it no longer, and decided to go to the bathroom. He wondered whether he needed permission. He stood up.

“Mr. Carter. The principal will see you now.”

Richard walked into the office. Wow. It was big. There was a conference room, a living room, a coffee machine, a refrigerator—uh-oh. There was Ms. Goodrich, his boss, who hadn’t said a kind word to him since the meatball incident.

“Please sit down, Mr. Carter,” said the principal. He was smiling slightly. That was good, possibly. “Ms. Goodrich?” She was going to speak. That was bad. Also Mr. Benjamin, the math AP, was there. He looked like Bernie Mac, plus 10 years and 20 pounds. Also, Jennifer’s boss, Dr. Canales, was there. That was strange.

“Richard,” began Ms. Goodrich. “We’ve formed a bond, a very special bond, these past few months, and I hate it when something comes along to interrupt my training, it saddens me. I know how much you’ve come to depend on my counsel, and believe me, you can continue coming to me with whatever is on your mind. I was just telling the principal about how much you’ve grown as a pedagogue…”

That was strange to hear. Just yesterday she entered his classroom and screamed at him about the writing on one of the desks…

“..but we have to allow for the exigencies of the moment, and…”

“We want you to teach ESL, two classes, and math, two classes,” said Mr. Benjamin. “You’ll continue with one of your English classes.”

“I’m not really good at math,” said Richard.

“That’s okay,” said Mr. Benjamin. “Your resume says you used to work as a musician. So improvise. Fake it until you make it. Anyway, this math is so easy anyone can do it.”

“But why did you pick me to do it?” Richard asked.

“There comes a time, in life’s rich pageant, when we need to…” began the principal.

“Because they can’t learn and you can’t teach,” interrupted Mr. Benjamin, definitively. “It’ll be a thing of beauty. Really, you’ll do fine, kid. Any other questions?”

“What’s ESL?” asked Richard.

“It’s when you teach kids from other countries how to speak English.” Said Mr. Benjamin, flashing a movie-star smile. “You’ll love it. You have two sections of ESL 1. Start with hi, how are you, and go from there. Fake it until you make it.”

“I will help you,” said Dr. Canales, unconvincingly.

“I don’t have licenses in ESL or math,” admitted Richard.

“No one cares,” said Mr. Benjamin.

“Why are you asking me to do this?” asked Richard.

The principal cleared his throat. “It’s not really relevant. You see, sometimes, in the best of schools, even under optimal circumstances, the long, cold hand of….”

“Ms. Moscowitz had a nervous breakdown,” interrupted Mr. Benjamin. “We swapped a few classes around and gave you what was left.”

Richard was starting to like Mr. Benjamin. For one thing, he actually understood every word the man said. For another, Mr. Benjamin plainly had no respect whatsoever for Ms. Goodrich or the principal.

Richard wondered how he got away with being so up-front about it.

Next Week: The Observation to End All Observations

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 10

The Proposition

This was not at all what Richard had in mind. After repeated requests that Jennifer go out with him, the best she would do was lunch. And at the Pizza Pit, no less. The slices were dried out and the Coke was watery. Why the kids came here he had no idea.

And the kids were all over the place, leering at the both of them, and interrupting them at the oddest moments. They’d have gotten more privacy in the filthy, wretched school cafeteria (It suddenly occurred to him why the kids came here). But when Jennifer looked at him he tried not to show his disappointment.

It didn’t matter because she read his mind.

“I’m sorry, Richard,” she said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he lied, trying to put on a convincing smile.

“Look, you have to understand—things are a little complicated for me,” she said.

“Complicated? Are you married or something?” Richard asked. “Do you have a crazy boyfriend who’s an axe murderer?”

“No it’s nothing like that. I live in a house with my Tia Dolly, and she’s very …mmm…traditional.”

“You’re all grown up,” answered Richard. “This is a free country. She can’t keep you prisoner.”

“Well, actually, she’s a little crazy. She had a daughter when she was very young, and her daughter did too, and she’s always thinking I’m gonna do the same thing. You have to understand, that’s just the way she is.”

Richard had never heard of anything like this. He looked at her.

“No, I’m not gonna make the same mistake,” Jennifer said. “There are ways to avoid them, you know.”

“Good point, but that’s not what I was thinking,” he said. Why don’t you just move out?”

“I want to. I plan to,” she said. “But it’s very expensive. I send my family in Colombia money each month. And I save money too. I want to buy a co-op or something, but the only way I can save anything is by staying with my aunt.”

