Chapter Forty-One: Christmas Partying and Parting

Chapter 41 – Christmas Partying and Parting

I am not good at hosting parties, but as principal I feel it is my obligation to arrange a staff holiday party. I put up a food sign-up sheet and reserve the party room at my apartment complex. I buy every staff member a coffee mug and gift certificate from Books-a-Million. The question of alcohol always stymies me. I don’t drink and I worry if I sanction an event with alcohol and someone is hurt, I will be liable. But most of my team can’t fathom a party without alcohol. Compromise: I won’t supply it but they can bring it. They do.

Lynne, my business manager and counselor Rosie are the first to arrive. They set out the food then retire to a sofa and start drinking. They are perfectly happy to talk to only each other all evening.

Stephanie, the orientation leader, comes with Rufus, her new “boyfriend.” He works in the farm feed store up in Micanopy, but is in the Reserves and just got called up to report to Fort Stewart, GA. He is very chatty and personable. He and Stephanie station themselves at a small table by the window. Stephanie calls out to people to come join them and meet her boyfriend. Holding court, Stephanie wants to show him off to her coworkers. Her message: see how much better he is than that abusive, dirtbag man to whom I was married. . . well still am legally.

Buffy the elementary teacher arrives with her roommate. Her roommate attends University of Florida and wants to be a doctor. She talks and talks and talks about herself. Buffy keeps looking at the door, she seems eager for someone special to arrive or maybe she just wants to escape Ms. “enough about me.”

Ruth the cafeteria manager brings her husband. He appears far more educated and polished than Ruth. He is a manager at a local company. As we talk I wonder whether he knows that his wife says “nigger.”

Yvonne, who lives in my apartment complex, arrives with a tray of meat stuffed olives she just baked in her oven. She seems lost and like Buffy keeps looking at the door waiting for someone else to arrive.

Stone arrives with his wife. Unlike Stone, she is gracious and charming. They can only stay a short time, their church has an event tonight.

Jordan comes with fiancé Abby; Daphne brings husband Devon. These two couples have gotten together socially before. They sit together in a corner and pick up where they last left off.

Rusty arrives with his portable musical keyboard and sets the mood by playing Christmas carols.
Shasta brings her son Quinn. Quinn is thrilled by Rusty’s playing. Quinn pulls up a chair by the keyboard and joins Rusty in singing carols.

Midge arrives late, flustered and out of breath. She got lost. Lost?! She lives a block away!

Neeley arrives very late and very drunk. He proceeds to drink more. Buffy and Yvonne swarm around the young Adonis. What do they see in this scrawny, unkempt, unwashed guy?

For the most part, no one mixes, mingles or socializes. I work hard at moving around the room and talking to every guest, thinking all the while, I’d rather be at home. I am relieved when people start to leave. Yvonne takes drunken Neeley – to her place or his, not my business.

I am just not good at hosting parties.

Christmas is coming

Staff and students are starting to think about Christmas. RitaMae’s class writes essays on what they most want for Christmas. Nora writes that she wants her brother, Noah, to get out of his program and for her whole family to live together again. Twelve-year-old Nicholas writes that he is too old for Christmas. His mother got $125 from his stepfather to buy toys for his three stepbrothers. Nicholas and his mother went shopping together. It’s okay though, he writes again, I’m too old for Christmas.

The elementary students want to sing Christmas carols for the whole school. They don’t really know the words, so Midge helps them practice. We don’t have an auditorium so they decide to do it on the ball field. They sing while the older students walk to class. The elementary students all huddle on and around the pitcher’s mound and serenade the middle schoolers with jingle bells and Rudolph. The middle schoolers look befuddled and confused, a few smile tentatively but no one pokes fun or makes a rude comment. Although the children begin singing hesitantly, their confidence grows and so too does their volume and their pride.

My first Florida Christmas and the scenes are surreal. This morning when I was running I noticed more houses with elaborate holiday decorations than I remember from the northeast. Maybe in this land without snow, it is more important to make it look “a lot like Christmas.” It is disconcerting to see Santas and reindeer next to green grass and flowers in a world that looks like June. Now I see children in shorts and t-shirts squinting in the bright sun under a cloudless sky, standing on a grassy field surrounded by green leafy trees, singing about Dasher and Dancer as classes file silently by.

Stone as Santa Claus? Not since the drunk played St. Nick in Miracle on 34th Street do I worry, has there been a more inappropriate role assignment. But Stone has the body for it and agrees to do it. I rent the costume, and buy and wrap books for all the elementary students. Santa/Stone comes in Midge’s classroom ho-ho-ho-ing. Even the most cynical children are suddenly cuss-less. Several run to hug him. Stone passes out the gifts. I didn’t put name tags on them, but Stone acts as if there is only one right package for each child. The students don’t seem to recognize Stone and they are overjoyed with the presents. They all want to hug him before he leaves. Stone does the same thing in Buffy’s elementary classroom.

Later he comes in my office to change back into his clothes. Stone the curmudgeon, Stone the cynic, Stone who has made jokes and formal requisitions for a cattle prod, Stone the “I hate all of you and you’re all goin’ to hell”, this Stone has tears in his eyes. He forgot there was any innocence left in our students. He tells me more than once, “They were hugging me.”

On the last day of school before Christmas break, many teachers bring gifts and cards for their students; a few students come with gifts and cards for staff. Midge is upset that Trey is absent. She bought the budding writer a hard covered journal for his stories. Keith has a card for Jana. More surprisingly, DerMarr has a hug for her. Marcus, his hair tightly braided, brings a gift to RitaMae. Nora has a gift for RitaMae as well, and a big hug. Darius has a card for Rusty. Ruth, the cafeteria manager, uses her own money to buy candy canes and toys. She puts a candy cane and a number in every lunch bag and has a drawing. Ruth awards the special presents, stuffed animals and toys, to students holding winning tickets. In the parking lot at dismissal, the lucky recipients of Ruth’s gifts run to show me their prizes. I wonder whether these will be the only Christmas presents they receive. All of Daphne’s students hug her; a few look like they are going to cry. The busses start to depart, Eli, the football player I never saw play football, sticks his head out the window and shouts “Merry Christmas Mrs. Smee!”

After the busses leave, Trey’s mother comes in my office. She asks me to sign a card for Trey who will be spending Christmas in JDC (juvenile detention center). Yesterday Trey’s aunt came over to take Trey and his two younger siblings shopping. Trey was misbehaving and his mother decided she would not permit him to go along. His aunt put the two other children in the back seat and prepared to drive away. Trey was upset that he was excluded from this outing. He grabbed a loose brick and threw it at the rear window of the car. It smashed the window just above his baby brother’s head. Fortunately the brick did not go through the window and no one was hurt. But Mom decided to call the police. Mom was convinced that the brick would have killed the baby if it had broken through the glass. The police agreed and arrested Trey. They told Mom he is going to be in jail for a long time.

Mom says she needs my advice on something: What should she do with all the toys she bought for Trey? Her coworkers at Wal-Mart are telling her to return them, get her money back and buy more presents for her two other children - her good children. But Mom is unsure. Fighting my own anger, frustration and sadness, I tell her to save Trey’s gifts and give them to him when he is released. Mom nods her head. Trey is nine years old. Merry Christmas Trey.

Chapter Forty: Hey Bus Driver (Christmas Version)

Chapter 40: Hey Bus Driver

I am almost half-way through the school year, and the hiring, firing and quitting of bus drivers continues at break-neck speed.

Transportation coordinator Shasta reports Quentin, a bus driver, is overdue for his required physical and is dragging his feet on getting it. I ask why. She obfuscates. Is it the cost? She says she does not know, but she will ask him. I am still not proficient in Shasta-speak and wonder what she is really trying to tell me.

Shasta returns to my office an hour later. She thinks Quentin is reluctant to see a doctor because he has a heart condition and he is afraid he won’t pass the physical and if he doesn’t pass the physical he won’t be able to drive and since this is his livelihood... I translate. In Shasta -speak she is asking me to overlook the medical requirement for Quentin. “How will we feel when Quentin has a heart attack driving our students home and we have not one death but 50?” Shasta agrees to tell Quentin he must have the physical.

Shasta returns to my office at the end of the day. She tells me that Quentin told her he is going to quit. No, she doesn’t know why. I speak with Quentin. He tells me his aunt died and she was a pastor and now he has to take over her job as preacher. Being a pastor is a full-time job and, no, he can’t be a preacher and a bus driver.

Quentin is off the bus.
We hire bus driver Kelli’s friend, Quaneshia to replace Quentin, the driver cum preacher.

Bus driver Audra has been screaming and cursing at her students. Parents and students are complaining; the children often confess they cursed at her first, but they are indignant that the driver should “cuss” back. Shasta talks to her, but clearly Audra is losing her grip. She tells Shasta she and her husband want to start a business selling vending machines and she gives her two weeks’ notice.

Audra is off the bus.
We hire new bus driver Quaneshia’s friend, Tashanna.

Ellie is missing-in-action. She doesn’t phone and doesn’t show. Shasta knows something but she isn’t saying. On a hunch I phone Rocky, the director of ESAK, the other local Ebencorp program. Yes, Ellie is driving for him. Didn’t she tell me? He is so sorry she didn’t tell me. He takes full responsibility. Good ‘ole Rocky, so unctuous, and so well liked by Henry and the community.

Ellie is off the bus.
We hire new bus driver Tashanna’s friend, Erika.

Erika informs Shasta her other part-time job will require her full-time for at least thirty days, maybe longer.

Erika is off the bus.

Shasta interviews Bill to replace Erika. She has him ride Kelli’s bus, incontrovertibly the worst bus. He not only survives, he is upbeat and amused. His background check is clean, we hire him. He will start tomorrow.
We never see him again. Shasta leaves voice messages.

Bill, who was never really on the bus, is off the bus.

Shasta and I analyze the BBB (bad bus behavior) referrals and find Kelli’s bus has the most referrals while Carolyn’s bus has the fewest. Kelli’s riders throw more objects out the windows and at the driver, they bring more lighters to set fires or, in one case, to try to light a peer’s neck on fire. The boys on her bus are more often out of their seats grabbing girls, and her girls are out of their seats kissing boys. Shasta believes the problems are due solely to the children who ride the bus: Kelli has the bad kids. I am skeptical and I suggest we swap routes. Shasta refuses. She is adamant, Kelli must not drive Carolyn’s route in the Fort McCoy neighborhoods. Why?! Shasta explains:

Last year Quaneshia found a house she loved in Fort McCoy. She walked around the property, left, then came back with her real estate agent. She stepped out of her car to a black faced dummy hanging from the oak tree in the front yard of her dream home . Scrawled on the shirt were the words: “Nigger go home.” Carolyn, my only white driver, will keep the Fort McCoy route.

