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….

Chapter Thirty-Five: When the Cat's Away

Chapter 35: When the Cat’s Away

In early November, The Boss says he wants me to spend a week in Tampa for meetings. When I ask for an agenda, there is none. I explain my dilemma about leaving my school leaderless, but The Boss is unsympathetic. When I tell The Boss I have a meeting with Henry, my public school liaison, scheduled for Wednesday and a Public School principal meeting on Thursday, he compromises and permits me to attend only Monday and Tuesday. I thank him; this is a relief, but even leaving my campus for two days is a frightening prospect. I decide to stop briefly at school on Monday morning before driving two hours to Ebencorp’s headquarters in Tampa.

At 7:00 a.m. Monday I find an email from The Boss. He is angry because we haven’t been inputting all our test scores, grades and attendance on the database Fred, his business manager, created. We’ve discussed this topic before; each time it comes up The Boss seems to have forgotten our past conversations. We’ve discussed that Lynne, my business manager, already records this information in the public school database as mandated contractually. The Boss has access to this database, but he wants Lynne to put the information in Fred’s database. Lynne isn’t opposed, she just wants to know what tasks she can safely eliminate since she can’t input this data and get the rest of her work done. The Boss writes that all the other Prospect schools meet this objective and he expects I will do so immediately.

I want to remind him that we’re the only school that must input the data in the public school database as well as Fred’s database. I want to write we now have nearly three times as many students as any other Prospect school. I want to write that the database Fred created has bugs and Lynne has made several calls to Fred to try to work around the problems. I don’t write any of this. I’ve said it all before. I ask Lynne to do her best at inputting the data The Boss requires.

After the 8:00 morning meeting, Daphne asks to speak with me. She thinks she needs to leave her husband and move back to Santa Fe. She cries. I listen and deliver another pep talk; hopefully loaded with enough positive power to last until I return from Tampa on Wednesday morning.

At 9:00 a.m. Adoncia gets off the bus and collapses. Lynne, my business manager, calls 911 while Rosie, the counselor, tries to ask the semi-conscious Adoncia if she took any drugs. The ambulance arrives. The students are unloading from the busses and running over to the ambulance and paramedics to see what is happening. Great excitement, too much excitement.

As I am packing my briefcase to leave for my meeting in Tampa, Noreen arrives in my office. I tell her to leave; she is not to be on campus when students are present. She wants $42 for the gift wrap I purchased from her son several months ago as part of his school fundraiser. She also asks for her old job back. I could laugh, should laugh, but I don’t. I pay her $42 and tell her to leave.

I get in the car and drive many miles before I can unclench my teeth and loosen my grip on the steering wheel. My encounters with The Boss, Daphne, Adoncia and Noreen are not my favorite way to start a morning. Now I am driving two hours to Tampa for a command performance with The Boss. Somehow I don’t expect this day to improve.

Trying to feel his pain

During the drive, I coach myself on how I will get along with The Boss. I search to find empathy for him. After all, he is the boss of four women and one man all of whom are older than he is and more educated (we all have Masters degrees, one has a PhD). As a former college football player, The Boss is accustomed to using his huge physical presence for effect. This isn’t effective with five principals who care about what he says and aren’t intimidated by height and weight. As a black man who grew up in Florida, The Boss’s poor communication skills and lack of mathematical acumen are no doubt a byproduct of an inferior education in recently desegregated schools. I craft the story of The Boss to try to find the patience and understanding I have for my students and their parents and apply it to him. I see the irony in this situation. As a pro-affirmative action liberal, I have been burdened with a boss who may have earned his job based not on his qualifications but on his skin color. Somewhere a right wing conservative is laughing.

If The Boss were white, it would be so much easier. I would immediately go to his boss, Clyde, to discuss my concerns. But since The Boss is black, to even hint he isn’t fit for the job, smacks of racism. Last week Lynne, my business manager, was reading one of The Boss’s difficult to decipher emails and asking me to help her. She wondered aloud how he got promoted and suggested it’s because he is black. Jumping to the defense of affirmative action I pointed out that it was valid for Clyde to want a black man to run this program since over 50% of our students are black males. In frustration I added that I just wished Clyde had picked a smart black man. Florida-born Lynne inquired, with some sarcasm, whether I knew any. Facing off against her racism I assured her I do. Clearly she doesn’t think she does. Maybe Clyde doesn’t think he knows any either.