“Can’t you even go out to dinner sometime?” he asked.

“I go to school two nights a week, and I teach two others. It’s a lot of work for me to get out. You could come to our house for dinner. She doesn’t speak much English, and she won’t like you because you aren’t Colombian, but you can come anyway.”

“That’s not the best invitation I’ve ever gotten,” he said.

Jennifer bowed her head in thought for a moment. Then she leaned close to Richard. She looked him straight in the eye and said quietly, “Maybe…you could forget about dinner and just come visit me.”

Richard asked, just as quietly. “How could we work that out? I don't think your aunt would go for it in a big way.”

Jennifer took a pen and pad from her bag and wrote her address for Richard. “Once she's asleep, she's asleep. I live upstairs, in the room in the dormer. You could climb up the side of the house, where there’s a window. Then, pull yourself up and over, knock on my window, and I’ll let you in. Really, you can do it. You can climb trees, can’t you? Anyway, I’ve done it.”

Richard wondered why a person might have to climb into her own home. Then he wondered if he could climb half as well as Jennifer. She was in great shape. Probably from all that compulsory clean living.

“Okay,” he said, hoping for the best.

Next Week: Richard Gets Called into the Principal's Office

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 9

How to Make Teachers Wear Ties

The principal couldn't believe what had happened. He'd had that cheese film, and the cheese discussion coldly calculated to the last moment. Till that Tier One stood up.

That bastard! How could he just appear out of nowhere and upstage him like that? After all his planning! After he’d so cleverly placed Angie in front of the group! He was just about to convert the whole lot of them and that bastard Tier One had to stand up and ruin everything.

I mean, come on! All you had to do was look at the man to know he wasn’t serious. Those shorts, every day, even in the winter…and those horrible T-shirts! The man didn’t even have the decency to wear a collar! What does it take to toss on a shirt with a collar on it? Nothing, that’s what!

How could he lecture the staff to “dress for success” when Tier One kept coming in dressed for nothing but his own personal comfort? It was…it was selfish, that’s what it was!

And how could he get rid of Tier One? He’d probably been in the building since before it was built, and it was just hard to fire people like that. As if that weren’t enough, everyone said he was a good teacher, and he’d gotten letters from grateful parents whose kids never understood history until Tier One had taught them. It wasn’t fair!

Why couldn’t Tier One be like his good-for-nothing assistant principal of organization (APO), who didn’t do his job worth a damn, but wore a suit each and every day? Sure, it was irritating having him around the office, but he looked good. When people from the region came, they always commented on that.

The principal picked up the phone. “Seymour, get in here right away.”

30 seconds later, Seymour, APO, was standing before the principal, pen and pad in hand. Look at that. A tan suit, a cream-colored shirt, brown shoes, and an elegant tie that set off the whole outfit. Why on earth couldn’t Tier One dress like that? He probably got paid more than Seymour.

“Seymour, I want you to start building a file on Tier One.”

“I’ve been trying to. But everyone seems to like him.”

“Well, what can we do about that?”

“I-I don’t think there’s much we can do. His boss, on the other hand, is a member of your cabinet, and he doesn’t even wear a tie.”

“No tie?” The principal thought for a moment. “Does he wear a collar, at least?”

“Well, yes he does.”

“Let me think about this, OK, Seymour?”

“Yes sir!” Seymour scurried back to his cubicle.

Hmmm…that darn teachers’ union would make it almost impossible to get rid of Tier One. But his AP? Hadn’t he taken an awful lot of time off when his sister was sick with cancer? Had he cleared it with him? Perhaps. But this was just the sort of example that could get the school back in shipshape order.

With any luck, soon everyone would be wearing a tie. And he’d be superintendent in no time.

Next: Jennifer Lets Richard Take Her Out

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 8

Burglars

Ms. Goodrich was adamant. “You’ve only returned 23 copies of Ethan Frome, so I’m only giving you 23 copies of Flowers for Algernon.”

“I can’t help it,” Richard protested. “Ms. Rong didn’t leave any book receipts, and the other kids say they never got the book.”

“It isn’t my fault if you can’t find the book receipts. Have you checked the closets?”

In fact he had. And if that weren’t enough, some freak had actually tampered with his lunch. Rather than simply stealing it, someone had reached in, taken a piece of cheese out, and left knuckle-prints all over the bread. It was gross. He was sorely tempted to eat the school lunch.