Sometimes my school bus anguish “leaks out” into the community. Late one evening in late autumn, a man I don’t know phones to tell me his profanity-riddled tale of woe. After some therapeutic active listening (“I can tell you are very upset sir”), I learn about a pothole in the parking lot of his business. He kept filling it in but it kept reappearing. He didn’t know where it came from so he “played Dick Tracy” and stayed late one night. He spotted one of our busses using his driveway as a turn around. He informed Shasta weeks ago but, according to him, she has been less than prompt about returning his calls or making restitution. I guess he hasn’t mastered Shasta-speak. I ask, “What will it take to make you happy sir?” I agree to pay for gravel to fill the hole and ask the driver to turn around elsewhere.

A few months later, bad bus behavior gets us in trouble with more than just one neighbor. In early December Rosie called Interfaith (a charity organization) to ask for food donations. Many of our children survive on only the breakfast and lunch we serve. They arrive at school starving and leave hungry. The two-week winter break portends raw hunger for these children. Interfaith, like so many charitable organizations, has more need than donations. But they are able to give us some canned goods. Karla’s mother admits she has no money for, or plans to obtain any, Christmas gifts or holiday food. We buy Karla some clothes and shoes we know she wants and put together a box of food for her. Mom can’t or won’t come pick up the items, so before Christmas break, we hand the wrapped gifts and box of food to Carolyn, the bus driver, asking her not to give it to Karla until she gets off the bus.

Enroute home, Perry spots the canned goods and reaches to take one. Carolyn admonishes him “hands off, those are Karla’s.” This is news to Karla who leaps from her seat to check out the situation. The other students on the bus are shouting and angry, “How come she gets food?” Karla decides the fair thing to do is to divvy up the canned goods. Mission accomplished, she returns to her seat. Perry, suspended several times this year for throwing paper and pencils at the driver and from the bus, can’t resist. Out the window goes his can of cooked carrots. Before Carolyn can stop the onslaught, canned goods are flying out the bus windows. Cling peaches in heavy syrup, French cut string beans, tuna fish, pearl onions in cream sauce all are bouncing along the highway, one can hits a car, another lands in the back of a pick up. One can, I believe stewed tomatoes, smashes the mirror on a public school bus unlucky enough to be idling next to our bus at a red light. By the time Karla arrives home there are no canned goods left. My phone is ringing. Citizens want to report dangerous projectiles. Strangers curse at me. We owe the public school for the broken bus mirror.

The canned food is off the bus.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Faculty Meetings

Chapter 39: Faculty Meetings

Both Sides Now

I stand in the cafeteria at 4:00 on a Tuesday afternoon in early December. Today our weekly staff meeting will begin with food, based on my belief that people are happier when they are eating. Lynne, my business manager, ordered a variety of sandwiches, salads, chips, cookies and sodas from Publix. Everyone takes a plate and chooses quickly except Daphne and Stone. Although Lynne ordered some vegetarian sandwiches, Daphne doesn’t know what is in the bread, so she won’t eat any (could be milk or eggs, anathema to a vegan). I ask Stone why he is hanging back. I worry he is ill and encourage him to take his turn. Stone explains to me he is on a diet and he wants others to make their selections first. He says what is left is what God means him to have. There is quite a bit left.

The faculty sits down in what has become an established pattern. Counselors Rosie and Rusty are on the right side of the cafeteria along with Lynne, the business manager, Shasta the transportation manager and Stephanie the Orientation leader. On the left side of the cafeteria, on the other side of a six-foot aisle, sit the teachers.

Clearly a schism has developed between the teachers and the counselors. The counselors complain to me that some teachers don’t have classroom management skills, are inconsistent in chastising students and depend on the counselors to control their classes.

In some ways the counselors are right. With the exception of Daphne and Jordan, my teachers’ classroom management skills range from fair to pathetic.

The teachers, in turn, complain to me that the counselors are too soft, too nice and don’t “support” them. They want counselors to yell and frighten students. They want to be able to threaten students with “If you don’t stop I’ll call a counselor.”

In some ways the teachers are right. Rosie and Rusty are better at counseling children than disciplining them.

When Rosie and Rusty respond to a teacher’s request to help with a disruptive student, frequently the child calms quickly in their presence. They may gently chastise the student, but in doing so the child often confides in them about personal problems. They regularly talk to parents to report disruptive behavior. Some of the students actually get quite a bit of one-on-one time and counseling with them. If they don’t have too many disruptive children in their office, they might have a child pick up trash, scrub graffiti off a wall or write a letter of apology or an essay on correct behavior. The trouble is, none of these activities is punishment to our students, most of whom have been physically beaten for misbehavior. Our punishments pale in comparison. Moreover, our students long for adult attention so while they are scooping up garbage or scouring a wall, they can chat with Rosie and Rusty. The dilemma is, we need people in whom the students can trust and confide, and if going to the counselor is seen as punishment, then we lose this important resource.

Of course some days, being a counselor is not the cushy job the teachers imagine it to be. Some days the walkie-talkie chatter is non-stop “I need a counselor to remove Luke, Roxanne, Darius, Victor, Aidan, Warenita. . . ” On those days the counselors are running and misbehaving children are either returned to class or taken along to pick up the next misbehaving student. Rusty does hit upon a sanction many students dislike – sitting on a hard bench, facing the wall without talking, but this punishment works well only when you have a few misbehaving students.

And so the teacher-counselor tension persists. I spend extra time in Neeley and Buffy’s classrooms since they seem to call on the counselors the most. Often Buffy’s entire class is in the counseling office. Rosie and Rusty ask whether they can have Buffy’s paycheck! I counsel and coach Neeley and Buffy on classroom management techniques. I have them observe other teachers. I arrange for speakers on our “in-service” days to discuss effective classroom management and behavior modification techniques but Neeley and Buffy continue to have chaotic classes, to have the most children removed and to be vocal about placing the blame on Rosie and Rusty.

If you can’t say something nice…
.
If I’m not careful, our Tuesday afternoon meetings degenerate into black holes of negativity. Teachers are desperate to share horror stories; each subsequent speaker tries to one up the others. “Well if you think Marcus’s bad….” Stone can always be counted on to interject his solution to all student misbehavior: “Get a cattle prod.” Today I open the meeting with a request for each teacher to tell one success story; one student who we might “save.” I encourage the teachers to indicate whether this child is a candidate for returning to public school at the end of the semester.

RitaMae picks Nora. Freckle-faced Nora, who used to live with her family in a van, is now living with an aunt and cousin in another county, and is doing splendidly. She completes all her work on time, aces tests, smiles in class, wears her uniform and no longer wears Goth make-up. Nora looks well-rested and… well, she looks “like a normal kid.” RitaMae hasn’t seen Nora lose her temper or even look angry in weeks. Nora uses profanity occasionally but more and more she catches and corrects herself. RitaMae plans to select Nora for second quarter academic honors when we meet after Christmas to determine award recipients. RitaMae believes Nora will be ready to return at the end of the semester if her aunt approves the move and assuming Nora continues on her current trajectory.

Daphne talks about Edgar. Edgar, who fought so often and so brutally that he was formally expelled from public school, has made huge strides in controlling his anger. He is also learning to read. We talk about the complicated process for returning a student who was formally expelled rather than one who was “voluntarily” removed by a parent. It isn’t impossible but…. We all agree Edgar is worth the hassle.

Jana, looking quite pregnant and very tired, speaks next. She says her nominee is not ready for public school, but his improvement has been incredible. His name: DerMarr. Stephanie, the orientation leader, is visibly shocked. Could this be the same DerMarr who threw wastebaskets, could only speak in vulgarities and who defied every adult? The boy who never spoke but always SCREAMED? The same DerMarr who caused Stephanie to temporarily resign? Apparently it is. DerMarr, the fifth grader we put in middle school to protect the other elementary students, is doing better in Jana’s class. We had to call his Aunt to school about four times before DerMarr realized Auntie, unlike Mom, would support the teachers and hold DerMarr responsible for his behavior. Jana says she will advocate hard to make sure DerMarr receives the award for “most improved student” for this quarter! But, she emphasizes, he isn’t ready for public school, yet.

The Trouble with Tony

Neeley wants to talk about Tony. Tony has no anger problem, he doesn’t curse, he is never truant, he is always polite. But he will need a public school with more ESE (special education) resources, because his academic skills are very low. He is very slow to learn new material and it is unclear whether he can even read. Tony appears to be a normal 13 year old white boy, says Neeley, adding that Tony also has a crush on classmate, Stacey. Neeley wants to know why Tony is still here. Before I can craft an answer, Rosie asks whether Neeley has read Tony’s file. He hasn’t. I encourage teachers and counselors to read the student files. Most don’t, but Rosie always does. She recites from Tony’s file: Tony was removed from public school two years ago on a felony charge. He served time in jail and in a program. Legally he can return to school now, but his mother is afraid to have him return to the middle school he previously attended. When he was arrested, it was big news and all the students and teachers at his former school knew about it and remember it. Mom doesn’t want Tony at Prospect but until she moves to another neighborhood, in another school district so Tony can attend a different middle school, she feels stuck. Every couple of months Mom decides she’ll homeschool. She pulls Tony out, homeschools him a couple weeks, then returns him to Prospect.

Neeley wants to know what possible felony Tony could have committed; this kid is a Boy Scout.

Tony sexually molested a four-year-old girl.

Tony has never shown an inclination to talk about this incident to anyone at Prospect. Rosie once asked him directly about the molestation during a one-on-one conversation, but he just shrugged, sighed and refused to discuss it. Since Tony rarely misbehaves, he doesn’t often see Rusty or Rosie individually and, honestly, Rosie and Rusty don’t really have the time or specialized training to work with sex offenders (who may also be victims of sexual abuse). Tony does receive sex offender counseling from a hospital in Gainesville as one of the conditions of his parole. Tony’s mother feels the “incident” was blown way out of proportion. She has also been adamant that the details of Tony’s crime be kept private, fearing, with good reason, ostracism for Tony if his peers learn the truth. His cover story for attending Prospect involves a knife. Tony’s mother does comply with the court order to take Tony to the hospital for the sex offender counseling where once a year he is subjected to an extensive battery of tests after which his mother receives a detailed report on the findings. She brings one of these reports to me asking me to explain it to her so she can explain it to Tony. For over an hour we go through it page by page. I offer to help her explain it to Tony. She thanks me, but says she’ll do it herself. She never discusses it with Tony.

I end the “history of Tony” lesson by asking Neeley whether he has any other students who look like potential candidates to return to public school after Christmas break. Neeley looks disoriented, he is clearly unnerved by what he just learned regarding Tony’s background. He slowly shakes his head no.

Bibliophiles?

