Chapter Fifteen: The Walkie-Talkie is Calling Me (again)

Chapter 15 – The Walkie-Talkie is Calling Me

5:00 a.m.

Often when I run, the rhythm of my pounding feet is matched with an internal chant. Sometimes I control the chanting and make it informative (4 miles done, 2 miles to go) or affirming (good pace, keep going). Other times my barely conscious thoughts sneak in and cause irritation. Today I am itched by a chant that teases: “Miss Rosie, Mr. Rusty, Miss Rosie, Mr. Rusty.”

Most of my staff insist on having the students call them by their first name preceded by the title of Mr. or Miss (never Mrs.). I‘ve talked to the team about mainstream conventions and respect, and I have made it clear I prefer for the students to use an appropriate title plus the teacher’s last name. Lynne, my business manager, switches from “Miss Lynne” to Ms. Trendall, and Stone Simmons has always insisted the students call him Mr.Simmons, but with the rest of my faculty, my words are ignored. When Mel (that would be Mr. Mel) my predecessor was principal, this is how they did it and they don’t plan to change now. I know I should let it go. In the big scheme of things this is not important. I thought I got a grip about this weeks ago, but the chant looping through my brain tells me I’m still annoyed. In part it bothers me because it sounds like a form of address slaves used with their masters.


6:00 a.m.

I always wear skirts or dresses (corporate business attire) to work. I believe dressing up doesn’t ensure respect, but it helps. At a conference on child abuse I hear many people who work with poor children express the opinion that we should “dress down” to avoid intimidation. I don’t agree, but clearly I come across as middle class and more affluent than my students. The words of Luke’s mother ring in my ears “if I were loaded like you. . .” But is it my clothes, my car or my language that advertises my privileged background? Would parents curse less at me if these class barriers didn’t exist?

My wardrobe has a split personality. My New York clothes are mostly black or grey. Once I wore a navy blue suit to New York City and I felt like a garishly dressed tourist. My Florida suits are coral, lime green, and orange. Today I choose the coral suit with the fitted, short -sleeved jacket and a-line skirt. In retrospect, I’d have done better to wear something looser and darker, something better suited for exercise, and to match the dirt.

7:00 a.m.

One of the first things I do upon arriving at work each morning is remove my shoes and put on sneakers. I do this because I know I’ll be running all over campus. The students are confused by my apparel: why does Ms. Smee wear running shoes with her dress? I tell them it is a New York thing. I post a newspaper photo of women in Wall Street power suits carrying brief cases and wearing sneakers. Of course these women wear the sneakers to and from work and change into appropriate shoes at work, while I do the opposite.

8:50 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. “Ms. Smee we’ve got a fight on bus 1068.” I am already in the bus circle greeting arriving students so I hop onto bus 1068 and find Noah Ruze, Nora’s brother, thrashing wildly, his eyes unfocused fury. Shasta, my transportation coordinator, reports he has been trying to pick a fight the entire bus ride. Nora tries to restrain and calm her big brother. Together we herd him off the bus. Nora explains Noah’s behavior: last night he found out he will be leaving in four days for a six-month boot camp program. We decide Rusty, my counselor, will keep Noah with him all day. Noah will never be more than arm’s length from Rusty. I call to verify his departure date for the program. Once confirmed, I suspend Noah until his departure date. Keeping him here this week won’t help him and puts our other students at risk. Goodbye Noah.

9:00 a.m.

He’s back.... Darius is the newest student in Stephanie’s orientation class. He apparently was here last year but Mel, my predecessor, transferred him back to public school declaring Darius was ready to return. He wasn’t. I watch Darius in the parking lot in the morning. He moves with a hunched shuffle typical of the institutionalized. When I read his file I see he is bright, maybe even gifted and he has been in more foster homes than he has spent years on earth. Darius is a twelve-year-old white boy who was born in Springfield, Massachusetts and lived with his biological parents until he was four. Unspecified abuse caused Darius and his two younger brothers to be removed and put in foster care. One brother has muscular dystrophy and is in a special needs foster home. The other brother has been adopted. Darius is now twelve and currently living in a foster home with three other male, adolescent, foster children. His foster mother is a single, black, woman who teaches at a Baptist school. Darius has longish straight brown hair, big brown eyes, freckles and a winning smile. He hugs all his former teachers and counselors. He seems happy to be back at Prospect.

9:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me: It’s Midge, my new elementary teacher. Henry, my liaison in the public school, had been encouraging me to start an elementary level classroom. There is only one alternative school in town that accepts elementary students and Henry wants choices for parents. While being politically careful not to make negative comments about the other elementary program, Henry implies there is little instruction going on and he would like me to design an elementary program with the same dual focus on academics and behavior evidenced by my middle school program. I hire Midge because I think she can handle the elementary students. Midge is an older, obese white woman who grew up in central Florida. She is an artist and has taught art to children of all ages. While she is not yet a certified elementary teacher, I believe (and hope) her experience and enthusiasm will make her a success.

Today I learn that Midge has a very expressive voice - that is to say she can sound rather hysterical. When the toilet in her classroom backs up, she shouts into the walkie-talkie that the place is flooding and she must abandon the room. I look out my door to see half a dozen elementary age boys shouting, shoving and running around behind my office.

When I return to my desk, Lynne, my business manager, is there with a question: what happened to Robyn, the new girl who couldn’t find a place to do her homework? Lynne ran an attendance report this morning and noticed Robyn has been absent for over a week. I flinch; I hate it when a child falls through the cracks. I pick up the phone and call Robyn’s home. I speak with her stepmother who says Robyn has been sent to live with her Grandmother in Cincinnati. Step-mother adds her opinion: “And she’d better stay there too because she won’t be allowed back here. I swear I’ll put her out on the streets before I have that little whore wrecking my marriage. “ Goodbye Robyn.

10:00 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. “Kathleen Smee, this is uh, Neeley. We have uh, a situation. I need Lorayne arrested; she is uh threatening to kick me in the balls.”

“TMI!” exclaims Lynne who monitors all walkie-talkie transmissions. Too much information is a common walkie-talkie faux pas.

Lorayne, of tongue ring fame, is very upset . My youngest teacher, Neeley, confronts her about bringing cigarettes to school. Neeley makes this accusation in front of the class and, unsurprisingly, Lorayne reacts inappropriately. She becomes agitated, cursing at Neeley and shouting that she wants to kick him in the balls. In fact she repeats this last statement several times. The class is in an uproar. Lorayne is not a popular child and many boys are indignant that she is allowed to threaten a teacher. Several boys are vocal in calling for the arrest of Lorayne. Neeley joins the chorus. Instead, Rusty provides verbal discipline and I suspend Lorayne for three days.

I hate to suspend our students. Rarely does it have any positive effect on them, mostly it buys us some calm. Getting the most troubled child out of the classroom gives the teacher a much-needed reprieve. At best, the suspended child sits at home in front of TV and video games for the duration of the suspension. At worst they are unsupervised, on the streets, risking injury, committing crimes.

My friend and mentor Rex Stewart, found a solution to the suspension dilemma for his students at King Middle School. Rex obtained a grant to pay for a bus, a teacher and an aid. Suspended students were transported on a separate bus to a building owned by the school but now used mostly for personnel offices. The suspension teacher taught suspension school lessons to the suspended students. Rex ran this for a year; it worked very well. Suspensions and the accompanying bad behavior decreased once students learned a suspension meant suspension school, not free days off. The grant money was only for a year. When the grant ran out, Rex requested money from the school board to continue. His request was denied.

10:15 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Shasta, my transportation coordinator, wants to meet with me. Unbeknownst to Shasta, Stephanie, my orientation leader, asked to meet with me as well. Separately, each woman expresses concern about counselor Ernie. He was overheard telling students he will get the school hours changed so the day ends at 3:00 pm. He has also been telling students he will “punch the principal in the mouth” if she won’t change the dismissal time. Both Shasta and Stephanie are friends not only of Ernie, but also of his daughter and wife, but they are uncomfortable with his comments. I kick myself again for not jumping at the opportunity to accept Ernie’s resignation. The eternal optimist, I fantasize about getting help with the Ernie situation from Ebencorp’s HR department. After leaving two voice messages and sending one email to Let’s-rap-Leighton, the HR liaison, I call The Boss. It goes to voice mail; with The Boss, it always goes to voice mail.

10:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. “Darius is AWOL again” Stephanie the orientation leader alerts. Fortunately each time he runs, Stephanie is able to coax him back, so far.... I stop by the orientation classroom and Stephanie tells me Darius’s complaint is that he is bored in orientation and wants to be assigned to his “real class.” I ask Stephanie to give him some more challenging work in addition to the standard orientation lessons. I introduce myself to Darius and promise him we can shorten his duration in Orientation if he stays in the room and demonstrates he understands the school rules. He nods and agrees: no more AWOL’s.

10:45 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Lynne, my business manager, is calling to say Vince, the custodian is in my office and he is not pleased. I return to my office to find Vince standing next to my desk holding up a foul, dripping clump of navy blue. “This here shirt was stuffed in Miss Midge’s terlet. Y’all better train your teachers cause I ain’t got time to go fishin no shirts outta terlets ever few minutes.”

10:50 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. “Ms. Smee! Fight! Claymont and Brock. Urgent!” I arrive in time to see Claymont punching Brock in the face. It is rare for Claymont to fight his own battles, he usually stays behind the scenes calling the shots. Claymont won’t say why he hit Brock, but I guess Brock said something fairly inflammatory to Claymont. The Deputy arrests Claymont for assault. I should protest, but I don’t. Am I numb or defeated? Stone compliments Brock on his self-control in not hitting Claymont back. A squad car is called for Claymont.

11:00 a.m.

It is time for an informal observation in Rosie’s room. Armed with my checklist, I begin the search for “strengths and opportunities.” The strengths are that Rosie clearly cares about her students, has a lesson planned on nutrition and her classroom is warm, inviting and decorated with appropriate educational material. On the flip side, Rosie selects to ignore many misbehaviors I would like addressed. There are four boys and two girls present today. I take notes:

* Students arrive for class in a loud, rowdy fashion taking the wrong seats.
* Keith gets out of his seat three times, without permission, to sharpen his pencil.
* Eli is sleeping in class then awakens and wanders to the door to look out the window.
* Brock rolls up a magazine and repeatedly hits the desk with it.
* When asked what foods are high in protein, Brock suggests a source of protein is methamphetamines
* Brock and Eli loudly debate whether their teacher, Mr. Simmons (Stone) takes steroids.
* Aidan shouts to Brock and Eli, "shut up so I can speak."
* Aidan says, "I need cigarettes." Brock promises to bring him some tomorrow.
* Brock tells Eli he is "just a pussy."
* Aidan begins to bang his pencil on the desktop.
* Ionya and Jillane keep raising their hands but their peers do not. The shouted out answers from the boys are frequently accepted without reminders to raise hands.

Part of the nutrition assignment is to write down everything eaten for a week. Students volunteer to read aloud descriptions of their food consumption. Nearly everyone has the same answers for breakfast and lunch; the meals provided by the school. But few have anything listed for dinner. Rosie asks: “What about at night, when you sit down with your family...” She catches herself and rephrases the question. “What do you eat at home, maybe when you are watching TV, after school and before bed?”

Something clicks with Eli and he quickly writes in his food journal. Looking up he explains, “Thanks for reminding me Miss Rosie, I forgot to put down the potato chips.”

More than a few of my students survive primarily on the meals the school provides. Hunger, not obesity, remains the number one nutritional problem for my students.

11:15 a.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. New elementary teacher Midge is emoting over the airwaves again. Lynne, my business manager, knows I’m observing Rosie’s class so she offers to go investigate. Lynne is usually reluctant to get involved with classroom management issues, but the elementary classroom is next door to our portable and she is worried that Midge is not having a good first day of school! Lynne later briefs me on what she observed: There are six boys in Midge’s class. The classroom looks like a strong wind blew through tossing papers, crayons, math toys and puzzle pieces everywhere. Midge gives 100% of her attention to one child at a time while the others riot: they run about, stand on desks, remove ceiling tiles and climb into the ceiling, throw garbage out the windows, plaster the wall with spit wads, scribble on desks and stuff crayons into the disk drive of the computers.