“It’s the lunch bandit,” said a nearby colleague, looking at the remains of Richard’s sandwich.

“He got me last week,” commented the woman sitting next to him. “Stuck his whole hand in my salad, and stole the top to make sure I knew.”

“I think it’s that sub who talks too much” said another.

“Larry?” asked the woman.

“I’ve never trusted that guy. On the other hand, he isn’t always here.”

Richard couldn’t believe such things went on. Lunch could wait, he decided.

As for class, he decided to distribute the 23 books he had, and have the students read them in class, in pairs. At the last department meeting Ms. Goodrich had extolled, at some length, the virtues of pair work. Here was a chance to put those great ideas into action.

Still, it seemed to Richard an enormous waste of time to have the kids sitting around reading in class when they could do so at home.

Later, an unexpected solution presented itself. Frankie, an outgoing but underachieving student, stopped Richard in the hall. “Pssst, Mr. C.”

“Hey Frankie, what’s up?”

“I hear you’re having problems getting the books you need.”

“Yeah, said Richard. “That’s true. Didn’t I just get through telling your class I could only get 23 copies of the new book?”

“Never mind that,” said Frankie. “How many more copies you want?”

“Where are you gonna get copies, Frankie?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Mr. C. I can get into the bookroom whenever I want.” Frankie flashed Richard an “OK” signal.

“Really?” Could he pull this off? Frankie looked absolutely confident.

“Really, Mr. C. It’s no problem at all. Nobody needs to know nothin’, and we never talked about this. But what’s in it for me?”

“For you? What do you want?”

“Well, I could use some extra credit. My dad wants me to get an eighty average this semester.”

“So if I give you extra credit, you can get me 15 more books?”

“No prob, Mr. C.”

They sealed the deal with a handshake, and the next morning Richard unlocked the classroom door to find 15 brand new copies of Flowers for Algernon on the desk.

Next: The Principal Strikes Back.

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 7

The Big Cheese

Richard and Jennifer returned to the building to attend the post-conference conference in the student cafeteria. They joined a group including Tier One and a few others, ostensibly to discuss what they learned from the mice and the cheese. It was hard to concentrate because Tier One had fallen asleep on the table.

A corpulent math teacher was talking over a microphone. “What kind of cheese do you have? What color is it? Is it old and moldy? Is it green?” The math teacher kept giggling at himself, producing awful feedback, and was rapidly losing the crowd. This grieved him deeply. “Hey, ya know, I spent five days in the principal’s office preparing these remarks. I’m just trying to make some jokes and lighten it up around here, and you guys are paying no attention at all. You know, you wouldn’t like it if your students treated you like this.”

The principal glared at the audience, with little noticeable effect.

The math teacher lowered the microphone in defeat, the feedback subsided, and the only sound you could hear was Tier One snoring. A perky young teacher took over for her disappointed colleague.

“Hi, everyone! I’m Angie Wittner. I’m helping out today, and I’d like to get your comments. What did you learn from the film today?” She gave a practiced Disney World smile (She'd worked there for two years) and continued, “Wouldn’t it be nice if all of you could use the new techniques the chancellor has introduced in all your classrooms? Why are there so many gloomy Guses out there? Let's turn those frowns upside down!" She pranced around like a spokesmodel, thrusting the microphone at various random victims.

Jennifer and Richard listened as several teachers gave their impressions. After a few rounds of this, despite his very visible gesticulations of protest, she approached Richard with the mike. He was sadly trying to invent a genuine-sounding reaction when Tier One suddenly grabbed the mike from his hand and stood up.

Everyone shut up and looked. Richard wondered how Tier One could wear shorts on such a cool day. He wondered if wearing shorts to the classroom was grounds for dismissal. If so, how could Tier One wear them every day? And how many "TIER ONE" T-shirts could one man possibly own?

“You all know me," began Tier One, "so I’m not gonna introduce myself. I’ve heard a lot today about cheese. The new cheese, I guess, is supposed to be better than the old cheese. But you’re asking the wrong question. It doesn’t matter if the cheese is old or new. You should be asking if the cheese is good or bad.”

Tier One acknowledged the polite applause of his colleagues, and continued, “I’ve been here since before a lot of you were born, and every year there’s a new cheese. They say we have to use this cheese because it’s the best cheese ever. Then the next year, they tell us, no, that cheese was no good, and we have to use this one.”

“This year, they’re giving us the very same cheese they used twenty years ago, and giving it a new name. That doesn’t make it taste any better, though.”

