I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had

by Tony Danza

“He was a tough, honest, hardworking city sanitation man. I listened to him get up early, every morning—rain, shine, or snow—and leave for work. When it did snow, we might not see him for days. He would walk out of the house, down the snowy street, and then hitchhike to the sanitation garage in Brooklyn. On the kitchen table, he would always leave half of his egg sandwich for me. It was his way of saying good morning and letting me know he was thinking of me.”

  Joe smiles. “Sounds like you had a good dad.”

  “Any time you feel like coming up to my room for fifth period,” I say, “we can eat lunch together and discuss our day, school, the kids. I’ll give you half my sandwich.”

  “That’s nice of you—” Joe begins, but the bell rings and we both bolt upright. Enough shooting the breeze. Back to work.

  WHEN I GET HOME to my apartment at the end of the day, I realize that, in my haste to get to school this morning, I forgot to tear off yesterday’s thought for the day from the calendar on my desk. When I remedy the situation, today’s thought appears: “Encourage a good student to become a teacher.” Perfect, I think, but what about not-so-good students, like me?

  And with that I open an envelope that was sitting in my mailbox at school this morning. Talk about timing.

  From: Harry Gilbert

  To: Mr. Tony Danza

  English Dept

  Northeast HS

  Dear Sir:

  Here’s some free advice from a retired Public School teacher with over 35 years teaching 7th to 12th graders. My last position was teaching Math for 17 years at NEHS in room 6. I taught Math at Camden HS & South Philadelphia High School in addition to subbing in all subjects, teaching summer & special programs & teaching to the Scholastic Aptitude Test at over 10 different schools in the Delaware Valley.

  I loved just about every minute of it, and if I had to do it over again, my choices would be very close to what I’ve already done. Being a teacher is part salesman, part actor & lots of compassion. You picked a great school that has fine students and some excellent staff members. Note, not all staff members are excellent all the time, but when I left, there were plenty of great educators & then there were some I wouldn’t trust walking my dog.

  Some Advice, in no particular order:

  • Get last year’s yearbook. Sit down with 2 or more people you feel “get it” at NEHS and page through. Let them be candid. Off the record. You will learn more about the school speaking to 2 or more staff members leafing through the yearbook over drinks than you will any other way (my opinion). Forget talking with the administration, although I am sure you will meet & interact with them more than any other teacher not related to them. Contact people like the Dean of Discipline, your best contact for outside discipline & advice.

  • I heard you are interested in getting involved in a sport or activity. For Football there is the present Mr. NEHS, Chris Riley. Riley played at NEHS, coached in the suburbs & the Catholic League, as well as other stops in the public league including one of our archrivals, George Washington HS. He might know more about current HS football in the Delaware Valley than anyone.

  • Wardrobe. You might be thinking suit & tie. Try it once. Put suit jacket on the back of your chair. The building is hot. Buy 6 shirts from the school store. 2 black, 2 red & 2 white. Then Monday through Friday is red, white, black, red, white, etc. You will have a different shirt every day. They can be worn with dress shoes or sneakers. Sneakers are best. No denim, except on Oct 2, which is “National Denim Day” in honor of breast cancer awareness. If possible hide the tattoos. They are very distracting, like a giant scar. As you walk around the room, you might notice some students trying to look at your tattoos instead of your nose hairs.

  • Always carry a book, notebook or newspaper. (You don’t want to pop a woody at an inappropriate time.)

  • The last 5 years of my career I started & ended every class with tasteful music & a hotel bell (DING DING DING), the type you find on the counter of motels to get attention. When the bell rang to end a class, I started my radio with a remote that is playing oldies, mostly Temptations or instrumentals.

  • There are 5 minutes between classes. You hear 2 songs. The kids are not offended; sometimes they sing, dance or groan. When the start bell rings, you or a student taps your hotel bell. “Ding ding ding” means to get quiet. Wait about 15 seconds, the 2nd “ding ding ding” means, if you are still making noise you really want to get into trouble.

