by Bel Kaufman
What’s all the excitement about “Teacher for a day”?
Syl
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INTRASCHOOL COMMUNICATION
FROM: 508
TO: 304
Dear Syl–
That’s the day kids turn the tables on us. It always takes place just before Xmas; it’s the occasion for certain responsible seniors to run the school for one day. President of G.O. becomes principal, chosen seniors prepare a lesson to teach lower classes, and it’s all very sound.
But by a series of mutations and deteriorations, it is becoming more fraught and frantic each year. The humor of teachers dressed as kids cavorting on the stage escapes me, but there is a strong faction in its favor. They call it “the lighter side of education.”
Surely, Willowdale has nothing like it to show you!
What’s wrong? You sound a bit fed up.
Bea
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INTRASCHOOL COMMUNICATION
FROM: 304
TO: 508
Dear Bea–
I am more than a bit fed up.
I once taught a lesson on “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp/Or what’s a heaven for?” I’m no longer sure that this is so; the higher I reach, the flatter I fall on my face.
How do you manage to stand up?
Syl
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INTRASCHOOL COMMUNICATION
FROM: 508
TO: 304
Dear Syl,
Look at the cherub who is delivering this note. Look closely. Did you ever see a lovelier smile? A prouder bearing? She has just made the Honor Society. Last year she was ready to quit school.
Walk through the halls. Listen at the classroom doors. In one–a lesson on the nature of Greek tragedy. In another–a drill on who and whom. In another–a hum of voices intoning French conjugations. In another–committee reports on slum clearance. In another–silence: a math quiz.
Whatever the waste, stupidity, ineptitude, whatever the problems and frustrations of teachers and pupils, something very exciting is going on. In each of the classrooms, on each of the floors, all at the same time, education is going on. In some form or other, for all its abuses, young people are exposed to education.
That’s how I manage to stand up.
And that’s why you’re standing, too.
Let’s meet at 3. If you’re swamped with work, let’s at least walk to the subway together.
Bea
Fri., Dec. 11
Dear Ellen,
I chuckled at your description of your in-laws and the shrunken turkey. I needed to chuckle.
The invitation to spend the Xmas holidays with you is very tempting, but I won’t be able to make it. Neither am I going to visit Mother. Her letters have switched into lower gear: She now sends me clippings on marriages. No, it isn’t the “extravagance of the flight,” as you so delicately put it. Since I’m unable to whip up an appetite at 10:17, I’ve saved a fortune on lunches. It’s the term papers, reports, CC’s and final marks, which are due right after the holidays, “to facilitate records,” although there will still be a month of school left.
Other teachers, more efficient or more experienced, seem to manage to take this time off; some (on maximum salaries?) even go on cruises!
But I’m at a loss on how to give each of my 201 students a numerical mark in a subject like English. Based on what?–Average of tests? “Class attitude”? Effort? Attendance? Native intelligence? Memory-span? Emotional problems? The kind of reading their parents had exposed them to?
About Henrietta and the Book Room Incident: She’s back, galumphing more energetically than ever through the classics, devising means of bringing them to the students’ level, as the phrase goes. Her latest is: Great Poems Turned into Tabloid Headlines. I wouldn’t have believed it, had I not seen two kids in my homeroom at it:
MIDNIGHT RIDER WARNS OF FOE
SEAMAN GUILTY OF SHOOTING BIRD
WIFE TELLS ALL IN PORTUGUESE LOVE LETTERS
MAN REPORTS TALKING RAVEN
As for your question about Ferone and the Lavatory Escort episode, it passed with no repercussions. Ferone had neither failed nor cheated. As a matter of fact, his mark was 89. The day of the exam his paper was gone over, with a fine tooth comb, by Bester and me; after Thanksgiving, it was recombed by McHabe. There was no evidence of foul play. And there was no apology offered him–or me.
But the boy did finally agree to see me after school. He is coming next week. I don’t know why I feel it’s so important. I haven’t done too well with the others.
I couldn’t change Eddie Williams’ conviction that the white world is against him, no matter how many proofs and protestations I offered him. He knows better. He has always known.
