by Tony Danza
Teachers and students need help, not accusations and pay cuts. They need to be a national priority, not an experiment stuck into a late time slot and then canceled for underperforming. But just when our schools need more support than ever, they’re getting less than ever. Why can’t everybody see what’s wrong with this picture? Because, like the A&E audience, most people don’t want to see it.
But I do. I see the problem of education now like I never did before. Since I left Northeast, many of my students and fellow teachers have become my email BFFs, and they keep me up-to-date on the latest changes at school, of which there have been many. Budget cuts have loomed over the district as they have across America. Any teacher with less than three years’ seniority is in danger of being laid off, and many of those who went through orientation with me have already left the profession because of cutbacks, frustration, and/or their own economic necessity. Joe Connelly, I’m happy to report, is still hanging on, but at the other end of the spectrum, many of the most seasoned teachers are now gone. The list of Northeast veterans who retired the year after I left includes Chuck Carr, Lynn Dixon, and more than twenty others. Although they’ve more than earned their pensions and some R & R, their absence represents a colossal loss for the school. I hate to think how my year would have gone if these pros hadn’t been there to set me straight, and I can’t imagine the place going forward without them.
The deepest impact on me, however, was made by the kids. Every few days I get a bulletin from another one—Paige, Nakiya, Eric, Brittiny, Daniel, even occasionally Charmaine and Al G. Their lives, like those of most teenagers, are roller coasters of highs and lows. But some of them have to survive more hairpin turns than anybody should. I’m still struggling to keep up with the twists and turns in Alex’s life.
When I last saw him at school, he was dancing off to that summer camp in the Poconos, which represented a highlight in his rough life. At camp he met a boy his age who became his best friend. Both poets, they wrote poems together, videotaping their work and posting it on YouTube. They grew so close that when this boy’s parents came to visit, they, too, fell in love with Alex—and agreed to become his foster parents. After camp was over, he moved into their home in Bucks County, outside Philly. In the fall, they enrolled him in the same terrific school that his new brother attended, and everything seemed to be playing out like a fairy tale.
A few months later I returned to Philadelphia to take part in an education conference headed by Arne Duncan, the secretary of education. While I was in town, I met Alex’s new family, and seeing him with them was one of the happiest moments of my life. I tried to impress on Alex, though, that he’d have to make an effort to prove to the family that taking him in was the right move for them, too. The decision to take a sixteen-year-old boy into their lives was major, and I didn’t want them to regret it. I didn’t want Alex to be moved again. So I counseled him that what he gives, he will get back. He seemed to get that.
As we were saying goodbye, I mentioned a line that the singer Suzanne Vega wrote for an old boyfriend: “I am bound to you forever.” True to form, Alex immediately knocked out a poem:
I’m bound to you forever,
Like the sky is to the sea.
We’ll be together always,
how lucky can two guys be.
Sweet. I could not have been prouder if he were my own son.
I wish that were the happy ending. Unfortunately, life—like teaching—is not so simple, and any time I need a reality check, I look to Alex.
It seems to me that his foster mother had only good intentions and hopes for Alex. The problem was that the arrangement hinged on the friendship between the two boys. After a few months, that friendship soured, and there was also some strife in the family that had nothing to do with Alex. I became aware of the problems and tried to help smooth things out long distance, but after talking to him on the phone a few times, I began to think that maybe this wasn’t the best spot for Alex after all. He missed Northeast, he wasn’t speaking to his friend now, and I could hear how distressed he was. Then the foster mother called to tell me they were making a change. They’d spoken to Alex’s social worker and all decided to move Alex to live with his brother, who was twenty-three, married, and had an apartment near Northeast.
Alex later told me he was happy to be back at his old school, but I had a tough time not acting on my own adoption fantasy during this transition, especially when he said things like “I wish I lived with you.” I settled for becoming his unofficial mentor. He seemed to be doing well back in Philly, but then he finished his junior year with a C average. And he got himself a girlfriend, which excited him but concerned me. We persuaded the camp in the Poconos where we’d set him up in 2010 to have him back the next summer, and I check in with him every Sunday, but I can only do so much. Where does teaching stop, and start? Where should it?
I still don’t really know. To engage my students, I found that I had to become engaged in their lives, their problems, and their futures. That connection was what made the job most rewarding. Yet it was also the intensity of that involvement that, by the end of the year, had made the job of teaching so much tougher than I’d ever expected.
After walking a mile in their shoes, I now see America’s educators as heroes who deserve our wholehearted respect and support. At this point in my life, I may not be cut out for a career in the classroom, but I am committed to making education a priority in all the other ways I can make a difference. That, too, is an important lesson. It’s not an all-or-nothing proposition. You don’t have to be a full-time teacher to be an education activist. You can read to kids at the local library. You can volunteer in your neighborhood school. And you can contribute to programs that promote teaching excellence. Teach for America, DonorsChoose, the Freedom Writers Foundation, the EnCorps teachers program, and the Fulfillment Fund are just a few of the many terrific organizations that support public education in a variety of ways, from counseling and mentoring students and teachers to providing scholarships and grants for educational innovation.