  • Establish this procedure early & you will have no trouble getting started. The kids can talk & make noise before the bell rings, but after that, it’s business. And the main business is order & respect for others.

  • Seating Chart. Make one up, use pencil. Do not rearrange chairs unless you are able to put them back neatly before the bell rings every day.

  • (1st or 2nd day) You say: “I’m only going to ask this twice, raise your hand if you need or want a special seat.” Point & give them a number. After the 2nd time, give each of those students their choice of seats, then fill in the rest alphabetically. A seating chart is like a line-up. It can be changed at any time by the coach. Students are like players, they can suggest, but Coach has final say.

  • Homework: Always. Never more than 15 minutes a night. The good kids have too much to do.

  • Grades. Have a test or grade at least every 2 weeks. This will give you 4 grades a marking period. Give a 5th grade for work habits—that includes HW, attendance, behavior. Example: Lateness 5 pts off, absent 5 off, no HW 5 off, bothering someone too much 5 off, impersonating an A-hole, 5 off.

  • Allow for extra credit to make up all transgressions. Never give anyone more than 100 for anything.

  • Always err on the side of the student. Example: Lowest test grade ever given is a 40. Most points off for a really bad day 15. End your grades a week before the marking period & let the students determine their grade, with you having the final say. That way they know how they got the grade & they know it weeks before their parents, which gives you another bullet if necessary.

  • Extra Credit. Look up & give me a readable page (100 to 500 words) on either Ben Franklin or Redd Foxx.

  • Keep your sense of humor & all that makes you the charismatic figure that you are. Your persona will carry you in the classroom just as it does in life. Be yourself. Tell a fart joke.

  • Never embarrass a student in front of others. Embarrass yourself, often to relieve the tension, but do not paint them into a corner. It’s only High School. Sure it will follow them for the rest of their lives, but so will their families, friends, talents, experiences, etc.

  • Now here’s the kiss of death. After each lesson, sit down by yourself & think, “If my son or daughter were correctly rostered to this class, would I be comfortable with the lesson & the effort I put forth today?”

  • If your answer is yes, you can sleep tonite. Whatever the answer, ask yourself what went well, what didn’t, how could I do it better, etc. The best teachers never rest on their laurels.

  • Other topics for the first days, the first year include:

  • KISS—Keep it simple stupid

  • FACE—To stay awake do not put your hands or any object anywhere near your face

  • SINCERITY—If you can fake that, the rest will flow freely

  The only kids still at NEHS that I taught are for the most part Seniors in the Magnet program. I was cited in “Who’s Who in American High Schools” 3 times since it started printing. Nominations come only from Students who either made the National Honor Society or went on to get honors in the first 2 years of college. The first kid who nominated me, Robert Williams, was smart, barely made an effort & had @ an 88 avg. I thought he hated me & the class. Turns out I gave him one of his lowest grades.

  When I asked him why he nominated me, he said, “because we worked every day, you always came prepared, you always did your best & you never gave up on anyone, not even those that deserved it.” Wouldn’t mind that being my 1 sentence legacy.

  Heard
you are only teaching one 10th grade class for 13 weeks. You’ll be great. You put on a talk show. What could be harder than that??? Good luck Tony, I know you will do well.

  Respectfully Yours,

  Harry Gilbert

  Three

  Do Now

  MS. DENAPLES has me on truancy duty. For the first hour of the school day, I’m to circle the campus wrangling stragglers. If parents drop their kids off late, I’m supposed to tell the parents it’s their job to get their children to school on time. If kids are dawdling, I’m to personally escort them. “Whatever it takes.” As she says this, Ms. D. puts her hands on her hips for emphasis.

  Confronting students about being late is not my idea of fun. These are probably not the honor roll kids, and they don’t know me from Adam, but I don’t dare try to wriggle out of it. I’ll work this beat with Ms. D. every morning for the rest of the week and periodically throughout the year. “Truancy and tardiness are no laughing matter, Mr. Danza.”