I end the Tuesday afternoon meeting with the news that we have $15,000 in Title One money to spend on books! It immediately becomes clear I am far more excited about this than is my staff.

Prospect has a room called “The Library” but in it there are no books save for a few outdated textbooks. When I first saw this, it shocked, upset and then depressed me, especially since Prospect students are so literature deprived.

Most of my students were behind from the beginning. Many years ago, when they first started school, they started without having met Pat the Bunny, Little Toot or the Pokey Little Puppy. They never joined the rabbit in saying Goodnight Moon. They sat in kindergarten classrooms with peers who had been read over a thousand books, while my students had heard fewer than a hundred. Growing up poor with uneducated parents put them behind long before they were divided into reading groups.

Through the years, their teachers, with varying degrees of success, taught them “decoding” and reading “skills.” They were tested and retested and taught and retaught. Many were held back when they failed to perform on these tests. But literacy is more than achieving a set of skills and passing standardized tests. My 100 book children are missing an awareness that books make sense and tell stories. They’re missing the rich vocabulary of literature; they are missing the joy of adventure, magic and silliness found in books.

I don’t know how, or if it is really possible, to compensate for literature deprivation. When I was the principal at the maximum secure prison for juvenile male felons in upstate New York, I found a way to provide an intensive remediation on the missed stories of childhood. We planned for the adolescent boys to do a series of story hours with the children of the prison staff. To prepare, the boys had to read stacks and stacks of children’s books. We didn’t have enough money to buy as many children’s books as I wanted, but the grant money I obtained bought us many of the classics of childhood. Watching Albirio, (armed robbery) and Jumaine (attempted murder) reading aloud The Little Engine that Could, was surreal – innocence and joy on the faces of tough, street savvy criminals.

I want to replicate this project at Prospect but I can’t get the teachers on board. They think that since Prospect students are so behind, we need to use our very limited time to instruct them using age appropriate material, not baby books. This opinion is not without merit, especially if one is FCAT focused. When I place my Title One book order, in addition to high-interest chapter books for my middle schoolers, I plan to purchase dozens of classic children’s books. I figure I can justify these purchases given that I have two elementary classrooms. Maybe then I can get some of the middle schoolers to “help out” by reading aloud to the younger children. It makes me sad to think of a childhood devoid of Sam pushing those pesky green eggs, Corduroy searching for his missing overall’s button or worrying that the Color Kittens’ clumsiness will have dire effects.

I try to generate enthusiasm for book buying and ask for suggestions – titles of books teachers would like me to buy. I stand poised, marker in hand ready to write titles on the easel. Nothing. I write down a few titles to get their neurons firing: Holes, Maniac Magee, atlases. I explain I want them to brainstorm, give me your wish lists – books you want for a classroom library, books for a school library, multiple copies of books for literature-based reading lessons, we can’t buy text books but most other books are permitted. Nothing. In defeat I finally ask the teachers to go home, think about this, research some titles and submit these suggestions to me before Christmas break.

I wonder, has this meeting run too long and made my team weary and do they hope their silence will end our meeting sooner? Are they worried that if they offer suggestions, someone (Stone) will poke fun? Or, are my teachers unfamiliar with children’s books and can’t think of titles off the top of their heads? I can easily generate a list of books and spend all $15,000 myself. I thought my teachers would be excited to be part of the selection process. Maybe I’ll get a lot of “wish lists” in my mailbox, but I suspect not; I don’t have a team of readers. Last month I was finally able to arrange for the public library’s bookmobile to make regular stops at Prospect starting next school year. Stephanie, my orientation leader, volunteered to arrange this six months ago, but when she lost interest and dropped the ball, I began to work on it. For the last few months the librarian and I have played a lot of phone tag, and I’ve done a lot of begging, but now the bookmobile will visit Prospect biweekly (I’d prefer weekly visits, but I’m just happy to be in the bookmobile’s schedule). We’re working on getting library cards for all our students and I keep encouraging my staff to get library cards as well. As far as I know, only two adults at Prospect currently have library cards: me and my business manager, Lynne. Alas, my faculty does not share my passion for books.

No Simple Solutions

As the meeting breaks up, RitaMae is holding a conversation with Neeley. She doesn’t intend for us all to hear, but because her volume is always set to “megaphone” no one misses a syllable. RitaMae is discussing Victor, her least favorite student. He is brilliant but refuses to follow any directions and curses at RitaMae constantly. Today when Victor began screaming obscenities in class, rather than calling for a counselor to remove him, RitaMae used her cell phone to call Victor’s mother. She held the phone up to permit his mother to hear Victor’s ranting. Mom jumped in the car, drove to school and removed Victor from class to holler at him.

The team is impressed with RitaMae’s creativity but they all want to know, did Mom’s visit make Victor better?

Not really.

This was not how I wanted our meeting to end. I look at the faces of my staff. They are discouraged and defeated.
Nothing works.
The students are evil.
See? Even their parents can’t control them.

I had such high hopes for this meeting. I wanted my staff to feel full of food, proud of our success stories and excited about buying books. What went wrong?

Well to start, there is the animosity between counselors and teachers, which I see as a function of not having enough staff. I really need both counselors and “disciplinary deans”. My students have so many problems ranging from substance abuse, sexual abuse and anger control to dealing with incarcerated parents, abusive parents, no parents, death of parents. . . the list goes on. Two counselors aren’t enough and those I have aren’t fully trained to deal with the myriad of problems my students present. Then I need different people to take on the discipline functions. Of course there is overlap - students often misbehave because of counseling needs, but I need at least two people dedicated to removing naughty children from class and designing meaningful punishments to fit the offenses.

I need a Curriculum Specialist and an Assistant principal. A Curriculum Specialist could effectively drive cross-curricular projects and themes while monitoring lessons and lesson plans as well as working with the staff on appropriate books for our students. An Assistant principal could deal with the double load of bureaucracy and paperwork that flows both to and from Herald County Public Schools and Ebencorp.

I need teachers who are trained to teach and love learning and who want to teach challenging students. I need a teacher’s assistant in every classroom with the teacher. Then teachers would be able to concentrate on teaching and not be quite as distracted by behavior problems. The assistant could immediately remove a poorly-behaving student from the room without waiting for a dean or counselor. An assistant teacher would allow my teachers to go to the bathroom and grab a glass of water when necessary.

Now in this dream world, imagine a Tuesday afternoon staff meeting. My Deans could talk to teachers and assistant teachers about effective discipline. My Counselors could share with staff some strategies for helping children cope with family trauma. My Curriculum Specialist would give a rousing presentation on literature based reading and all my highly educated teachers would be leaping out of their seats to make sure their favorite books were purchased.

While I’m wishing, why not add a library complete with books and a librarian, an art teacher (with art supplies), a music teacher (with at least a piano), a school nurse and a receptionist. Maybe then everyone wouldn’t look so harried, downtrodden and hopeless. Maybe then the children would start to heal and behave and learn.

But who will spend that kind of money on Prospect kids? When I wish aloud for more funding and resources, Henry, my liaison, has pointed out more than once: “We don’t spend that kind of money for our good kids how could we justify giving it to these kids?”

Sitting in my office in December, I know there is no point in creating a wish list for Ebencorp, Herald County Public Schools or even for Santa Claus. For poor children in Florida, it’s kind of like Narnia, but here you say: it’s always Summer and never Christmas.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: You've Got To Be Taught

Chapter 38: You’ve got to be Taught

Before I moved to Central Florida, friends shared pithy sayings:
“…The further North you go in Florida, the deeper South you get.”
“…Northern Florida is LA…. Lower Alabama.”

A friend of mine who was born and raised in South Carolina regularly defends the racism of the south saying it’s no worse than New York -- people in the south are just more open about it. She presumably sees this openness as a positive thing.

Shortly after I arrived in Florida, I was confronted with this “openness.” A cover story in the daily newspaper described a high school freshman petitioning the school board to lift a ban on wearing to school any clothing depicting a Confederate battle flag. The student planned to speak formally on this topic at a February School Board session. She chose February because it is black history month and she and her mother both feel that during this month “there is little attention placed on the history of whites in the south.”

It is difficult to write about race. I do not subscribe to the fashionable liberal notion that all people are racists at some level. But while I view myself as an outsider observing the strange world of racial politics in the Deep South, I am after all, a white American and I don’t expect or pretend to always see or understand racism. And while I may miss racial overtones or subtle racist language or behavior, there is no mistaking much of the racism I witness in Herald County. All that openness. . . .

The racial dynamics in my new town are not helped by the demographics. In Herald Country, 84% of the people are white, 12% are black and the rest are Hispanic, Indian or Asian. In Herald County public schools, where 11% of the students are black, there is a diversity goal to have 11% of the teachers at every Herald County school be, as they say down here: “non-white.” In some schools this is difficult to achieve; in the northeast section of the county (where Brock and Timmy live and the football team is all white) black teachers are rare.

Herald County has not achieved “unitary status” meaning it is still operating under federal court ordered desegregation. In 2004 The US Department of Justice chastised Herald Country for its hiring practices and cited one elementary school here that, despite serving 551 students, 39% of whom are black, only employs two “minority” teachers and hired only white teachers for all six recent vacancies. Actually the school did hire one black male teacher, but according to the daily newspaper, he quit because he was tired of being harassed by parents for his dreadlocks.

At Prospect roughly 50% of my students are black, (45% are white and 5% are Hispanic). Despite my efforts to hire a staff that reflects my student population, by November of 2002 my teaching faculty is only 13% black (although by January 2003 it will increase to 23%) and my non-teaching staff is 37% black (by January 2003 it will be 50% primarily due to hiring black bus drivers).

Nevertheless, saying I am no worse than the public schools in regard to my diversity goals, is not the same as saying I am doing well and it doesn’t change the reality for my black students and their families. I am frustrated by how difficult it is to achieve a multi-racial staff but I don’t stop working on this objective.

No one from Ebencorp or Herald County public schools ever makes a suggestion, states an expectation, defines a quota or puts any pressure on me to hire a diverse staff. Nonetheless, I am strongly committed to, and know the value of, a diverse faculty. I was supposed to start the year with a black, male teacher, LaRon from Palm Beach, but he never arrived. I desperately want to hire some black, male teachers to reflect the racial and gender make-up of my student population, but I am having so much trouble just finding competent people, if I hold off on filling a position until I find a candidate of the right race and gender, I’ll be desperately short staff. I try to lure some of my talented black, male teacher and counselor friends from New York and Michigan to come teach at Prospect, but the pay and location are, to say the least, not particularly enticing. One morning a black man accidentally came to my office for an interview he had scheduled next door at Haven High – I tried to recruit him. I almost succeed, but Haven High offered him more money than I can afford.