And I couldn’t, in any way, change Harry Kagan nor cut through the fawning politician to find the boy beneath. Perhaps there isn’t any.
And I couldn’t do much for Lou Martin; the need for attention that prompts his clowning is too desperate.
My victories are few; Jose Rodriguez, who learned that he counts; Vivian Paine, who learned that she is nice; and a few who learned where to put commas and periods.
I think, like me, they’re all seeking a way to make contact, to communicate, to be loved.
“Hey, teach–you back?” one of my boys greeted me.
“I’m not a teach. I’m a teacher. And I have a name. How would you like it if I called you “Hey, pupe!”?
“I’d like it fine.”
“Why?”
“It shows you’re with it.”
I want to be “with it,” but they need some concrete proof. Like Grayson’s.
Quite inadvertently (the kids had been sworn to secrecy) I discovered the mystery of Grayson.
It seems he runs a sort of one-man free kitchen, lending-bank, drug-cure center, flophouse and employment agency in the basement.
While the rest of us were busy making out graphs and Character Capsules, he gave the kids sandwiches, lent them money, found jobs for them after school, or gave them jobs to do himself. He kept them off the streets and off “the junk,” and on occasion let the temporarily homeless ones sleep illegally overnight in the basement.
What Ferone and some of the other kids were getting from him was not the pedagogic gobbledygook, not concepts and precepts, not conferences and interviews, not pleas and threats, not words–not any words at all–but simple action, immediate and real: food, money, jobs.
I admit to a momentary pang of dismay: What tangibles could I offer them?
It may be easier at Willowdale.
Extraordinary–that Willowdale Academy and Calvin Coolidge High School should both be institutions of learning! The contrast is stunning. I had a leisurely tea with the Chairman of the English Department. I saw several faculty members sitting around in offices and lounges, sipping tea, reading, smoking. Through the large casement windows bare trees rubbed cozy branches. (One of my students had written wistfully of a dream-school that would have “windows with trees in them”!) Old leather chairs, book-lined walls, air of cultivated casualness, sound of well-bred laughter.
Whatever tensions, back-biting or jockeying for position exist in a place like this–and I know they do–I, as a lady and a Chaucerian scholar, was made unaware of anything but their delight at my visit. If it should prove mutually satisfactory, I would teach three classes a day, three times a week; the other two days would be for individual conferences with students. Classes are small. Although I would be stuck with Freshman Composition–the Chairman shrugged apologetically–there would be an assistant to mark the papers. I would be required to do nothing but teach. I might even have a Chaucer seminar. And certainly, they would arrange to give me as much time as possible to complete the work for my doctorate, after which, “one might rise quickly on the academic ladder.”
There I sat, Sylvia Barrett of Room 304, talking in my own language, made conscious of the dignity of my profession, made to feel, like J
ose Rodriguez, that I’m “real.”
I know, I know. I have a tendency to romanticize; Paul keeps telling me this. But surely, anyone interested in teaching belongs in Willowdale rather than in Calvin Coolidge?
Bea doesn’t think so. Sometimes I think she is right.
When I returned to my own classes, after a day’s absence, the kids seemed genuinely pleased to see me; but I suspect they were just as pleased with the bad time they had given my substitute. It seems she had arrived shrill and jittery, because the day before she had been threatened with a knife by a boy in another school.
“We gave her a nervous breakdown,” Lou told me smugly.
And Paul presented me with new verses–a parody of Gray’s “Elegy”–which begins:
The school bell tolls the knell of starting day;
Ah, do not ask for whom it tolls! I see
The students stairwards push their screaming way;
I know, alas, it tolls for thee and me!
He hasn’t given up courting me with iambs.
And he hasn’t given up trying to publish his exotic manuscript. A new publisher is interested, and Paul is poised for flight, awaiting word. To pass the time, he’s writing the annual Faculty Frolic, which is given a week before Xmas, and at which teachers and students interchange places. I’m looking forward to seeing Mary Lewis in bobby sox.
I’m looking forward to hearing from Willowdale.