11:30 a.m.

The walkie-talkie isn’t calling me, for the moment. I check my folder for teacher lesson plans and phone lists. Every Monday teachers and counselors are expected to give me copies of their lesson plans for the week in a standardized format and to turn in a spreadsheet “phone list.” I created individualized phone lists for each teacher listing all the students in his or her homeroom, parent names, phone numbers and a blank column for dates when called (or attempted to call) and a larger column for comments. I remind the staff every Monday to put these in my mailbox, but there are always a few who are late or never turn them in. I have learned to wait until Tuesday or Wednesday to sit down and read through these plans and lists. Stone never gives me anything unless I hound him and even then he often “forgets.” Neeley is usually late. I take time now to determine who was remiss and to read and critique the lesson plans and phone logs I do have.

12:00 noon

Outside Rosie’s class, I meet up with Rusty, my counselor. We take advantage of a rare moment of calm to talk. He tells me he and Ernie used to divide their time between North and South campus, but recently Ernie has taken to spending the entire day in Noreen’s classroom on south campus. As Rusty tells me this, I recall just this morning seeing Ernie and Noreen (both married with children) rough housing, with Noreen running and jumping on Ernie’s back. The scene made me uncomfortable but it didn’t reach my consciousness until Rusty mentions Ernie’s new “office.”

As we talk, we both keep our eyes on Stephanie’s orientation class. She is walking her class from the lunchroom to their classroom. It‘s a short walk but these are our newest students who aren’t adept at walking in a line. Stephanie is unhappy with their behavior so they return to the cafeteria to run through it again. As they file inside, quietly grumbling, the cafeteria door suddenly opens and Darius bursts out. He is screaming obscenities, flailing his arms and running fast. Stephanie does what she has no doubt done several times today: she sticks her head out the door and tries to coax Darius back into the room. This time it doesn’t work.

Darius is running toward the road and shouting that he hates this fucking place and he is going home. Rusty moves to intercept. Darius permits Rusty to turn him around. They walk across the baseball diamond with Rusty’s hand on Darius’s forearm and Rusty talking calmly. Darius is still agitated and as they approach, Darius suddenly spins away from Rusty, punching Rusty as he tries to run again. Rusty and I double-team Darius. To avoid injury to him or to us, we instinctively use the DFY, New York State approved restraint procedure. In seconds Darius is on the grass with Rusty holding his arms and me holding his legs. Rusty continues to talk in a therapeutic, trance-inducing voice to Darius. Rosie’s class, including Rosie, hear the commotion and rush to watch from the doorway of her classroom. Rusty and I stay sprawled in the dirt until we feel Darius’s arms and legs relax. Soon Darius is calm and ready to talk with Rusty. My coral suit is covered with dirt. I hope it’s nothing the dry cleaner can’t remedy.
12:30 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. The woman from the Special Education department is here. It is time for the annual review of Tina/Natasha’s IEP (individual education plan). This a federal requirement for all children labeled as ESE (special education). The meeting is in the counseling office. Tina/Natasha’s guardian is present as is a public school special education specialist. We determine Tina/Natasha needs a more restrictive environment; there is another Alternative School in town (the Avenue School), which has, among other things, a padded room. Tina/Natasha’s guardian doesn’t like this idea. She decides she will homeschool Tina/Natasha. Either way, goodbye Tina/Natasha and good luck to your guardian.

1:00 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. In my office is the probation officer for Lenny, the not-so-tough boy whose mother treats bug bites with a hot coke bottle. The probation officer has decided Lenny would be better served at ESAK, the alternative high school. The probation officer has Lenny’s mother in his car. He is signing Lenny out now to take him to ESAK. Lenny is called to the office; he is as surprised as I am by this turn of events. Can he say goodbye to “Miss Rosie”? No time, says the probation officer. I watch the car drive off campus with Lenny’s head out the window, screaming goodbye as he is driven away toward ESAK.