I have no money in the budget for advertising and thus limit myself to free on-line job sites (mostly teachinflorida.com) but I do put ads on a couple historically black college career sites such as Florida A&M, and I also try to recruit from the military through an on-line site. A black man in the army in New Jersey calls me, but he won’t be leaving the service for three years. A black airman calls from Italy. He is interested until he hears about my “challenging” students. Rex, my mentor, gives me the name of a black car salesman with teaching credentials, but when I call he has just accepted a teaching position in the public schools.

I think about the black parents of my students and how it must feel to walk onto the Prospect campus and see that nearly every adult has different colored skin from you. At the very least it would feel uncomfortable, but with the racist history of the south and the continuing prevalence of racism in daily life here, it must make my school feel like hostile territory. No black parent has ever commented on this to me, but many white parents make remarks about the racial make-up of my students. It usually starts with a seemingly innocuous statement like: “My child doesn’t belong here.” I quickly learn to recognize this euphemism and counter by asking why. Depending on the sophistication of the parent, a few ambiguous comments may be sputtered before the real objection is reveled: “But all your students are black.” Fifty percent black is hardly 100%, but for parents accustomed to 11% or less, my student population does look very black. These white parents usually continue with “I’m not ‘prejudiced’ but…” and the “but” is followed with: “you know how these people are.” Or “My son/daughter is afraid to come to school.” Or even “I don’t like the language they use on the basketball court.”

It is hard to talk about race. One day, shortly before Thanksgiving, I decide to address race with my staff in our Tuesday after school meeting. I broach the subject by pointing out that in our cafeteria we have a situation all too common in schools across the United States: the white students sit with each other, the black students with each other. My goal in raising this issue is to get the team talking about race in order to increase racial consciousness, generally and help us all become aware of specific race-related problems on our campus so we can work to solve them. These are the lofty goals of a naive principal who hasn’t anticipated potential reactions nor planned a rebuttal. I really thought my statement would be a catalyst for discussion. But Stone, the theology major who wishes he could be a Baptist Minister, makes it clear he doesn’t wish to discuss this topic. “Been there, done that – last year a black kid told me he hated white people. I told him good, white people hate you too and I hate all of you!”

I look around the table at my staff who, except for Jana, are all white. Billie the PE teacher and Sam, the new math teacher on the Daphne/ Jordan team, are clearly amused by and in agreement with Stone’s comment. New hire Hannah looks to Billie to decide how to respond and seeing her laugh, joins with a smile. The rest of the staff looks uncomfortable, or in the case of Buffy and Neeley, confused. Stone’s comment has effectively shut down any chance of a candid conversation and I can’t think fast enough to defeat it and create an atmosphere conducive to open, honest discussion. I move onto the next agenda item deciding in the future when I raise the issue of race I’d better be prepared for Stone and Stone-like responses. Confession: I shy away from racial issues; it is just too easy to put them on the back burner when we have so many fires to control on the front burners.

One morning, not long afterwards, I am again rendered speechless by a racist comment, but this time, not from Stone. After our 8:00 a.m. staff meeting ends, Lynne, my business manager, and Ruth, my cafeteria manager, (both of whom are white) are the only people in the portable with me. Ruth has her clipboard and is preparing to head to the cafeteria to start warming up breakfast. Ruth has one hand on the doorknob when Lynne asks “Could you tell Vince we need more toilet paper in our bathroom?”

Ruth, suddenly annoyed, responds, “You tell him yourself, I’m not your nigger.” And with that she huffs out the door.

I am stunned. I have never heard this expression and I can’t believe one of my employees just used it. Lynne shrugs it off: Ruth is over 60. Ruth grew up in rural Florida. That is just how Ruth talks. Ruth doesn’t mean anything by it. Lynne, non-plussed, sits at her computer and begins to enter attendance data.

I am aghast and still shuddering over Ruth’s words. I stand frozen in the middle of the portable. I am supposed to be the principal here, the boss. What do I do now? Do I sprint after Ruth and escort her back for a formal warning? Her comment is so abhorrent to me that to do nothing seems immoral. A phone rings. I look at the clock, it’s almost time to meet the busses. But what do I do about Ruth?

In the end, I do nothing. I do nothing but feel ashamed.

It isn’t just my employees who are “open” in their racism. I see it everyday in my students and especially in their parents. One afternoon TobyBeth’s father comes to see me. He is wearing shoes this time, but I am still looking at a mouth with more teeth missing than present, and his speech and words are difficult to understand. It seems the boys on the bus have been calling TobyBeth a “fat ‘ho.” I ask Shasta, my transportation coordinator, to join the meeting since she knows about the incident. She enlightens us: yesterday on the bus, TobyBeth was calling the black boys “niggers” and they responded by calling her a “ho.” Shasta said the driver stopped the bus and told the students all name calling had to stop. TobyBeth’s father isn’t satisfied with this explanation. As he sees it these names aren’t equivalent: TobyBeth isn’t a whore, but the boys are, after all, niggers.

Caleb asks his teacher, Yvonne, if she will keep his Michael Jordan poster safe over the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays saying he wants her to take it home to make sure it doesn’t get wrecked. In way of an explanation he adds: “My father hates black people.” A few weeks later, Caleb’s mother withdraws him from Prospect and returns him to public school. She explains her decision telling me she observed a basketball game last week and she didn’t like that the boys were playing “street rules” and that when she went in the counseling office there was a big, frightening boy in there (Rusty was chatting with Marcus and his hair was neatly braided that day) and she fears for Caleb’s safety on the basketball court, in class and on the campus. Caleb’s mother, unlike TobyBeth’s father, doesn’t say “nigger” but she is clearly fluent with innuendos and euphemisms, and the underlying racism is the same.

And from the parents, the children learn. Early one November morning I am observing in Daphne’s room when I see Timmy, who plays football for the all-white Broncos football team, becoming frustrated with a classroom project. He is trying to cut out an article on current events. He starts to cut but struggles with the scissors. He has to keep stopping, readjusting his fingers and starting again. “C’mon scissors!” Timmy implores. Then as his frustration mounts he raises his voice to address the scissors: “Stupid nigger.” Selma, Tyryona and Karla are on their feet bearing down on Timmy before I can process his words. Selma gets in his face. “Who you calling a nigger, white boy?” Daphne swiftly calls for a class meeting. Seth and Edgar moan - they were enjoying the comic pages. But everyone drags a chair to the main area and sits in a semi-circle with Daphne in the center. She starts a discussion on name-calling and racist language. Timmy is sullen and defensive. He thinks it is unfair to point fingers at him, after all he wasn’t calling anyone a name, he was talking to the scissors. Tyryona and Selma try to interrupt him but Daphne makes them stay quiet until Timmy is done, then she lets Tyryona explain how the word “nigger” upsets her no matter what Timmy’s intention was. Daphne continues to moderate the discussion making sure voices don’t pile on voices and asking probing questions such as: does “nigger” evoke the same feeling as “white trash?” Daphne is doing with her students what I failed to do with my staff. I want to stay and listen (and learn!) but as usual, a crisis elsewhere on campus forces me to depart.

Bigotry, of course, is not limited to the middle school students, but it seems even more disturbing to hear elementary children spewing racist language. Late one morning,
I am observing in Midge’s elementary classroom. Jaysen and Bram, who are both white, are working on math problems at the table in the back of the room. Kareem, who is black, wants to join them. Voices are raised in anger. Midge rushes to the scene. “Jaysen, Bram, is there a problem with Kareem working with you?”

“Yes!” Jaysen responds. “Kareem is too racial!”
Midge asks what that means but Jaysen, Bram and Kareem can’t explain, although all three of them seem to understand what it means.

Shortly thereafter, the elementary students are lining up for lunch outside the cafeteria. Before they enter, I announce to the class that a new student will be joining Midge’s class this afternoon. Kareem has a question: “What color is he?”
“What difference does it make?” I challenge Kareem.
“I hate all white people” Kareem replies. Then he quickly adds “’Cept you Ms. Smee.”
Trey, who thus far has seemed oblivious to this discussion looks up now and adds his opinion.
“Well, I hate all white people.” Trey says pointedly, looking directly at me. Jaysen, Manny, Bram, Trevor, Chip and Frankie, all of whom are white, do not say anything.

These are the same boys who take offense and act out both verbally and physically if they are called “shorty” or “baby”, but they show no reaction to Kareem and Trey’s declaration of their hatred of white people. Are they so used to hearing this it doesn’t even register? Are they thinking they hate black people but past experience has taught them they’ll get in trouble for stating as much? Is there a double standard - somehow more acceptable for black students to make anti-white statements than for white students to make anti-black declarations? There is no further discussion as it is time for the students to enter the cafeteria for lunch.

Some of these same boys who stood mutely while Kareem and Trey announced their hatred for white people, are not so silent after lunch. After eating, the elementary students head to the ball field for a kickball game. They divide into two teams. Manny and Jaysen are heading toward the outfield just as Daphne walks her middle school students across the field for lunch. Tyryona is at the end of the line. As she walks by she smiles and waves hello to the elementary students. Manny, tiny but always vulgar, shouts something obscene about Tyryona’s butt. Tyryona rolls her eyes responding “Someone better wash your mouth out you dirty boy.” Manny, always needing to have the last word, calls to Tyryona, “You shut up nigger.” Jaysen jumps on the bandwagon adding, “Yeah nigger, shut the fuck up.” Tyryona leaves the line of middle schoolers and starts to approach the two outfielders at the same time Trey and Kareem advance on them from the infield. Teachers Daphne and Midge scramble to avoid a riot. Kickball is over for today.

Of course, my experiences with racist behavior don’t end when my work day ends. Sometimes on my way home from work, I stop to buy gas at Erikson’s Speedy Mart. Erikson’s is just over a mile from two upscale neighborhoods, but it has a decidedly rural clientele: barefoot children buying ice cream line up behind shirtless, tattooed, roofers hoisting 12 packs of Cokes and Miller asking the clerk for soft packs of off-brand cigarettes.

Mr. and Mrs. Erikson, the owners, often work the register. They are always friendly and unlike every other gas station here in Lakeboro, they don’t make you pay first. The signs on the pumps say otherwise, but I always pull up, give a wave and they let me pump. Once my husband pumped $20 worth of gas at Erikson’s and went in to pay with what he thought was a twenty-dollar bill. My husband was nearly out the door when Mr. Erikson shouted him back. He had accidentally paid with a $100 dollar bill. My husband thanked him profusely. Mr. Erikson joked, “That’s why I’m a poor man!”

Tonight I finish pumping and go inside to pay. Mr. Erikson is working the register. Benny Goodman is playing on the radio and I nod toward the speakers as I proffer my cash saying “great music.” The friendly proprietor nods as he takes my money replying “better’n’ that nigger music they usually got on the radio.”