My conversation with Lynne leaves me frustrated and unsettled. I feel I have crossed over into a parallel universe, a universe where until recently, segregated schools insured most black people would receive an inferior education. I think of the smart black men I know - Brendan the accountant, Richard the counselor, Bryce the attorney, Syd the doctor, and Raymond the social worker/therapist - and suddenly, desperately I want to make Lynne see their faces and experience their brilliance. But my words are inadequate to the task and when I finally surrender, I feel I have been disloyal to my black friends.

My kind thoughts and good intentions toward The Boss fade fast in his presence. There are no goals or objectives for this meeting. Team bonding, which is usually somewhere on the agenda of such meetings, is scuttled. The Boss runs the meeting like a football coach with a losing team and some wild players.

Lacking an agenda for this multi-day fest, The Boss collars various Ebencorp employees and convinces them to come “shoot the breeze” with us. Good old Let’s rap Leighton from HR, asks what we want to know. The risk management guy comes in and delivers the same spiel we all heard last August. Cell phones ring. Each of us has left behind a school with students and problems and no one to solve them. (I get a call from Rosie about Adoncia. The hospital called and she is fine. They don’t know why she lost consciousness.) At lunchtime a discussion ensues to determine which restaurant to visit. The Boss announces he will not be going to lunch. In my continuing struggle to understand The Boss, I take the cue and follow his lead. Maybe he and I can bond during the lunch break, but he goes in his office and shuts the door.

The other four principals are late back from lunch. The Boss, the angry football coach, goes on a rampage. This team is not showing any respect. His examples include leaving cell phones on, returning from lunch late and leaving the room to go to the bathroom. My fellow principals and I are speechless and dumbfounded. Post tirade, The Boss invites a woman who writes grants for Ebencorp’s residential programs to talk to us. Unfortunately, she explains, she doesn’t have time to write grants for Prospect Schools. I have to go to the bathroom, but I don’t dare leave the room.

The Boss doesn’t adjourn the meeting until after 6:00. Most of the other principals have booked motel rooms in Tampa, but my budget is too tight and besides I live only two hours away. It takes me closer to three hours with the rush hour traffic, then I have to turn around and do it again the next morning.

By the time I get back to school Wednesday morning my desk is piled high with urgent messages and a line quickly forms at my desk. People want to complain, tattle and ask for help.

While you were out…

Daphne wants to schedule time to meet with me after school. She says she’ll need my undivided attention. I have a hunch she wants to tell me she is quitting. I’d like to make myself unavailable to hear that news.

Stone needs to vent and snitch. He had surgery on his foot Monday and while he was out, some combination of staff members (Billie, Jana and Rosie) used his computer. He can tell because some of the settings have been changed. I express sympathy. He threatens to password protect everything on the computer. I remind him the computers are school property. I don’t achieve the goal of calming him; he leaves agitated and shaking. Lynne predicts a heart attack.

Billie, the PE teacher, comes to tell me it was Jana who used Stone’s computer.

Jordan, who teaches on Daphne’s team, wants to talk with me about Seth’s situation. When he made his weekly calls home last night, Seth’s mother, in the wheelchair, confessed that Seth, like his father, beats her. Jordan spoke with the Deputy who plans to send an officer to Seth’s house tonight. Seth, who believes he’ll end up in prison, seems determined to make that prophecy a reality.

Counselor Rosie tells me Tyryona (formerly known as “dollar girl”) kissed a boy on the bus on the way home Monday. The bus driver told Tyryona’s guardian. The guardian was not pleased. She spoke severely to Tyryona about how her increasingly difficult behavior is leaving the guardian with no options but to relinquish her to DCF. Tyryona became very upset, began to punch herself, ran in the bathroom and sprayed a bottle of perfume all over her body in an attempt to poison herself. Tyryona was Baker-Acted yesterday.

Jana comes to tell me it was Rosie who used Stone’s computer.

Stephanie says she wants to graduate several students from Orientation. I ask her for the worksheet we agreed would contain all the data needed before moving students out - pre-test scores, proof a planner was purchased, date child arrived at Prospect etc. We have this same discussion every week. Stephanie often “forgets” about the sheet and just gives me a scribbled list of names of students she wants to move out. I go down her list, she admits most haven’t been tested yet and don’t have planners. I won’t move them until we meet those objectives. She gives me the “I think you’re mean” look and leaves.