1:10 p.m.

I stop in Tammie’s classroom. Her class is making a volcano. It seems to work well and I see students who are engaged and learning. I commend Tammie on her classroom management techniques and using hands-on methods for science. Fifty minutes later, the walkie-talkie is calling me back to Tammie’s room. What I find is simultaneously bizarre and abhorrent: Tammie is challenging one of her students, Cassandra, to a fight. “Let’s step outside and we’ll take care of it there,” Tammie dares Cassandra as Tammie takes off her shoes. (I’m not sure why, maybe Tammie finds it easier to fight in stocking feet.) Cassandra is raring to go. I’m fairly certain Cassandra can take Tammie. I break it up, remove Cassandra from class and tell Tammie we need to talk later. Tammie suddenly announces she is sick, her son has strep throat and she thinks she might too. She leaves. I divide her students between Noreen and Neeley. Noreen and Neeley are not pleased.

2:15 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. Rosie has a crime tip. Claymont, who was arrested this morning in the altercation with Brock, is a well-liked leader on campus. Many of his friends are upset about his arrest. One of them provides the tip - check out Brock’s gym bag. The boys who play football (county sponsored teams) bring their uniforms and equipment to school and leave them on their bus. The Deputy and I go to the bus and look in Brock’s gym bag. We find his uniform and inside his football cleats, a package of cigarettes and in the box of cigarettes, marijuana. The Deputy must arrest. A squad car is called for Brock.

2:30 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. It is the Deputy. Ionya, back from her recent hospitalization for suicide ideation writes on a sheet of paper that she wants to kill herself and plans to do so tonight. The Deputy agrees that we have to Baker Act her. Again. A squad car is called for Ionya.

3:00 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. I can’t make out the messenger or the message, but when I hear Alexia/Pilar trumpeting profanity, I know to dash to the cafeteria because that’s where drama club is meeting. This grant-funded program brings three to four drama teachers to our school daily for two months. I didn’t write the grant for this program, but I treat it like a wonderful gift. However, this gift horse bites back. Nearly every afternoon the drama teachers seek me out to talk about problems with several girls in the drama class. The drama instructors want the “good kids.” They want to kick out the others. Each day I have to cajole and beg to help them see the good in all our students. The club is popular with girls, but when several of my girls get together, there is usually trouble.

Alexia/Pilar is always so dramatic I thought drama would be a perfect outlet for her, but Alexia/Pilar is not pleased at the rules and today she is shouting she doesn’t give a fuck about this school or this program and she doesn’t care what happens to her. The drama teachers want to kick her out immediately. I suggest Alexia/Pilar go talk with Rosie, with whom she has good rapport, to see if she understands the consequences of her actions and might be willing to try drama again tomorrow. The drama teachers are not pleased. They tell me that prior to Alexia/Pilar’s tirade, Estralitta charged, screaming and screeching, out of drama. Selma ran after Estralitta. My students provide entirely too much drama for the drama teachers.

3:15 p.m.

The walkie-talkie is calling me. “Ms. Smee, there are no volleyballs for volleyball. We’re out on the volleyball court and I need..... NO! STOP IT. I NEED ASSISTANCE ON THE VOLLEYBALL COURT. URGENT.” Today is Daphne’s first day to instruct volleyball. Volleyball is popular; many students chose it. Daphne makes the discovery that she has no volleyballs while I am on the phone with The Boss (he has questions about my budget). While she is talking, Timmy, lacking a volleyball, hits Shandon in the head. The Deputy arrives on the scene before I do, but no arrests are made. I suspect the Deputy knows it is nearly 4:00 p.m. and almost time for dismissal, and thus for his day to end. The required paperwork and the wait for a squad car means at least a 45-minute delay. Whatever the reason, I am generally happy when an arrest is avoided.

3:50 p.m.