As I drive home I feel upset and disappointed by my inaction and silence. I feel like a traitor to every black person I know. It even occurs to me that maybe if I were black, I would have to pay before pumping and I wonder, would Mr. Erikson and my cafeteria manager, Ruth have spoken as they did if a black person had been present? And if they had, surely I would have protested, surely….

I keep thinking about Mr. Erikson and Ruth. Both are nice, friendly and racist. They don’t match my mental image of a racist, an image no doubt formed years ago watching television broadcasts of white, ugly, angry, pinched faces screaming at black children in Little Rock and later in Boston. I can’t reconcile their kindness with their racism. How naïve! I’m like a child who has to be warned that even friendly, attractive people can be pedophiles. It feels like an advertising conspiracy, like when automobile manufacturers use pretty women to sell cars. Why, when “good” people spout racist sentiments, does it seem so hard to answer back?

I think about Brock, the Prospect student who left our school but not before he managed to cause a scene when he called his white classmate a nigger, and about Timmy who used this epitaph for his scissors. I think about the Broncos, Brock and Timmy’s extremely segregated neighborhood which has resulted in a football team that unlike the other 25 or so Herald County teams, has only white players. I think about how Brock and Timmy have gown up hearing the “N” word as part of the background chatter of their lives – the openness of southern racism. How many of my students, and staff live in homes where words like “nigger” and sentiments such as “I hate all white people” are freely and frequently expressed? How often does this racist language come from people they love, people they respect, people who are kind, nice and friendly?

During the Cold War I read that the Soviets encouraged children to “snitch” on parents who were not good Communists. Russian schools were seen as tools to be used in part to make children not just question, but become intolerant of the beliefs of their parents. I remember when I read that as a child that it seemed “creepy.” But here I am pondering the same strategy for my students, using my school and my philosophy to make them question the things their parents say. I need these children to learn that the racism of their parents, relatives, neighbors, friends and maybe even their pastor, is wrong. I need to create an environment in my school that not only does not tolerate racism, but helps children unlearn the racism that has been so effectively infused in their souls. I am not sure why it’s so different, but teaching children to think and behave in ways counter to the thoughts and beliefs of their parents is not, in this case, like Communist indoctrination: Hate is not a family value.

But beyond the racial slurs and “openness” of southern racism, there is the underlying racism you can’t see. If only 12% of students in Herald County Public Schools are black, why are half the students at Prospect black? Are principals less tolerant of misbehaving black children? Are punishments for black children more severe than those for their white peers? When black parents are called-in to talk to white principals about their child, is there miscommunication before a mouth opens? Is it a class issue? Most of the children transferred to Prospect are poor and a disproportionate number of black families are poor, thus black children are over represented at Prospect? It seems likely that all these factors play a role. Although I have not seen evidence to support it, and I personally do not subscribe to the belief, I can see why others (especially black people) might feel that the large number of black children at Prospect is the result of an organized conspiracy on the part of the public schools. But regardless of motivation, the results are the same: an inferior education for many black children. The ghosts of segregation live on, assuming new shapes and forms.

I am determined to overcome my failure to confront racism and racist comments when I see and hear them. I must be braver about troubling the waters and giving people pause to reflect. Here in Central Florida I see racism every day and every day I wonder if I can possibly meet the challenge to change so many hearts and minds, or even just a few or maybe, one?

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Don't Be Fooled by their Size

Chapter 37: Don’t be Fooled by their Size

If you build it, they will come. By mid-November, word is out that we have two elementary classrooms. Most of our new incoming students this month have been under age ten, the youngest just turned seven. These small, appealing children are our most difficult. Have you ever seen those cartoons in which a cute baby is in a carriage under a blanket but then he pops his head up and he has a beard, is smoking a cigar and is really a criminal? My elementary students look as innocent as Popeye’s Sweet Pea, but their gangster personas are just below the surface. Elementary teacher Buffy told me yesterday when she caught tiny Jevon (age 8 but looks 5) taking her wallet from her purse, he laughed and told her “My daddy teached me that!” Oliver minus the musical numbers. . . .

The elementary students who come to Prospect are different from the middle schoolers. The behaviors that resulted in their referrals are similar – disrupting class, fighting, cursing – but they’re different academically and emotionally. The elementary students appear far more damaged and at the same time, more intelligent. With few exceptions, our elementary students are at or above grade level (unlike our middle school students who are, for the most part, more than one grade level behind). I am not an expert in mental illness, but I have done enough reading to suspect some of my elementary students suffer from undiagnosed mental illnesses including bipolar disorder, clinical depression and schizophrenia. Few of the elementary children have even gotten that label so popular with my middle schoolers: ADHD and the requisite medication. At minimum, most of my elementary students need a formal diagnosis, a Special Education designation (ESE in Florida speak).

In a couple cases, the public school started the process to get an ESE designation, but this is an expensive, time-consuming undertaking and it is faster, easier and cheaper to send these children to an alternative school. In public schools, the notoriously slow-moving ESE process is often sped up by assertive parents who stay on top of the process and pressure the school to adhere to the law and help their child. The parents and guardians of my students either lack the necessary knowledge or are too overwhelmed with other pressing concerns like feeding their families to advocate for their children. (Chip’s grandparents are the exception. From the moment Chip arrived at Prospect, his grandparents have been asking when we’ll complete his ESE testing.)

I complain to public school liaison Henry about the number of elementary children who are sent to me with half-completed ESE paperwork, along with the others who surely meet the criteria and have never been evaluated. Henry is sympathetic, but quotes the Federal Special Education law to me advising it is now MY responsibility to complete this process and the clock is ticking. I brush away the sense that Henry is more concerned with process than with outcomes. Counselor Rosie is knowledgeable about, and has a background in, ESE, but she doesn’t have the expertise equal to the people employed by the public school whose sole job is to work on ESE testing and, more importantly, Rosie doesn’t have the time. Henry does tell me he’ll send over a public school psychologist when I need the IQ and other psychological testing done, and Henry offers to send someone to train Rosie to handle these initial ESE referrals. All that is well and good, but the bottom line is that this mess is getting dumped in my lap. My bandwidth is already tapped-out and children who need mental health services, and perhaps even medication, are at Prospect getting fewer resources and no help.

Elementary teacher Midge is usually able to do lessons for most of the morning, but after lunch her goal is simply to keep the children from killing each other. For Buffy, every minute of the school day is a struggle. She doesn’t complain; she calls for a counselor early and often to remove misbehaving children. It is not unusual to find more of Buffy’s students in the counseling office than in her classroom.

Today there are nine boys in Midge’s class. Four have been here for a month or more:

Trey – age nine, great writer, often very moody in the afternoon, always hungry, stepfather sucked pacifier at open house.
Frankie – age nine, both parents in jail, living in homeless shelter, chronic toothaches, has threatened suicide.
Perry – age nine, often carries weapons, raped by cousin a few years ago.
Chip – age ten, living with grandparents, scratches face, injures self.

Trey, Frankie and Perry are very short and thin. They look much younger than they are. Chip is average weight and height. Bram, Trevor, Jaysen, Manny and Kareem are the new kids.

Bram, with flaming red hair, is short for a ten year old. Nine-year-old Jaysen is solidly built with very little hair. Both boys love Harry Potter and carry the books everywhere. It is not unusual to see Bram with a Harry Potter lightening bolt on his forehead. Bram is slow to anger, but when he is upset, he dissolves into uncontrollable hysterics, crying torrents of tears, screaming profanity and throwing things. Bram’s father has a drinking problem and moves in and out of the house. Bram does not like sports and usually refuses to participate. While the other boys play kickball, Bram sits on the grass under a tree, reading.

Jaysen has spent most of his school career out of the classroom suspended or in the Dean’s office. He uses his size to intimidate although both he and his mother are convinced he is always the victim.

Nine-year-old Trevor tests in the gifted range for reading, but refuses to read anything. His younger brother, Trent, is in Buffy’s class. They are two years apart and, except for their heights, could be identical twins. Trevor and Trent are both freckle-faced with puffy cheeks

Trevor and Trent’s mother is an incarcerated drug addict and according to their maternal grandmother, she has been on drugs for years but it took a long time before she was finally thrown in jail. Grandma began calling the police to report her daughter’s drug dealing and using before the boys were born. Now Grandma has custody of Trent, Trevor and their older sister, Muffy. Grandma looks shell-shocked. She admits she gives sleeping pills to the children every night otherwise she wouldn’t get any sleep. Grandma says the doctor prescribed them for her to give to the children. Little Trent has complained about the pills, he says they make him awaken in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep and it is dark and scary and he can’t get back to sleep.

Manny is our smallest student. He is an Hispanic eight-year-old third grader, but he looks like a preschooler. Manny is a brilliant student. He learns rapidly and is a proficient reader. The older students, especially the girls, think he is soooo cute, until he opens his mouth. Manny is fluent in profanity and very informed about sexual matters. The middle school girls like to pick him up and rub his curly black hair, but when he tells them how he would like to force anal intercourse on them (an act which he describes exclusively in vulgarities), the girls drop him and run. Manny’s mother denies any background of sexual abuse and contends Manny learned all his poor language at our evil school. She tells me Manny is a nice boy who used to attend a private Christian school until, after her divorce, she couldn’t afford it anymore. He is the oldest of four brothers and takes care of his younger siblings. Manny’s Mother is very pregnant and stops by my office several times a week to complain about the awful influence of my school and the bad role models the students are for her sweet, innocent son.

Kareem, age ten, like Jaysen, is a large, solid child with a round belly. But unlike Jaysen, Kareem can barely read. Bram, Jaysen, Trevor, Manny and Trey are all academically advanced and could be considered gifted. Perry is right on target academically. Frankie and Chip are close to grade level but their emotional problems prevent a reliable assessment of their abilities. Kareem has already been retained once. He is a ten year old fourth grader. He is upbeat and eager to learn, but his knowledge and skills are at least two grade levels behind. Here is what Kareem rarely does: sit in a chair.

Kareem and his half-brother, Raheem, both attend Prospect. Raheem is three grades ahead of Kareem but half his height and weight. Raheem has a bone disease. Staff and students are surprised when they learn the boys are related. Raheem and Kareem do not like each other and they don’t like sharing a father. They live with their paternal Grandmother, but frequently see their father who is an auto mechanic. Kareem can’t wait to quit school and work with his father. Grandma is sympathetic when Midge makes her weekly calls and mentions Kareem’s energy level.

This is how Grandma describes the typical evening in their home: Grandma and Raheem sit on the couch watching television. Kareem runs through the room shouting or singing. Kareem dances in front of the television so Grandma and Raheem can’t see it. When Grandma yells at him, Kareem unplugs the television set then dashes outside. Kareem takes medication for his ADHD but he is still wild. Kareem is rarely angry, although he is an expert at angering others. Kareem loves to draw pictures; several adorn my office walls. Between Trey, Frankie, Perry, Chip, Bram, Trevor, Jaysen, Manny and Kareen, Midge has her hands full.