The Deputy comes to tell me that yesterday while I was in Tampa, several girls accused Kembrall, a student in Jordan’s class, of unwanted sexual touching. TobyBeth, the troubled girl with the illiterate father, is among the complainants. Yesterday’s Deputy launched a full investigation and made out a report but he felt there wasn’t enough proof to arrest Kembrall. All the accusers are white girls; Kembrall is a large, fourteen year old black boy. I ask the Deputy if I should be outraged that several girls have been attacked at school and should suspend the molester, or should I be repulsed that my girls have pulled a “Mockingbird” on this innocent black boy and punish these false accusers? The Deputy says since he wasn’t here and he wasn’t the Deputy who investigated the allegations and wrote the report, he can’t say, but he suggests I leave it alone. The parents of the girls have been notified that if they want to press charges they can do so. The Deputy adds: “In a school where everyone is a liar, how do you know who to believe?”

Corinna from Title One calls to tell me I can’t use the Title One money for the books I want. She chants in a sing-song voice that I must remember, Title One money is to “supplement not supplant, supplement not supplant.” Apparently I need to write this grant implying I’m supplementing when in fact I have nothing to supplement.

While I was in Tampa, the Risk Management guy from Ebencorp left a message (I’m not sure why he didn’t talk to me while I was in Tampa....), about busses and insurance. For months I have been begging Risk Management to insure only those busses we actually own and lease. It seems so logical and obvious to me, but this voice message tells me Risk Management has made a decision: the insurance policy year started in mid-September and someone (no one seems to know who) counted twelve busses on my campus, so I must pay insurance on twelve busses. The fact that I don’t now have and never did have twelve busses is immaterial. I don’t know whether I am insuring someone else’s busses or imaginary busses. Money I could have used for salaries or books goes to Ebencorp.

I also have a message from Henry, my public school liaison. I had asked his permission to have a half-day of school on the day before Thanksgiving. Henry’s message says I can’t schedule early release for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving since the public school has a full day and it would be unfair if the alternative students leave early.

I like and trust Henry, but his voice message burns me. Since when has fairness between the public school and Prospect ever been of concern to anyone? I want to call Henry back and tell him about “unfair.” I want to scream about the obscene unfairness inherent in the whole concept of a separate school for “bad kids.”

But of course, I don’t call Henry. I am not usually shy about making waves, but with my less than ideal relationship with The Boss, I am clinging to whatever harmony I can muster in my relationship with Henry. But like the Colorado river slowly carving its way into the rocks, Henry’s “no half-day” message erodes a bit more from our relationship. I slowly exhale and look at my watch. I don’t have time to digest what I missed, it is 9:00 a.m.: time to go meet the busses!

Chapter Thirty-Four: Death at an Early Age

Chapter 34: Death at an Early Age

When I was a kid, a neighbor had a premature baby who died, and my mother had a friend who made pottery in Vermont, who died. With those two exceptions, I survived childhood free of death. I never even had a pet die. My students are not so fortunate. Many of them have had a parent die; most have experienced the death of a relative. My students know many dead people.

Selma

I am in the bus circle, on a warm afternoon in early November, preparing to call classes for dismissal when I notice two women one black, one white, coming out of my office. I don’t recognize them as parents and wonder if they are from DCF. I walk over to investigate and they tell me they are looking for Selma. Now I am sure they are DCF workers since Selma has been living with her cousin since the step-father accusation. I stick my head in the office to ask Lynne the identity of these women; she is meticulous about letting only authorized people pick up children. She answers before I can ask: “They’re cops.”

Selma is called to the office. I stand eavesdropping near the car with the two female police officers. If Selma is in trouble, I want to know. The black woman speaks quietly to Selma. Selma screams. A piercing scream. Not the usual loud girl scream she squeals when she sees Tyryona’s new skirt, nor the indignant scream she fires off when someone calls her a “ho.” This is the sound the painting “The Scream” would make if it had audio. Standing with her face pressed against the driver side window, Selma starts to pound the unmarked police car with her fists. Now she is crying loud, hyperventilating cries. As I approach, the white woman answers my unspoken question: they just informed Selma her older brother was shot and killed today, four miles from our school.

Marcus

The next day, the day after the shooting of Selma’s brother, the newspapers are filled with the lurid details. They say he was shot “gangland style.” Isn’t this is a line from a movie? Is this real life? The students are buzzing about the murder. Rumor mill says our student, Claymont, is related to the murderer who has not yet been arrested. Not surprisingly, Selma is absent today. But Marcus is here.