I meet with Rosie before she leaves, to discuss my observation of her classroom. She is upset about the departure of Lenny and about my feedback regarding classroom management. Rosie reminds me she has a Master’s Degree in, and a passion for counseling, not teaching. She goes on to tell me she knows Darius and knows that the restraint was unnecessary; she could have calmed him down without putting him on the ground.

4:00 p.m.

Stephanie stops by to tell me her view of the Darius restraint. She quotes Ernie as saying that Rusty and I might do that in New York but it isn’t allowed here in Florida and I had better arrange for legal restraint training for the whole team and in the meantime he is going to call Ebencorp to report this incident.

A principal must have skin like leather and rock hard self-esteem. I like to think I have both, but it doesn’t stop me from self-doubt regarding the Darius restraint.

4:15 p.m.

Rusty and I write up the Darius restraint. Since Darius’s primary complaint is that he can’t bear a week in orientation, we agree to make a contract with him, no more AWOL and we’ll get him into his regular classroom the day after tomorrow. Rusty will call Darius at home tonight and let him know.

I overhear Neeley talking with his dream team partner, Noreen. They agree I don’t support the teachers or care about their safety as evidenced by not arresting Lorayne (who earlier today threatened Neeley’s privates).

4:30 p.m.

I am working on a school newspaper. Since my staff members are overwhelmed with their current responsibilities, I decide I will put together this first issue myself. For the past week I have been reminding teachers to give me student work for the paper. I also ask for a brief summary from each team on current events in their classrooms. Today is the deadline. Here is what I find in my mailbox: one poem by one of Neeley’s students about how much she hates homework.

Nice coaches never win. I resolve to become tough or, depending on one’s viewpoint, tougher.

Since I can’t work on the newsletter without any content, I attack the Title One Grant. The Title One liaison, Corinna, says the grant still needs revisions. I have to clarify that the books I want to buy won’t be primary texts but enrichment material. She keeps chanting, “Supplement not supplant.” I do understand, but it is hard to supplement when there is nothing there to supplement. As I start rewriting the grant, The Boss phones returning my earlier voice message regarding Ernie. The Boss tells me Ernie has been with Ebencorp for many years and because of his size (like The Boss, Ernie is tall and wide) he is a “presence” on my campus. The Boss says I should try to understand Ernie and talk with Ernie about his concerns. I put my forehead into my palms and close my eyes.

5:30 p.m.

Daphne is on her way home, but she sits down to talk with me. She is upset about many things: her students, her husband, Florida. . . I let her vent even though I watch the clock slowly tick past six then seven. I promise her volleyballs for tomorrow.

8:15 p.m.

I stop at Winn Dixie to pick up milk. I generally do all of my shopping at Publix but the Winn Dixie is very convenient - just down the block from my school. I run into Lenny in the dairy aisle. He is barefoot and buying a half dozen eggs. I say hi; he smiles but hurries off. I want to say how sorry I am that he left and is going to ESAK. I want to wish him luck at ESAK. But he is gone before my mouth can find the words. I am not accustomed to running into one of my students outside of school. In fact, this is the first time. I suppose my students and their families don’t live where I live and don’t shop where I shop.

After Winn Dixie and my daily stop at Books-a-Million for the NY Times, I head directly to Wal-Mart. There are no volleyballs for sale. I buy three soccer balls. Anything is better than having the volleyball players use Shandon’s head.

9:04 p.m.

At 9:04 I sit down to eat dinner and write in my journal. I write that this has been my worst day so far and for the first time I am thinking seriously about quitting.

I talk to my husband at least once a day. When I share my challenges he listens and often offers good advice – he is far enough from the problems to have some perspective. I can (and often do) tell him everything, my whole day blow-by-blow. But I have to be careful. When I tell him about my encounters with The Boss, he gets upset. He is worried I’ll lose my job. He enthusiastically supports my living in Florida to pursue my career, but if I become unemployed, what is the point? I don’t tell him that today was so awful I want to quit. Some feelings are better put in a journal than spoken aloud.

Pep talk before sleep: I am not a quitter. Tomorrow will be better. It almost has to be. It always is.