A Reading lesson in Midge’s room

Every morning Midge tries to devote time to both independent reading and teacher-instructed reading.

It is 9:45 am. In Midge’s elementary classroom, the desks are arranged in a semi-circle; each student has his reading book open to a story about baseball. A friend of mine who teaches fourth grade in Central New York gave me ten copies of an outdated fourth grade reading book, so for now, every child has his own text. At first glance, this could be a typical reading lesson in any classroom. But look again.

Kareem is not sitting in his chair. Despite the warm weather, he wore his winter parka to school today. He spreads it out along two chairs and lies down. While his classmates read, Kareem kicks his legs in the air, tries to write on the underside of the desk, makes strange noises and plays hide-and-seek with his coat. Bram and Jaysen have their reading books open, but they are clearly reading other books; Bram is reading book three in the Harry Potter series; Jaysen is rereading book one. When Midge calls on them to read they have no idea what the story is about or where they should read, but once guided to the correct page, they read fluently. Perry is reading ahead in the reading book. He finished the baseball story, moved on to a tale about Paul Bunyan and now is reading a story about squirrels. It is Frankie’s turn to read aloud; he reads haltingly with many errors and looks like he is about to cry, but then Frankie always looks like he is about to cry. Chip refuses his turn to read aloud; he has one finger in the book following Frankie’s reading while his other hand holds a pen he is using to scribble hard on his forearm. Trey has a notebook “hidden” in his lap and when he isn’t called on to read, he is writing a story in the notebook. Manny is using colored pencils to color a picture of Rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer in a Christmas coloring book. Trevor has been slowly moving his desk out of the semi-circle and back toward “his” corner of the room. He doodles while he listens to his peers. Midge interrupts Frankie’s reading to correct his pronunciation and to ask comprehension questions about the story. She also admonishes Trey, Kareem, Manny, Trevor, Bram and Jaysen to pay attention. They ignore her or, in the case of Kareem, scream and kick. Midge ignores him.

Midge is uncomfortable addressing “off-task” behavior or misbehavior. Jaysen looks up from Harry Potter to make a comment to Manny, “Only babies believe in Rudolph and Santa Claus.” In an instant, Manny is out of his seat racing up behind Jaysen and punching him between the shoulder blades several times. Jaysen jumps out of his seat, knocks over his desk and, fists balled, shouts curse words at Manny. Manny laughs at him. Jaysen looks around and spies a bucket of crayons. He slings a fistful of crayons at Manny. Several crayons miss their mark and hit Trey. Trey grabs Manny’s green pencil, holds it like a spear and threatens to stab Jaysen. Frankie runs to the art table and curls in a ball and starts to moan and cry. Kareem jumps on the desk, swinging his coat in circles screaming “Manny started it.” Perry yells for everyone to “shut the fuck up.” When they don’t, Perry stomps into the bathroom, locks the door and begins to kick and punch the wall. Chip scrawls lines into his arm shouting “I’m telling.” Bram continues to read Harry Potter. Midge is rummaging through her desk looking for her walkie-talkie. Her desk is piled high with books, papers, half-eaten breakfasts, wrapped candy treats and confiscated items. She is supposed to wear her walkie-talkie but due to her obesity she can’t find a way to do so comfortably. It is not unusual for one of her students to grab the walkie-talkie and shout profanity before Midge can intercept. Midge finally finds the walkie-talkie under a glob of clay; she calls for a counselor.

This isn’t a bad morning in Midge’s elementary classroom, this is a typical day and, as I said, mornings are better in Midge’s elementary classroom; in the afternoon it is complete chaos.

Jaysen’s Mother phones the Principal

“When I made the decision to send Jaysen to your school I was told he would have smaller classes and counseling. Instead he is in a class with animals. He is beaten up daily and comes home with bruises. Now I know Jaysen can run his mouth. I asked him why he is running his mouth and he tells me he has to or the other kids will think he is a wimp. All that goes on in that class is fighting. No work, just fights. Jaysen is complaining that he is bored because he never gets any work, just fights. I know Jaysen cusses. What are you doing about his cussing? I don’t see consequences for cussing. Jaysen tells me his teacher has no control over the class. Jaysen says when he asks her for something, she forgets. Jaysen tells me he has no respect for his teacher. He has no respect for Lenny, his stepfather either. Jaysen is very angry that I married Lenny. Jaysen is smart, he loves learning; you need to keep him challenged. Right now we’re living in a one-bedroom apartment. We partitioned the dining room to make Jaysen’s bedroom. There isn’t much privacy. We’re on a waiting list for a two bedroom place. I know Jaysen needs counseling but his real Dad won’t help pay the $500 deductible so we need to wait. I know Jaysen has a real bad temper.”

As I listen to Jaysen’s mother’s monologue, I write a note to Midge asking her to be sure Jaysen is given challenging work, especially homework. I write notes to counselors Rosie and Rusty asking them to talk to Jaysen about his feelings toward his stepfather. As a team we have discussed the topic of profanity many times. We have a point system which is somewhat effective with our middle schoolers, but not with our elementary students. The elementary students need behavior modification that is concrete and immediate. Manny, who is desperate to play volleyball, has been told he needs to go one day without using profanity. So far, he can’t last an hour. We need to do better. . . .

I can see what needs to be done with our elementary students, and I even have ideas on how to do it, but so far my ideas are not really working. I’ve observed and coached Buffy and Midge. I’ve taught model lessons in their classrooms and debriefed them post-lesson. I’ve given them hand-outs and books on classroom management and interactive lessons. We’ve met to discuss challenges and how to overcome them. We’ve reworked the schedule and behavior reinforcement schemes. None of this seems to be making a difference or, if it is, the changes are too small and slow. I’m not sure Buffy could cope with a classroom of regular education students despite her degree in Elementary Education and Midge is doing her best, but she’s really an art teacher, and isn’t able to provide what these children need.

What I need are experienced elementary teachers certified in Special Education. I have spoken with Special Education teachers, but they are in high demand in public schools and, at a minimum, require at least twice the salary of my current teachers. Even then, they really aren’t particularly interested in teaching at Prospect. Midge’s daughter has a degree in Special Education and is teaching in a public school an hour’s drive north of Lakeboro. Midge picks her brain asking for ideas and suggestions. Her daughter once paid a visit to our campus and, at my urging, Midge asked her daughter if she would like to teach at Prospect. Suffice it to say she won’t be joining us in my lifetime.

So how do we do better? True Buffy and Midge don’t have the training to teach these children and although I’ve tried some interventions, this hasn’t made a difference in their approach. I could send them to a teacher training but is there one that would help? And how much does it cost? And what do I do with the students left behind? And given that Buffy just graduated college without learning the basics of classroom management, would it make a difference?

My counselors, Rosie and Rusty share my concerns about Buffy and Midge and together we devise a plan: Rosie, Rusty and I will try to spend some time every day in both Buffy and Midge’s classrooms. We will give immediate, specific feedback on what is going well and how to improve. Rosie and Rusty will focus on behavior management techniques while I focus on helping choreograph exciting, energetic, hands-on lessons. Our discussion and plans make us feel very optimistic. Rosie says her first feedback for Buffy will be to hang something on the walls of her classroom. Buffy’s walls are bare, no posters or student work. This is in sharp contrast to Midge’s room. Midge the artist has a few commercial posters but mostly her walls are covered with her students’ art: paintings, collages, murals. Rosie gathers some posters to take to Buffy.

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Walkie-Talkie is Calling Me

Chapter 36: The Walkie-Talkie is Calling Me

6:30 a.m.

At least once a month Rex Stewart, my mentor, and I meet for breakfast before school.
Rex’s advocacy for children in our community and his energy in working on programs to help them is superhuman. King Middle School is in the poorest neighborhood of Lakeboro. Rex is the principal there as well as the chair of the County Children’s Alliance and involved in many of the committees associated with it - such as anti-bullying, pro-active fathering, stopping child abuse etc. When we meet for breakfast, I pepper him with questions and ask for his advice. Rex not only answers my questions, he gives me feedback telling me how he and others in the community perceive Prospect and the changes I am making. Rex tells me he has spoken to Prospect students and they appreciate that I am making Prospect into a “real school” as opposed to a boot camp. In addition to inspiring, these talks always have tangible benefits. Today I talk to Rex about my fledgling Activity Period and he suggests my chess team and volleyball teams play his teams. (Rex has over 40 after school clubs at his middle school). Later, when I bring this news to my students, it’s met with great enthusiasm.

7:30 a.m.

I email all the Prospect principals to remind them of our conference call today. Last week we determined a mutually agreeable time and date and I called Fred, the business manager of The Boss, to set up a conference bridge. The idea came from a recent conference call with The Boss during which all the principals wanted to talk about dilemmas and solutions. The Boss cut us off saying he scheduled this call and side conversations were not appropriate. At the end of the call I suggested we have a separate call so the five principals can share success stories and challenges. The Boss told me to set it up with Fred. He reminded me the cost will come out of each school’s budget.

8:00 a.m.

In our morning meeting I talk about “best practices.” Teachers should not struggle in isolation. Very often a peer has developed procedures or techniques to make difficult jobs easier. I encourage my team to brag about successes, talk with each other and visit each other’s classrooms during their prep periods.

My newest teacher, Hannah gets her class today. I am very excited about this young white woman with an MA in counseling and a longing to be a teacher. She has been on campus for a week observing teachers, counselors and students. She is enthusiastic and ready for her class. I team her with Yvonne, my quietest teacher.

Billie, the PE teacher, puts her arms around the shoulders of RitaMae and Hannah and announces she, Billie, will be their mother. I am uncomfortable with this move, but I’m not sure why.

Midge phones during the morning meeting. She’s sick and won’t be in today. This is the fourth day in a row she has called in. I’m not very friendly or sympathetic on the phone. We’ve been scrambling to cover her class. When I hang up, Sam asks: “So, is the fax machine on?” I laugh with the team at this reference, but I worry maybe Midge doesn’t plan to return. I also worry about covering classes. Jordan is off today (he requested this day weeks ago for medical tests) and now with Midge sick, we are very short-handed. I ask Buffy to take her class and Midge’s thus combining all the elementary students. I ask Daphne and Sam to divide up Jordan’s students. Meeting adjourned.

8:30 a.m.