Marcus’s sister died two days ago. She was going to turn 26 in a couple weeks. She had cerebral palsy. Marcus’s mom sent a note explaining that Marcus wanted to go to school so she let him. Marcus’s hair is unbraided and he has that wild look in his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk to any counselors or other staff members about his sister or anything else. I phone his mother. She cries telling me about the pain of watching her daughter suffer for years only to die. She tells me Marcus hasn’t shown any signs of grief but she believes this is because he is relieved his sister is no longer in pain. I suggest that Marcus is grieving and needs Mom to talk with him. He is so volatile under regular circumstances, I really worry about him attending school today. Unbraided Marcus has been known to wander out of class and around campus. Unbraided Marcus has beaten up children half his size (and Marcus is so big, most of our students are smaller than he is). Unbraided Marcus has cursed and threatened teachers. I don’t want Marcus to hurt anyone today or to end up arrested. Marcus’s mother agrees to pick him up and talk with him.

Claymont – ramifications of an arrest

Stone, who rarely has anything positive to say about his students, wants me to read an essay Claymont wrote. Rosie too raves about this piece of writing. I ask Claymont if I can read it. Claymont has written about his grandfather, their shared joy in comic books, how his grandfather needed to take medication and it was Claymont’s job to bring him his pills. The story ends with the death of his grandfather. Claymont explains his grandfather died when Claymont was arrested for punching Brock and he, Claymont, was in jail and not there to give his grandfather his medication.

“Claymont, is this true?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like you feel like your grandfather’s death was your fault.”
“It was.”

Then I remember. I remember the punching incident with Claymont and Brock, Brock and his racial epithets and later marijuana in his shoe for which he too was arrested. Given the circumstances I never would have requested the arrest of Claymont, but neither did I protest. If I had stopped the deputy from arresting Claymont would his grandfather still be alive? I look at Claymont intending to say something reassuring. Something about how surely someone else could have dispensed the medication to his grandfather and that this death is not his fault, but when I look at Claymont’s eyes, I don’t see a boy who needs reassurance. I see burning anger and hate. And in a flash I see that as much as Claymont blames himself for the death of his grandfather, he also blames me. As far as he is concerned I requested the arrest. I don’t think protesting my innocence by saying I didn’t want him arrested, yet did nothing about it will alter his view of me as the murderer of his grandfather. I say the only words I can find: “I am so sorry Claymont.” His continues to stare at me, unaffected by my words. It is a horrible haunting stare.

Souvenirs of Death

I have a file folder in my desk marked “death.” In it are lists of books to help children cope with death including picture books for children who have lost a grandmother and longer chapter books for a child mourning the death of a brother. In the file I also keep copies of cards some of my students have made for peers dealing with death.

The front of the brown construction paper card reads, in block letters:

I Hope your mom made it 2 Heaven.

Inside is neat printing in pencil:

Dear Milton:
I feel sorry for you and I know how it feels to loose (sic) your mom. My mom died 2 years ago and I got over it, you will get over it soon. I am so sorry that your mom died. When my mom first died I tried to kill myself don’t do the same thing. Please take care of your self.
Truly yours,
“J-Man”
Jeremiah

For just a moment, step into the skin of a child who lives in a world in which bad things just keep happening. What is it to not know, day by day, whether there will be gas in the car when your asthma chokes you and you need to see the doctor, food in the refrigerator when your stomach aches from hunger, new sneakers when your toes hurt from shoes that are too small? What is it to have the power shut off for non-payment not once or twice, but often enough that you are relieved when flipping the switch does turn on the light? What is it to not know if you’ll be belted or why or how bad this beating will be? What is it to sometimes live with your mother and her boyfriend, sometimes with your grandmother, sometimes with a neighbor and even sometimes in foster care? What is it to call a dilapidated trailer home, a tent home, a car home, a motel home and nowhere home? What is it to see death surround you and strike so often and so randomly that you are unsure whether your family, friends and even you will die next? How do you cope when you don’t see patterns or causes and it all seems so random and out of control?

Do you think maybe you’d be angry and curse? Maybe you would fight? Maybe you would take drugs or sell drugs, have sex or sell sex? And if not, why not? Cause and effect have been pretty muddled in your life. Bad stuff just keeps happening and on the hierarchy of bad things, death is near the top.

My job at Prospect is surrounded by deaths, not just the deaths in the lives of my students, but in my own life as well. The death of my beloved father-in-law in January 2002 awoke me to the impermanence of life and in part motivated me to seek out this principal position. Halfway through my tenure at Prospect, a close college friend died. His death was unexpected (he was a healthy runner) and a wrenching shock. Shortly after I left Prospect, a former Verizon coworker, a good friend in his 20’s with two babies, died tragically in a car crash. Jack, John and Jason were men I loved; overnight they disappeared. Now I too know dead people. But I am more fortunate than my students. I lived over four decades before death interrupted my bliss; and it certainly didn’t define my childhood.