  “Yes, Ms. DeNaples.” I can’t help wondering if anything is a laughing matter for Ms. DeNaples, but far be it from me to test her. I decide that if the kids and parents wonder who I am to be telling them to get to school, I’ll say Ms. DeNaples is all over me and put the same fear in them that I feel. If some of the tough kids act up, I can always call my camera crew for backup. Yes, some of these guys truly scare me. A few have tattoos up their necks, and struts that not even Eminem could match. They make Al G look easy, which I’m still hoping he might actually be. I just have to remember that they’re only kids. But as we patrol the school grounds, I see in Technicolor what America’s schoolteachers and school administrators are up against.

  Even though the bell has rung, way too much of the student body is still outside. A few kids are racing to class, but others are taking their sweet time. A pod of smokers hang out in a side alleyway off Algon Street. I tell them to put out their smokes and get inside, and they don’t budge. Finally I plant myself in front of them and tell them to “give up that dirty habit.” Then I spot a bunch of kids who are walking in a totally wrong direction, away from school. “Hey!” I yell. “Come back here, you guys! School’s this way.” Busted, they shuffle around and pretend not to hear me. It’s disheartening in the extreme. The fact that they wind up in school today is no guarantee that they’ll get there tomorrow.

  Suddenly a battered VW Bug pulls to the curb, and I open the door for a redheaded boy in an Eagles sweatshirt. “You better hurry up,” I tell him. “Ms. DeNaples is on the warpath.” Then I lean down and say to the woman in the driver’s seat, “You know you’re bringing your son to school twenty minutes late? That’s not acceptable.”

  The mother, wearing a turquoise sweat suit, fishes for a scrap of paper in her handbag and asks me for my autograph.

  “Only if you get your son here on time from now on,” I say. I mean it, but she just laughs.

  AN HOUR LATER in class, Monte’s pencil is tapping so hard I compliment him on his drum skills. Eric Choi is folding an elaborate origami object. It has moving parts, requires all the concentration he’s not giving me, and will make me cry. But not yet. Not in class. I’ve been warned, forget about smiling, and never let them see you cry. “Gimme that,” I say, pocketing Eric’s little paper wreath. We both need to focus.

  “All right. Who would like to read their story?”

  Crickets. That’s what it sounds like as the kids shift in their chairs, avoiding eye contact, secretly checking their cell phones and texting.

  “Emmanuel?” I walk back to a large, quiet kid who sits beside Paige in the back row. Yesterday he told us he was on the debate team. He’s got to be good. But he shakes his head. “You don’t want to read it? You don’t have to stand up, you can read it sitting down.” No answer. “How about if I read it?” He shrugs as I pick up his paper.

  “ ‘When I was younger,’ ” I read, “ ‘I was scared about riding on roller coasters.’ You know, I was, too.” That gets no smiles. I finish reading Emmanuel’s piece and ask for another volunteer. Not a single hand.

  I thought at least Monte would pipe up. But now I’ve started. Anything to stop the crickets. I ask for Paige’s story and offer to read it aloud. She’s written about going to South Street in a rainstorm. I break into song, “ ‘Where do all the hippies meet? South Street, South Street.’ ”

  All right, they snicker. But a snicker beats a blank stare. Before long I’ve read out five of their stories. They’re all pretty light. I understand. The kids don’t know me well enough yet to unload for real, so they’ve written about theme parks, basketball, shopping—extensions of their introductions on Day One, which to me already seems months ago.

  “Danny.” I call on our sweet-faced rear tackle.

  He looks up, and his expression seems to twist sideways. “You mind if we read our own stories?”

  I meet David Cohn’s eyes. He looks like a young Grim Reaper. I stammer, “Sh-sure, Danny. Yeah. I just thought I’d help us get started, I … Go ahead.”

  I return to my desk and sit down as Danny reads a story about scoring his first defensive touchdown. I feel like a complete schmo. This time when the bell rings I’m thankful. What if I were a real teacher and had four more classes like this today?