“Now, my wife and I, we love cheese. In fact, we go to a special cheese store to buy it. We don’t eat that pasteurized processed American cheese-style food-product, and we don’t go for that cheese you spray out of a can and caulk your windows with.”

“Do you know what the secret of good cheese is? It’s the same as good wine, or brandy. The secret is age. In some societies, they think age brings wisdom. You guys think you can pay some twenty-two-year-old college graduate to write some cutesy curriculum and it’s gonna change the world.”

“You want good schools? Do what they do in Nassau. Excuse me, I gotta sit down because my cheese is just about grilled.”

The entire cafeteria rose and gave Tier One a thunderous ovation. Angie, unaccustomed to being upstaged, fought back tears while the principal wondered how much Maalox he still had in his refrigerator.

Next: Richard learns the fine art of negotiation

Semesters of Our Lives Chapter 6

An Office Intrigue

Another meeting. Why on earth were there so many meetings? No one seemed to have much new to say. At least this time they were showing a film. It was some cartoon about two mice and their cheese. Apparently cheese was an important thing.

“Psst.”

Richard turned around.

“Hi. My name’s Jennifer.”

“Hi, Jennifer.”

“What do you teach?”

“I teach English. How about you?”

“I teach Spa-neesh”

Spa-neesh. Richard realized at that very moment that he’d always needed to meet a Spa-neesh teacher.

“How long have you been here, Jennifer?”

“Not long," she answered. "But longer than you, I think.”

“I’m brand new," Richard admitted. "Do you know what those mice are talking about?”

“I have no idea. Who cares? Did you sign the attendance form?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Jennifer looked at him for a moment before speaking. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” That was the best idea Richard had heard in some time. He followed her, happily missing the rest of the cartoon.

Next: Tier One Takes a Stand

Semesters of Our Lives

To commemorate the second year of this blog, I'm composing the world's very first educational soap opera. I realize it's a little short on romance, but please be patient. While I haven't posted them precisely in order, they are as follows:

Introduction


Chapter One: Birth of a Teacher

Chapter Two: Meatballs

Chapter Three: Greatest Hits

Chapter Four: Perspicacity and the Sundance Kid

Chapter Five: Let's Do Lunch

Please watch this space for future installments. Your comments and suggestions are welcome, but I cannot promise I will not steal them.

Teachers steal everything, beginning with pencils. Teachers who write are even worse. If you have daughters, keep them far away from such individuals.

Let's Do Lunch

Who wears a bowtie anymore, wondered Richard. Just as he was thinking that, Harold Brown and his bowtie made a sudden sharp turn, walked twenty feet, and parked their styrofoam lunch tray directly in front of Richard’s brown paper bag.

Richard watched the tray hit the table, and was about to comment on the cockroach strolling through Harold’s string beans when Harold blurted out “I heard Goodrich observed you the other day.”

“Yup,” answered Richard. “You know, there’s a…”

“Don’t take it too hard, Carter,” smiled Harold. “I heard she invited you over for meatballs and you turned her down. Big mistake.”

“You think so?” Richard asked.

“I would’ve been over in a flash,” said Harold, while picking something from his teeth. “Of course, I’m the sort of teacher who doesn’t need to do those things. She’s observed me four times, and they’ve all been great. What happened in your class?”

“Harold, you ought to…”

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I was almost teacher of the year last year. I should have won, and I would have, to, if it hadn’t been for that woman getting pregnant again. How does that make her any better than me?”

Once again, Richard didn’t know what to say.

Luckily for Richard, Howard believed in leaving no pause unfilled. “Now you tell me what happened in your class, and I’ll tell you exactly what you did wrong. I’m really good at that, believe me”

Richard believed him. “OK, fine,” he replied. Richard looked down as Harold continued to gobble down the orange stuff on his tray. “Actually, Harold, I don’t remember what happened.”

“What do you mean? Are you on drugs or something?”

“Well, no. I was just tired, and I fell asleep.”

Harold’s eyes opened wide behind his flex-titanium glasses. “You fell asleep? While Goodrich was observing you?”

“No, Harold. I fell asleep second period, and she didn’t observe me till period three.”

“Oh my God. What did she say?”

“She told me I should fall asleep on my own time.”

“Wow. That’s bad. Very bad. You should have spoken to me. I would never…”

“I told her it was none of her damn business what I do on my own time.”

Harold almost spit out a mouthful of green beans. “You what? You couldn’t, I mean you didn’t…”

“I had to, Harold. She has no right telling me what to do in my free time. This is a free country.”