After the meeting I remind Yvonne that today I’ll do a formal, planned observation in her class. She asks to radio me once she is ready, sometime around 11:00. I agree.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Lynne, my business manager, tells me I have a call from Jordan. Even though Jordan is off for his medical appointment today, he wants to talk to me about Seth, the boy who believes his future is in jail. Jordan recognizes Seth’s giftedness and has developed an independent study program to keep Seth challenged. He left the proposal on my desk a week ago and wants my feedback. I already read though the proposal and I now tell Jordan I approve it. Jordan is quickly becoming as wonderful a teacher as Daphne. Jordan, Daphne and Sam are on the same team. Now this team is truly the dream team. Jordan tells me Seth feels he ought to be in 8th grade but somehow last year, while in seventh grade, he didn’t earn enough credits to pass. Jordan did some research on this by reading through Seth’s cumulative folder. He shares his findings with me. Last school year, Seth was at Prospect from August to early November, he was then sent to JDC (Juvenile Detention Center – jail) for two weeks. Seth returned to Prospect for a month but right before Christmas he was returned to JDC and then sent to a boot camp until June. No wonder Seth is repeating seventh grade. I thank Jordan for his work on Seth’s behalf, especially on his day off.

8:45 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. RitaMae asks to speak with me but not in my office where there is no privacy. We stand near the pitcher’s mound where she tells me she is losing patience with Neeley. When they switch classes, his homeroom is so out of control she can’t teach; Neeley’s students have fallen many chapters behind RitaMae’s homeroom. I suppose when I teamed up RitaMae and Neeley, I was hoping for a miracle. RitaMae is a certified teacher who screams and yells too much, but she knows how to teach lessons and has good (not great) classroom control. Neeley is still so scattered not a day goes by that a counselor isn’t called to his room to quell an uprising. I promise to work with Neeley but I warn RitaMae, it probably won’t be today.

8:55 a.m.

I give my email one last check before the students arrive and the real excitement begins. There is an email from The Boss. I have to read the email twice; The Boss’s writing style is muddled and confusing, but the intent of his message slowly becomes clear: although he approved the conference call between all the Prospect principals, The Boss has become uncomfortable thinking we would hold such a call without him and he has changed his mind – approval for conference call revoked. I send an email to the other principals to cancel the conference calls. Then I race outside to help with bus arrival already in progress.

9:20 a.m.
The walkie-talkie is calling me. Lynne asks me whether Adoncia got off the bus this morning. No she didn’t, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen Adoncia for a couple days. Lynne divulges that a public school in Lake County just phoned and requested Adoncia’s school records because she is enrolling. Adoncia went from her family in Brownsville Texas, to her uncle and his girlfriend in Lakeboro, to some friends of the girlfriend in Lake County who need a babysitter. SBAA had agreed to consider both Adoncia and Alexia/Pilar. I ask Lynne to call SBAA to let them know Adoncia is gone. Goodbye Adoncia.

9:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It’s Counselor Rosie. She says I should call her office. When I do, Rosie tells me she didn’t want to blab over the walkie-talkie but I really ought to go observe the chaos outside the cafeteria. It is Neeley’s and RitaMae’s classes….

Every day after breakfast and lunch, teachers Jana and Stone make their students line up outside the cafeteria on the far edge of the sidewalk by the trees. They must stand there until they are absolutely quiet, then the line will move toward the bathrooms. Typically they don’t have to stand more than a few minutes before the students quiet down.

It looks so easy. My morning meeting talk on best practices inspired RitaMae and Neeley to adopt Jana and Stone’s silent line technique with their students. Their first mistake is to line up the students right next to the cafeteria rather than on the far edge by the trees. As the students talk and roughhouse and curse and poke, they also scrape the new paint from the building and secretly scribble graffiti onto the pale yellow cinderblock walls. The cafeteria windowsill is now a collage of missing paint and loose paint chips.

Neeley and RitaMae’s students don’t care that they have to stand in line until they are quiet. A few complain about having to stand up in the hot sun, but mostly they enjoy the free time. RitaMae and Neeley drag chairs out of the cafeteria so they can sit while the students don’t get quiet. These teachers are convinced the failure of the Jana/Stone procedure is due to their student population: clearly I have assigned them “worse” students than Stone and Jana have. Neeley seems to have forgotten that when I teamed him with RitaMae, in an effort to increase his chances for success, I let him pick which students he would have in his new homeroom.

What RitaMae and Neeley don’t know is that Stone and Jana tell their class they will have one 15 minute break in the morning and one in the afternoon. Every minute Stone and Jana have to wait for the line to become silent, is a minute lost from those “recesses”

As far as RitaMae’s and Neeley’s classes can tell, the longer they talk and play, the less math and reading they’ll have. No problem.

I watch and wait for RitaMae and Neeley to see their experiment is a failure. They don’t. After fifteen minutes I tell them it isn’t working and they need to stop or add the recess incentive.

9:45 a.m.
Boyd is sitting in my office. I smell him before I see him. Boyd is a chubby, strawberry blond, white boy who looks (and behaves) younger than his thirteen years. Whenever I see the phrase, “working poor,” I think of Boyd. His mother works nights in a hospital. I’m not sure what she does there but I do know they don’t pay her enough. Mom’s long hours mean no one makes sure Boyd gets dinner, takes a shower or has clean clothes. Boyd reminds me how much I want a shower and laundry facilities here at Prospect. Boyd, like most of my students has serious anger control issues, but unlike his peers, he responds like a tantrumming two year old. When Boyd is mad, you almost want to laugh but there is something so pathetic and sad about him, you don’t. Boyd is kicking my desk, scowling, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists when I enter my office. His dirty shirt is dirtier than usual with a huge wet looking dark stain just below his sternum. He catches me looking at the stain and becomes more agitated. Sometimes I let Boyd kick and curse until he is calm, then we talk, but I am in a hurry today, so I press ahead – not usually a wise approach when dealing with upset youths but today it works.
“What’s with the stain Boyd?”
“That’s why I’m so mad; it’s my mother’s shirt. She doesn’t know I have it. She’s gonna kill me.”

Boyd is crying now and his shame at crying makes him even angrier. I’ve had the displeasure of observing Boyd’s mother when she is angry with him. On more than once occasion she has come to pick him up – face slapping, ear pulling and lots of loud, sarcastic profanity.

“Take off your shirt.”
“Huh?!”
“Take off your shirt and we’ll wash it in the sink.”

Boyd does and stands bare chested in the bathroom in my office scrubbing his mother’s shirt with a bar of soap. When he is done I hang it on the back railing to dry. I hand Boyd a few books and tell him to sit and read while his shirt dries. I have extra sneakers but no extra shirts. He pushes his chair close to the table trying to hide his chubby white stomach. Fortunately the shirt dries fast in the hot Florida sunshine.

10:00 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It’s Ruth, the cafeteria manager. She calls me and the counselors saying there is a riot involving the elementary students. Buffy and her class arrived at the cafeteria in time to see the RitaMae/Neeley debacle but apparently it was not clear to her that their silent line approach was not working. Buffy decides she will try it too, despite her double sized class today (she has her students and Midge’s since Midge is ill). The elementary students don’t just talk and poke, they start fighting, almost immediately. The Counselors and I are called and over half the elementary students end up in the counseling room.

I learn that sometimes teachers try to adopt a technique they understand only superficially, with predictably bad consequences. I must be careful what I advocate in the morning meeting.

10:15 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Daphne asks me to come to her classroom to observe Karla. Karla lives in The Forest with her mother in a single-wide trailer with a large hole in the roof. Karla’s moods are erratic, on Mondays she is often sick and exhausted. She falls asleep in class or, if we allow, on the floor in the library. She denies she is hung over but admits she doesn’t sleep all weekend; she just drinks coffee. RitaMae has seen Karla selling flowers outside a local bar on Saturday nights. Her mother, Karla says, stays with the Rainbow People in The Forest and leaves Karla on her own. According to her records, she is supposed to be taking Lithium, but the prescription ran out and her mother won’t renew it. Daphne is concerned about Karla. Today Karla’s eyes are red and wet; she has been crying and sleeping in class. She tells Daphne she hasn’t seen her mother in more than a week. Her mother is with the Rainbow people.

Karla begs Daphne not to call DCF. Someone called DCF on her oldest sister and they took away her sister’s three-year-old baby. Karla cries as she tells Daphne this. Daphne and I have two phone numbers for Karla’s mother, one is a neighbor’s house and one is the home Karla’s mother cleans on Thursdays only. Daphne will try Mom on Thursday. If no luck, I will try leaving a terrifying message with the neighbor. We decide to do this before we throw Karla to DCF.

Despite my concerns about Karla, being in Daphne’s classroom is a pleasure. It is a comforting place. She has the last portable on the left on south campus (previously used as a time-out location for severely mentally handicapped children in another school). It is divided into three small rooms and one larger room; the doorknobs are at the top of the doors (to keep the former occupants from leaving). The walls are painted in high gloss lime green and lemon yellow. The non-traditional paint matches Daphne’s non-traditional outlook. When I enter, the students are finishing breakfast, reading the daily newspaper and cutting out articles for their current events lesson. Tyryona and Selma are in one of the small rooms. Seth, Edgar and Shandon are in another small room. Darrin is alone in one room. Karla, Timmy and Darius sit in the main area. The portable is fairly quiet. Daphne walks around answering questions and helping pronounce unfamiliar words in the newspaper. I sit in the main room. Karla shows me a photo on the front page of the paper of some people living in The Forest. “I know them,” she proudly declares. “They’re Rainbow people like my Mom.” Before I can make further inquiries, Karla continues. “My birthday is on Thanksgiving but we aren’t doing nothing since my Mom will be with the Rainbow people all day.” Karla gets up, throws her milk carton in the trash and takes her newspaper into the room with Tyryona and Selma.

Daphne has also asked me to observe Edgar who is doing really well. She wants to work on returning him to public school at the semester break next month. He is still behind academically, especially with his reading, but he has avoided all fights, even when provoked. I promise Daphne I’ll make a call to Henry.

10:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It is Stone. He regrets to inform me he just vomited in the parking lot. He is going home. I am short Midge, Jordan and now Stone. I ask Billie, my PE teacher to cover Stone’s class. She is not pleased.

11:00 a.m.
The walkie-talkie is calling me. It is Yvonne telling me now is a good time for me to observe her class. The students are fairly quiet. Yvonne is reviewing for a test using an overhead projector and an outline of topics recently covered during a unit on Florida history. As I walk around the room I find that few students are on-task. Jillane is eating a bag of cool ranch Doritos. Caleb is drawing pictures of knives. Tayshaun, like three other boys, has a hat on and is sleeping. Several students are wearing coats inside the room.

I tell the hat and coat wearers to remove the outdoor apparel. They grumble and protest that Miss Yvonne said it was okay. I tell Jillane to put away the Doritos. She does and just as quickly takes out a bag of cheese popcorn that I just as quickly confiscate. I remove elastics from wrists and hijack paper airplanes. Attack of the mean principal. Yvonne’s class maybe orderly, but like Neeley’s students, few are learning.

11:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Lynne informs me a DCF caseworker is here to see Alexia/Pilar. The caseworker tells me she wants to take Alexia/Pilar to lunch, tour SBAA, discuss attending SBAA and talk about moving Alexia/Pilar from her Grandmother’s home to a foster home. Caseworkers rarely take students off campus. Alexia/Pilar is excited to go. I wonder how she will feel when the caseworker discusses a foster home.

12:00 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It is Rosie. She tells me to phone her office. When I do, she tells me Hannah, my newest teacher, is crying. She met her first challenge: Tayshaun and Owen. Tayshaun told Hannah he and Owen made Crystal quit and they made Doctor quit and they can make her quit too. Hannah was warned about these two and she is feisty. She tells Tayshaun she won’t quit even if he shows her his boxers! Tayshaun and Owen, work hard at unraveling Hannah, they partially succeed; after Hannah drops her students off for their group counseling session she goes to Rosie’s office crying. I go see her there. I try to provide support, advice, encouragement. At least she didn’t cry in front of the students.

12:30 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Lynne tells me public school liaison Henry is on the phone and doesn’t sound pleased.

Henry has a complaint. When he sends us a fax on an incoming student, we need to contact that student within 24 hours. I know this. Henry says we failed to do this with two students this week and he reminds me if we can’t get in touch with a student, we should contact his office and they’ll get social workers involved. I know this too. I apologize to Henry. A lot of bucks stop here and some of them just fall off the plate somewhere.

I know the procedures Henry describes and I thought they were being followed. For some reason Stephanie has dropped the ball. I make a note to speak with her and print a new copy of the intake procedures to review with her. Lynne defends Stephanie saying she is going through a difficult time right now; her estranged husband (Tappy Gonzales the bus mechanic) is pressuring her to come back home. Her new “boyfriend” is afraid he’ll be shipped out to Iraq and she has been thinking a lot lately of her son who died in a car crash two years ago. She has also had some kidney problems.

Why is it that so often people who are drawn to “helping” professions, need so much help themselves?

I call Henry back a few minutes later to raise the question of returning Edgar to public school. This is a major undertaking because Edgar was formally expelled. We need to go before the school board if we want him to return. Is he really doing that well? The soonest he could return would be the end of January. I want him back at the start of the second semester, right after Christmas, but that isn’t going to happen. Henry promises to get the paperwork rolling. We set up a phone interview for Edgar, Henry and the principal at the public school Edgar will attend.

1:00 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It’s Rusty, he wants me to come to his office to discuss something he just learned. Rusty begins with a review of facts I already know about our students. Kembrall is Claymont’s henchman. If you mess with Claymont, you’re messing with Kembrall. While Claymont is a sharp, bright, articulate boy, Kembrall is not. He is big, slow and lumbering. Kembrall is in Daphne’s homeroom. Then the clincher: Kembrall’s uncle is wanted for the murder of Selma’s brother and Selma is also in Daphne’s homeroom. Oh, and was I aware that while I was Ebencorp’s headquarters in Tampa, three girls accused Kembrall of sexual molestation?

1:30 p.m.

Rex Stewart phones. A few days ago he interviewed one of my teachers for a position at his school. Yvonne. How is she doing? First I tell Rex I was unaware that Yvonne was out interviewing. Then I share with him the story of Yvonne, Caleb and her belief that I was going to fire her. I end with a description of my observation in Yvonne’s classroom today. Rex says he suspects Yvonne wouldn’t do well in his school either, and that he guessed as much from the interview. I only wish I had been as savvy as Rex when I interviewed Yvonne. After I hang up, I make a mental note to ask Rex to share with me his interview procedures.

2:00 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. The DCF worker has returned with Alexia/Pilar and she wants to speak with me. Alexia/Pilar is leaving to go to SBAA. Although SBAA is an alternative school, the small size (40 students) and all-girl atmosphere will provide a more nurturing environment for Alexia/Pilar. If she can behave and not get kicked out, she now has a shot at a future! Alexia/Pilar is gathering her belongings and saying her goodbyes. She asks me for the Walkman I confiscated from her months ago. Unfortunately, when I go to get it from my desk safe I see that I can no longer open the safe.

When I arrived at Prospect there was an open safe on my desk filled with prescription drugs. I had Shasta, my transportation manager, destroy them as per policy and for a while the safe sat empty. Stone asked if he could take it home but found it is securely bolted to my desk. The safe has a spinning combination dial lock and a key. When I first began to take contraband from students, I put it in a lock box in a metal cabinet. The lockbox quickly filled up and I began to use my desk safe. When I began to store student items in the safe, I locked and unlocked it using the key. This worked fine until I want to remove Alexia/Pilar’s Walkman. It seems someone spun the dial. Now the key alone won’t open the safe and no one knows the combination. I guess the students’ contraband items are secure. I promise Alexia/Pilar I will find the combination, open the safe and bring her the Walkman.

Rosie and Alexia/Pilar have been close. Alexia/Pilar recently confided to Rosie that she doesn’t have any dresses or skirts and wishes she had some. Alexia/Pilar has always exuded toughness with a swagger and threats of violence (which she regularly proved were not empty threats). She tells Rosie if she is able to go to a school without boys she’ll be able to be more feminine. Rosie’s daughter, Amy, has outgrown some dresses and skirts that will now fit Alexia/Pilar. She leaves us with hugs, hope and a new wardrobe. Goodbye Alexia/Pilar

2:30 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. RitaMae needs to see me. Did I remember she has to leave early this afternoon for a doctor’s appointment? No. She told me last week. Yes, I see it on my calendar. I weakly ask whether she can reschedule. No, she had to wait weeks to get in.

Activity period is not going to be fun today.

3:10 p.m.

Neeley and Billie suggest we take the students who usually have Stone, Midge, RitaMae and Jordan for Activity period and run one big kickball game. I am skeptical but they are confident it will work, they ask the Deputy to join them on the ball field.

It almost works. But we should have noticed Marcus’s hair is not braided.

Luis comes alive in kickball. He rarely comes to school, but he is here today and pretty mellow in most of his classes. Luis is very athletic. He likes to do back flips, cartwheels, anything gymnastic. He kicks a double and runs to second base. Marcus is the second baseman. On second base, Luis starts to turn back flips waiting for the next kickball player to be up. Marcus starts to boil. He calls Luis “a little fag.” Luis grabs the kickball from the pitcher and kicks it directly in Marcus’s face. A fight starts causing more than the usual chaos given the large number of students on the ball field. The Deputy arrests Luis. We finally get Luis to come to school and he ends up in jail.
4:00 p.m.

The busses have left and Yvonne is in my office waiting for me to discuss my observation of her class this morning. She sits stoned-faced and I wonder whether I’ll get any responses or emotions. I begin with the positives but as soon as I mention some concerns, she becomes defensive, protesting “It’s not like I use the overhead every day.” Wow, at least she communicated! I tell her the problem isn’t the projector. I suggest other techniques to review for a test: a game of jeopardy or small group presentations, something active to get the students interacting and involved. Yvonne is back in her silent mode. I press her for a response. She finally says, robotically, “I do all those things, nothing works.” I ask some probing questions to try to gauge Yvonne’s job satisfaction but she denies she is seeking employment elsewhere and says she is happy here. I decide not to mention Rex Stewart’s call.

6:30 p.m.

Daphne is telling me she is thinking of quitting again. Instead of active listening, being supportive, dispensing advice, showing compassion or any of my usual approaches when she tells me her woes, I become somewhat forceful. “Daphne, your students and I need you. We need you at the very least, to finish out this semester. Let’s talk again before Christmas break. Daphne agrees.

Daphne then asks permission to take off for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. Seth has a court date and Daphne would like to appear in court with him, to speak on his behalf. She hopes to convince the judge not to sentence Seth to another boot camp. She has spoken with Seth’s parents and they are pleased Daphne is willing to go to court. Unfortunately Seth cannot be counted on to show his appreciation appropriately. Whenever Daphne or Jordan compliment or help Seth, his first reaction is to smile and appear pleased, but shortly thereafter he begins to misbehave around the person who advocated for him. Daphne is worried if she does succeed in helping Seth avoid a program, she’ll pay the price as the target of his anger. Given his background, Seth is clearly pushing people away before they can hurt him – he doesn’t trust the staying power of positive relationships with an adult. I’m not sure Daphne understands all this, but maybe she does.

Before she leaves my office, Daphne asks if it is okay for her class to throw a party for Karla before Thanksgiving. Karla won’t get a birthday since Mom will be in The Forest with the Rainbow people. It was Tyryona’s idea. I approve the time off for court and the birthday. I sigh as Daphne leaves, she is such a great teacher and I don’t want to lose her.

On my way home I stop at the Goodwill store and buy every navy blue polo shirt they have. At $3 each they are a bargain and worth every penny when I think of Boyd.

8:40 p.m.

Back in my apartment, I am concentrating on eating a large bowl of romaine lettuce while conducting phone interviews. The trick is to put the phone on mute and crunch while the prospective teacher is talking. I am feeling serious pressure to hire at least one and perhaps as many as five new teachers. I absolutely need a math teacher to replace Noreen and I may need teachers for two Title One positions (Math and Reading) for which I applied but my grant has not yet received approval. And, I have a hunch I may soon need teachers to replace Daphne and Yvonne.

I try to psyche myself up for these interviews saying: do not settle for warm bodies, the students need and deserve more. Nice, noble thoughts, but reality intervenes – I need teachers, and as charming and persuasive as I am, the bottom line is still poor pay, a long school year and extremely challenging students. Convincing good teachers to teach at Prospect is a tough sell.

As I try to persuade others to do what I have done, to take a stressful, difficult, low-paying position in a humid city they’ve never heard of, I wonder: what motivated me? Why was I driven to take this job, in this place? I was raised in a tony suburb of Boston, never seriously wanting for anything, so was it noblesse oblige? Maybe. But my social conscience could also date back to my parents’ divorce, when my father left, taking with him the checkbook and my college funds.

Overnight I was plummeted from upper middle class to poverty. As a college freshman, I suddenly had to learn to live with hunger and cold. I learned to make thick hot cereal to keep my stomach from growling between breakfast and dinner. I learned to stuff plastic bags in my shoes when I had to walk in drifting snow on my way from campus to work. I learned to negotiate the wholly unfamiliar world of financial aid and food stamps. I learned empathy and compassion for people who, up to then, had only existed in a remote, distant place outside the window of the Boston-Maine train.

I was lucky, my residence in the land of poverty was brief. But those few years of deprivation seemed to crystallize my already liberal outlook and social conscience, rendering me unable to be satisfied by simply making money, giving to charity and donating a few hours of my time each week. My conscience, my burden.

Now, how to find other people similarly afflicted….