The bottom line is that every one of us has a stake in getting education back on track in America. Even if we can’t all be great teachers ourselves, we should be rooting for those who do go into this profession. We may not all choose to send our kids to public schools, but we all still need to support the public school system, because our country’s future depends on its success. And on a personal level, there’s one very simple thing we all can do—especially those of us who used to be the kids who made teaching even harder than it needed to be. So let me do that right now:
I would like to apologize to every teacher I ever had.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book, I have learned, is a difficult, almost monumental task. My only experience writing any kind of book before was Don’t Fill Up on the Antipasto, a cookbook and memoir of our family that my son, Marc, and I wrote together. I am proud of that project, but this book was a completely different experience. First, I didn’t have my son to help me, and second, the issue of education in America is so much more important even than my father’s meatball recipe (although his meatballs really are the best!). My year at Northeast was one of the hardest and best years I have had in my adult life, and I struggled mightily at times to do justice to the experience in these pages. Now that the book is completed, the list of people I need to thank is long.
First and foremost, I must thank the kids in my class and my unofficial advisory, who in the end not only were easy to write about but also gave me so much hope—hope that we all should share and support.
For putting up with the production, and me, I’m grateful to the rest of the student body at Northeast and the administration, with special thanks to our principal, Linda Carroll, and to Peggy DeNaples, Sharon McCloskey, Rob Caroselli, Byron Ryan, and Andrew Lukov. Thanks to the teachers of Northeast, who not only accepted and encouraged me but also inspired me with their commitment and dedication. I owe them. Thanks to my coteacher, mentor,
and main cheerleader, David Cohn, and to my close colleagues Crystal Green, Tim Flaherty, Bill Winglicki, Coach Chris Riley, Theresa Bramwell, Harry Gilbert, Lynn Dixon, Lynn Keiner, Glen Dyson, and Matt Callahan. My pal Joe Connelly not only inspires me but also is the model of what I’m hoping this book will highlight. Kelly Gould, my assistant, was a big reason I was able to make it through the year. Every teacher should have an assistant.
I also want to thank the staff, guards, and janitorial department of the school—the staff for putting up with all my procedural mistakes; the guards for being there and also manning my scavenger hunt stations; and the janitorial staff for the support they gave me whenever I needed it.
The A&E network, particularly Bob DiBitetto, Neil Cohen, and Rob Sharnow, deserves credit for getting me to Teach! Thanks to my dear friend Leslie Grief and Adam Reed, who I know I drove crazy. I also want to thank Mayor Michael Nutter for his amazing support of my efforts and commitment to the children of his city; Philadelphia’s film and TV chief, Sharon Pinkenson; the Philadelphia School District; and the people and the city of Philadelphia. Thanks to Patsy’s.
I’d also like to acknowledge my editor, Rick Horgan, and his colleagues Tina Constable, Sarah Breivogel, Tammy Blake, and Christina Foxley at Crown; my manager, Dan Farah; my book agent, Peter McGuigan, who really made this book happen, and his colleague Stephanie Abou at Foundry Literary; my publicist Jill Fritzo and her colleague Gabe Walker; and Aimee Liu, who pulled it all together and dragged me over the finish line. I couldn’t have done it without her. Thank you, all. I am eternally grateful.
About the Author
Born and raised in Brooklyn, Tony Danza attended the University of Dubuque in Iowa, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in history. Discovered at a boxing gymnasium in New York, Danza was ultimately cast in the critically acclaimed series Taxi, earning him a place in television history. He followed Taxi with a starring role in the classic ABC comedy series Who’s the Boss?, which ran for eight seasons.
Eventually Danza explored his love for the stage, and among his many stage credits is his exciting run on Broadway in Mel Brooks’s hit musical The Producers, playing Max Bialystock (2006–2007), and his reprise of the role in the Las Vegas production at Paris Las Vegas (2007). For his theatrical debut in Wrong Turn at Lungfish (1993) he earned an Outer Critic’s Circle Award nomination. Other stage credits include the critically acclaimed Iceman Cometh opposite Kevin Spacey, Arthur Miller’s Tony Award–winning play A View from the Bridge, and I Remember You. In 2008, Danza and his son, Marc, saw their father-son cookbook, Don’t Fill Up on the Antipasto, released to great success.
Among Danza’s other television experiences is his role as attorney Joe Celano on the CBS dramatic series Family Law (2000–2002); his Emmy-nominated performance on David E. Kelley’s award-winning series The Practice (1998); and ABC’s The Tony Danza Show, a talk show that blended celebrity interviews, human-interest stories, cooking, and audience participation, and was broadcast live from New York (2004–2006). He also starred in and executive produced the ABC comedy series Hudson Street and NBC’s The Tony Danza Show, and hosted the 2001 Miss America Pageant, the 2003 People’s Choice Awards, and the 2008 season of The Contender, produced by Mark Burnett Productions and Dreamworks Televison.
Among Danza’s big-screen credits are his roles in Walt Disney’s Angels in the Outfield with Danny Glover, She’s Out of Control, The Hollywood Knights, and A Brooklyn State of Mind.
Danza is currently developing several projects for the stage and television. He resides in New York City.