Harold swallowed the last of his green beans, wiped his mouth, adjusted his tie, and left the cafeteria.

An older teacher at the other end of the table waited a few moments and asked, “You didn’t really do that, did you?”

“Of course not,” said Richard.

“I didn’t think so. You seem like a bright kid.” The older teacher turned to Richard. Richard couldn’t help but notice his T-shirt, which said “TIER ONE” in large block letters.

“Why don’t you get out of this system now,” suggested Tier One, “and get a job in Long Island? You could make some real money out there, and you won’t have to deal with idiots like Harold anymore. Don’t wait till you’re my age.”

Perspicacity and the Sundance Kid

October 14th

E5-04
Register: 34
In Attendance: 32

Dear Mr. Carter:

This morning I observed your 3rd period English 5 class. On the positive side, you have a warm and engaging manner with the students.

However, I noted several disturbing trends in this class. Upon entering, I could not help but notice that several of the windows were open approximately 18 inches. Optimally, they should not be open more than 12 inches. Studies have shown this to be the case.

Furthermore, I observed no fewer than two (2) students wearing hats in the class. It is very difficult for learning to take place in such an atmosphere.

I urge you to be more heuristic in your approach to education. As pedagogues, it behooves us to endeavor to display the sort of perspicuity one would expect from a role model. Anything less betrays the high seriousness of our calling. It’s always necessary to keenly display the perspicacity demanded of those who form children—the living clay that will quite literally permeate the world of tomorrow.

As you know, we strive to have the students discover knowledge. Therefore, it is your duty to stimulate their existing schema so that it may flower into a virtual garden of enlightenment. Your lesson consisted largely of teacher-prepared discussion. While it may be of interest to explore, for example, the possibility of viewing a novel from the point of view of a particular character, it must be the students who initiate such suggestions in order to validate the topics.

There was a great deal of student-teacher interaction. A better method would be to limit your teaching to ten minutes, and then simply turn the class over to the students. They could work in groups or simply question one another about the things they feel to be important. This will enhance the validity of your lesson, and will further allow you to reap the benefits indigenous to our profession.

It is vital that we allow the students to explore their own learning styles and that is now thought to be impossible in an environment in which the teacher has central control. You must rid yourself of territorial impulses, relinquish any and all such archaic notions, and enthusiastically, even reverentially allow the young people to explore on their own. They must be given the freedom and liberty to discover.

I am afraid, as this is so absolutely pivotal, there can be no flexibility whatsoever on this point, and we must insist you adopt this paradigm as your sole methodology.

As you have failed to do so, I must deem this lesson unsatisfactory.

Sincerely,

Epatha Goodrich
Assistant Principal, English Department

Meatballs

Ms. Goodrich’s office was the size of a large closet. It had a glass wall that separated it from the department office. On her desk were several photos of herself in running competitions. Perhaps that accounted for her cadaverous appearance. Why her teeth were like that Richard couldn’t even guess. He’d heard teachers had dental insurance.

He sat down in the ancient wooden chair in front of her desk

“Mr. Carter,” asked Ms. Goodrich, removing her reading glasses. “Have you taught before?”

“No, never.”

“Well, that’s OK.” She held up a finger for emphasis. “But you’re going to have to learn to make a lesson plan.”

“OK.”

“The first thing you need is an instructional objective. We call it an I.O. That will say what you expect the kids to be able to do by the end of the lesson. For example, kids will understand Ethan Frome’s motivation. Do you understand?”

“So far.”

“Then, you need an aim. The aim should be phrased as a question, like why did Ethan do what he did, and you must write the aim on the board every day. Can you do that?”

“I think so. What’s the difference between the I.O. and the aim?”

“Well, the I.O. is on your plan, and the aim is on the board.”

“Oh, okay.” Richard decided not to press the point.

“After you do the aim and the I.O., you need a motivation. It should be something sexy. You might ask about Brigette Bardot, for example. You’re cute, Richard. May I call you Richard?”

“Um, sure, go ahead.”

“You know, I had a rough weekend.” Ms. Goodrich began to wearily rub her eyes. “I was making meatballs.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My parents came over, and you know how that can be. So I had to make a lot of meatballs, and what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“They didn’t appreciate it at all. Not one bit. And I had to leave Michael at my friend’s house before they got here.”

“Who’s Michael?” asked Richard.