I’m looking forward to resigning from the school system.
Or am I?
I’m weary. Comfort me with letters of Xmas trees and hearth fires.
Love,
Syl
P.S. Did you know that attacks by pupils on teachers in the city schools average one a day?
S.
TO: ALL TEACHERS
WITH CHRISTMAS ONLY A WEEK AWAY, THE SEASON’S GAY AND FESTIVE MOOD DESCENDS UPON OUR FACULTY AND STAFF TOMORROW WITH OUR ANNUAL FACULTY FROLIC, “THE COOLIDGE GILBERT & SULLIVAN,” WHICH WILL BE THE CULMINATION OF OUR TRADITIONAL “TEACHER FOR A DAY” DAY. I HOPE AND TRUST THAT BOTH THOSE WHO PARTICIPATE AND THOSE WHO DO NOT, JOIN IN THE SPIRIT OF PROPER ENJOYMENT OF THE LIGHTER SIDE OF EDUCATION.
I WELCOME THIS OPPORTUNITY TO OFFER EACH AND ALL OF YOU MY SINCERE AND HEARTFELT WISHES FOR A MERRY YULETIDE AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
MAXWELL E. CLARKE
PRINCIPAL
* * *
TO: THE FACULTY OF CALVIN COOLIDGE HIGH SCHOOL
DEAR TEACHER:
IF YOU’D LIKE TO MAKE SOME EXTRA MONEY DURING THE XMAS HOLIDAYS, WE STILL HAVE A FEW OPENINGS LEFT IN OUR AGENCY IN THE FIELD OF TUTORING, SELLING, AND ADDRESSING XMAS ENVELOPES. PLEASE READ THE ENCLOSED APPLICATION FORM CAREFULLY; JOBS ARE GOING FAST!
* * *
For Linda Rosen
c/o Miss Barrett’s Letterbox–Please forward!!!
Linda!!! Are you financially embarassed or your fingers turned numb or have you run out of stationery???? Why didn’t you answer my RSVP???? You know I can’t call you because your Mother listens in on the Ext.!!! Je me porte tres bien et j’espere que vous etes le meme. Vous comprenez ma language???? Voulez vous venir a ma noel party avec Bob? Mes parents ne serons pas dans la maison!!! Nous voulons avoir un grand temps comme le dernier foi, parce que I got le “stuff”, vous me comprenez, pour devenir haut!!! N’est pas???? Let me know!!!
Actions speak louder than words, so I’ll sign off.
Roz
* * *
CIRCULAR # 99B
TOPIC: “TEACHER FOR A DAY” DAY
PLEASE KEEP ALL CIRCULARS ON FILE, IN THEIR ORDER
DECEMBER 18, WHICH IS TOMORROW, HAS BEEN DESIGNATED “TEACHER FOR A DAY” DAY. ONLY THE HIGHEST SERIOUSNESS OF PURPOSE AND EXECUTION WILL BE TOLERATED. ALL DISCIPLINE PROBLEMS ARISING FROM THE LACK OF SERIOUSNESS OF THIS PROGRAM ARE TO BE REFERRED TO MR. McHABE.
* * *
Dear Miss Barrett,
Since I am running for re-election next term, I’m putting this in your letter box. Please enter all my Service Credits on my PRC which is important for votes. They are, to refresh your memory:
President G. O.
Captain Cafeteria Patrol
Elevator Squad
G. O. Store Superviser
Vice President Social Club
Secretary Glee Club
and Clarion Booster
Miss Egan said she may give me credit for laying out gauze pads and swabs in the Infirmery each morning but I don’t know if she will since pressure of other work prevents me doing so.
The Students Future Choice
Harry A. Kagan
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TO: ALL TEACHERS
THE TEACHERS’ INTEREST COMMITTEE IS PLANNING A GALA LUNCHEON FOR THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL BEFORE THE XMAS HOLIDAYS, WHEN STUDENTS WILL BE DISMISSED AT NOON. THE COST WILL BE $2.25 PER PERSON, INCLUDING GRATUITIES, WHICH IS THE MOST REASONABLE PRICE WE COULD GET.