  INSTEAD I’VE GOT football practice. I’ve never played football except in the street, but that makes no difference. I’m going to have my face rubbed in all the extra demands placed on real teachers, and just see how I like it. I’ll work with the marching band, the debate team, the school paper, soccer team, drama class, and choir. I’ll sub for and audit other teachers, proctor tests, do hall duty and cafeteria duty, attend weekly planning meetings and perpetual professional development seminars. I’ll be so tired that I fall asleep in front of the principal, on camera. But all of that is yet to come. Right now I’m one of four assistant coaches under Head Coach Chris Riley.

  Riley is an alumnus of Northeast and a member of its 1986 championship team—which unfortunately was its last championship team. A hard-nosed motivator, he welcomes me aboard and hands me a whistle to hang around my neck. I hate the feeling of not knowing what I’m doing. I try to run the kids through their drills, but I have trouble even blowing my whistle. Across the field, Riley shakes his head.

  We finish practice and go into the locker room. Riley calls a meeting, and the players take a knee. As the coach stands in front of them, I’m thinking I could use a rousing speech right about now. This ought to be good.

  “Coach Danza has something to say.”

  I blink. Coach who? I like the sound of “Coach Danza,” but … what else did he just say?

  Sixty football players wait for me to tell them something that will help when things get tough in their first game of the season. Doing my best to think fast, I merge their challenge on the field with mine in the classroom. Brilliant!

  “You know,” I tell them, “I’m a first-year teacher this year. I never did it before, and it’s like a roller coaster. So I’m up against a lot of stuff. Like you, out on the field.” Trying to relate to them, I describe my screwups in this morning’s class, but the more I talk, the worse my morning seems. Before I know it, these are the words pouring out of my mouth: “It was so bad it made me doubt what I was doing. Maybe I should just go home. I mean, I live in Malibu. What the heck am I doing here?”

  I catch myself, mortified. I didn’t really just say “Malibu,” did I? Clearly I’ve got stuff I need to work out, but how could I stand here at Northeast High School and talk about feeling homesick for Malibu? In front of the football team? Am I out of my mind?

  Coach Riley looks like he’d like to drop-kick me back to Malibu and put us all out of our misery, but it’s the team’s respect that finally pulls me together. They’re still waiting, expecting me to behave like a coach. I scramble to get back to the challenge they face as members of a team that’s about to go up against fierce competition. “All I’m saying is, if you guys focus on the job, put one foot in front of the other, and depend on e
ach other, and have some fun out there, then it’s going to be a piece of cake tomorrow night.”

  I get out of the locker room alive, but barely. My own whining chases me. Sure, we all face adversity and sometimes wonder whether we can get the job done, but can’t I even see who’s in front of me?

  THE NEXT NIGHT the Northeast Vikings play their first game in a driving rainstorm. We lose. The coach has his players take a knee in the end zone. I stand with the other assistant coaches as Riley paces back and forth in the downpour, trying to make sense of the game for himself and everyone else. “We have to work harder and learn our lessons. We have to think about what we did and what we didn’t do, then get it out of our systems and come back and do better next time.”

  I know this moment is not about me, but I can’t help taking his words to heart. As the lights go out in the empty stadium and the rain keeps falling on some very disappointed young men, Coach Riley is fired up and raring for more. And soon we all feel his energy stoking ours.

  “We finish what we’ve started,” Riley says as he punches the air. “We go out and try again.” He waits for this to sink in. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”

  TEACHERS’ LOUNGE

  Everybody Cries

  I meet David Cohn in his office for my daily postmortem and show him the piece of origami that I took from Eric in class. “Impressive work,” David says.

  “Too bad I’m not teaching art.”

  We laugh. Then he gives me some valuable advice. “Think about doing more with less.”

  I don’t get it.

  “Less of you, more of them. Focus on your lesson plans, spend more time on less information, be specific, and stick to the topic. Let them read—and do—their own work. Did I really see you look up a word in the dictionary for Chloe today?”