“Oh it’s a long story,” she replied. “He was one of my students. He used to wear a t-shirt every day. One day I said to him ‘Oh, how nice of you to wear a clean t-shirt,’ and then I realized it—he didn’t own any other shirts. I was so embarrassed. Anyway, he lives with me now.”

Richard couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You understand, don’t you? Because my parents wouldn’t. They didn’t even appreciate my meatballs. Don’t tell the principal. Do you like meatballs, Richard?”

The bell rang.

“Enjoy your first class,” said Ms. Goodrich, replacing her reading glasses as Richard sprinted into the hall.

The Birth of a Teacher

The Mercury was a monster. It was so big that no matter how much you filled it, it was thirsty an hour later. Also, it burned almost as much oil as it did gasoline. Nonetheless, it got you were you were going. Still, Richard had nowhere to go.

That didn’t matter much because his license had expired. While he was in Europe, the date just came and went, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was time to bite the bullet. He would have to go to Jamaica, wait on line, take the eye test, and renew his license.

Several hours later, as he was taking the subway back, a poster caught his eye. There were happy people all over it. There were happy white people, happy black people, and happy Asian people. Why were these people so happy? Having just passed the eye test, he read the ad:

If you have a college degree, New York City needs you. Be a teacher.

Wow. Richard had never considered that before. Teachers were clearly happy. They had jobs, they came in all colors, and they probably had apartments instead of Mercuries.

It seemed like a great idea.

Greatest Hits Collection

The principal saw a kid breathlessly running to Ms. C's class, and not for the first time. He wondered why so many students were constantly doing this, while scores of of others strolled lackadaisically to their classes, with no regard whatsoever for time.

He stopped the student, and asked, "Why does everyone run so fast to get to Ms. C's class?"

The kid looked at the principal as though he'd just fallen off the turnip truck. "Because Ms. C. smack you if you're late."

That afternoon, the principal called Ms. C. to his office.

"Ms. C., I hope you're not going to tell me that you're striking the students."

"OK," she said. "I won't tell you."

He gave her his stern look, which he'd been practicing, to great effect, in the office mirror . "You're not going to tell me you've been hitting the kids."

"Of course not," she replied. "You just asked me not to, so I won't. Excuse me, but I have to go pick up my daughter."

Ms. C. grabbed her bag and ran out. The principal went back to the mirror to practice his look, which clearly needed work.

Principal's Message

Welcome back, everyone! I know you’re all energized from your well-deserved summer break, and if you’re anything like me, you just can’t wait to get out there and get started. Let me start out by saying this is gonna be a great year! What? Yes, I know I said that last year, and we all know what last year was like. But this year is gonna be really, really good. No, not like the year before that, either.

Now let’s get down to it. The Chancellor has some important new incentives and ideas, and I know you’re gonna be as thrilled as I am to hear about them. First of all, lateness. Lateness is out. We want to see the kids on time this year. What? Well, yes, we wanted them on time last year, too. Yes, I know what happened last year, and I’d rather not…no, let’s not talk about the year before that either. So, remember, lateness is out, right there with portfolios…yes, I know I said portfolios were necessary, but that was the old paradigm…what’s a paradigm? Well...no, I’m sorry there is not a contract, but…I’m sure the Chancellor is doing..okay, let’s settle down, now…

Point number two is putting the desks in circles…now we can’t require that you do that, but the custodians will be re-arranging them like that on a nightly basis, for your convenience, so please let’s….no, I don’t know when there will be a contract, can we just…no, let’s not talk about last year.

Most importantly, let’s talk about class size. Well, no, it hasn’t changed, but…yes, of course I agree that smaller classes would be better, but here’s the thing…well, yes, but let’s focus on how we can have the effect of smaller classes without actually reducing the size…yes, I know we’re overcrowded, but…well, there are four hundred new students this year and…yes, we will be breaking more classrooms in half and…no, the new walls are not soundproofed but…no, we haven’t soundproofed the old ones, either, but have you considered that maybe some of you are teaching TOO LOUDLY…and the art of pantomime is largely neglected, so…no, I told you I’d rather not talk about last year.

Finally, bulletin boards, no, the Chancellor was very clear about how many staples to use, and I don’t want a repeat of last year…yes, I know I said I wouldn’t talk about it, but…no, there’s no contract, but that doesn’t mean…Okay, I’m going to turn the floor over to Miss Pewterschmidt, who will talk about Right to Know...yes I know you’ve heard it before, but…Miss Pewterschmidt?