PLEASE INDICATE YOUR WILLINGNESS TO ATTEND BY CHECKING YES OR NO. IF YOU EXPECT TO COME, PLEASE INDICATE YOUR CHOICE BY PLACING A CHECK ON THE LEFT-HAND SIDE OF MEAT OR FISH.
I WILL ATTEND THE GALA LUNCHEON
WILL NOT
SUPREME OF FRESH FRUIT ATTRACTIVELY DECORATED WITH STRAWBERRIES
CREAM OF MUSHROOM SOUP WITH GOLDEN CROUTONS
CHICKEN PATTY WITH WHITE SAUCE; TENDER GARDEN PEAS
FISH ALTERNATE:
FILLET OF SOLE CRISPLY BROWNED WITH PARSLEY POTATOES, SHOESTRING STRING BEANS
CHOICE OF VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM
PETITS FOURS
COFFEE–TEA–MILK
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INTRASCHOOL COMMUNICATION
FROM: 508
TO: 304
Dear Syl–
Your letter-box is crammed to the gills, as usual; I hope I can squeeze this note in!
I’m supposed to lure you out of 304 during the homeroom period today: I promised your cherubs I’d think of something! They want to collect money for your Xmas corsage; it’s traditional, and every year every teacher pretends great surprise at receiving it. (The one with the biggest corsage wins!) So be sure to drop in to my room–on some pretext or other.
Tomorrow will be wild! It would be good to fortify ourselves with a double malted after school today, but I know you’re meeting with Ferone this afternoon. Let’s plan to see each other during the holidays. I’ll be pretty much alone; except for a couple of nights, when I am taking some of my kids who have never seen a live play to an off-Broadway production.
I understand tomorrow’s Faculty Frolic is live, too!
Bea
* * *
Dear Miss Barrett,
Just to make sure I pass here is another Extra Credit Myth I remembered! Hero and Liandor poped into my head because I forced myself to remember that Hero is a girl! But the rest of it I don’t remember so well so will talk about another Psyche. She was the sister that got left on the shelf when the others got married off but an Orcle told her parents to put her on a Mount top to wait for a husband. One day Cupid came along and became her husband but said she must never look at him! Her sisters told her to take a look and if it’s a monster kill it, and if not don’t! When she did he was awakened and fled away. After trying to kill herself she came to Venus to be a maiden under her. After doing some tasks she became imortal and had two children. All the other teachers are forced to pass me on, Ha-ha! because I’m outgrowing all my classes so I hope you will too with all these Extras I’m giving you!
Very truely
Lou Martin
Dear Miss Barrett,
I’m collecting money from the kids in Home Room for a Xmas present to send Alice in the hospital and would like your permision to do this. Would you care to join in? I keep thinking how she used to sit right in front of me. We want to get her one of those great big stuff animals on which we’ll all autograph our names to show we didn’t forget her. A pander or a kangarroo.
Sincerly,
Carole Blanca
/> Thurs., Dec. 17
Dear Ellen,
It is 3:30 in the morning. I can’t sleep; I need to talk to you. I want to tell you what happened this afternoon, exactly what happened.
It was late when he came in; I had waited, it seems, for a long time. I remember arranging and rearranging the papers on my desk, refreshing my lipstick, switching on the lights against the winter darkness. I remember the sounds of traffic and the drilling on the street below, and the way he suddenly stood in the doorway.
He closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it, waiting. I remember thinking how nice, he had spruced himself up for our interview: the toothpick was gone; he had taken the trouble to brush his hair.
I arose. I smiled. I was glad to see him, I said. I had been wanting to see him all term. He said he knew that; well, I had my wish, here he was.
Ignoring his insolence, aware of his resentment of authority, I stepped out from behind my desk and–to bridge the distance between us–I sat down, with my Delaney Book, in a student’s chair, motioning for him to sit next to me. I knew precisely what I would discuss with him: reasons for staying in school, possibility of college, making up failing marks, attendance, attitudes. I was ready to point out the discrepancy between his capacity and achievement. I was prepared to understand his problems.