U.S. Soldier with the Japanese Skull

When I find something on the internet that I feel will work in my class, I take it and run. I found this picture below on the internet with this description, and I found it fascinating... partly because we are doing Heart of Darkness, a book which juxtaposes "civility" and "savagery..." questioning what is civilized and what is savage....(not to mention the obvious Hamlet reference)

For some reason this picture struck a chord with me, it is so surreal, here is a reasonably attractive woman, writing a thank you note to her boyfriend for the gift of a man's SKULL. The "surrealness" of it, if that's even a word, reminds me of an article that first appeared in the New York Times, titled "The Corpse on Union Street" which was about the insanity of New Orleans after hurricane Katrina. Although a news article, it read like a short story.

Here's a reprint:
http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/090805C.shtml

Not that it surprises me that our soldiers would do this, but it was surprising, because I had never heard of this until last night. So I found the picture, the brief article and then the poem, and basically threw out my lesson for today and whipped this new one together on a whim, which is one of the few things you are allowed to have in the New York City Public School system (whims,) although I think we might have given it back to the city in our new contract negotiation... I'll have to check.

http://www.nycenet.edu/Administration/mediarelations/PressReleases/2005-2006/10032005.htm

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Our narratives, the stories we tell about war change with time. At least what we find acceptable. Below is a photograph that was printed in Life magazine during World War II. The caption on the page read: Arizona war worker writes her Navy boyfriend a thank-you note for the Jap skull he sent her. While racism is still an important element in war, we are not so obvious in showing it.

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United States:
"We boiled the flesh off enemy skulls"

"Japanese skulls were much-envied trophies among U.S. Marines in the Pacific theater during World War II. The practice of collecting them apparently began after the bloody conflict on Guadalcanal, when the troops set up the skulls as ornaments or totems atop poles as a type of warning. The Marines boiled the skulls and then used lye to remove any residual flesh so they would be suitable as souvenirs. U.S. sailors cleaned their trophy skulls by putting them in nets and dragging them behind their vessels. Winfield Townley Scott wrote a wartime poem, 'The U.S. Sailor with the Japanese Skull" that detailed the entire technique of preserving the headskull as a souvenir. In 1943 Life magazine published the picture of a U.S. sailor's girlfriend contemplating a Japanese skull sent to her as a gift - with a note written on the top of the skull. Referring to this practice, Edward L. Jones, a U.S. war correspondent in the Pacific wrote in the February 1946 Atlantic Magazine, "We boiled the flesh off enemy skulls to make table ornaments for sweethearts, or carved their bones into letter-openers." On occasion, these "Japanese trophy skulls" have confused police when they have turned up during murder investigations. It has been reported that when the remains of Japanese soldiers were repatriated from the Mariana Islands in 1984, sixty percent were missing their skulls."

Source: Kenneth V. Iserson, M.D., Death to Dust: What happens to Dead Bodies?, Galen Press, Ltd. Tucson, AZ. 1994. p.382.

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The U.S. Sailor with the Japanese Skull
by Winfield Townley Scott

Bald-bare, bone-bare, and ivory yellow: skull
Carried by a thus two-headed US sailor
Who got it from a Japanese soldier killed
At Guadalcanal in the ever-present war: our

Bluejacket, I mean, aged 20, in August strolled
Among the little bodies on the sand and hunted
Souvenirs: teeth, tags, diaries, boots; but bolder still
Hacked off this head and under a leopard tree skinned it:

Peeled with a lifting knife the jaw and cheeks, bared
The nose, ripped off the black-haired scalp and gutted
The dead eyes to these thoughtful hollows: a scarred
But bloodless job, unless it be said that brains bleed.

Then, his ship underway, dragged this aft in a net
Many days and nights - the cold bone tumbling
Beneath the foaming wake, weed-worn and salt-cut
Rolling safe among fish and washed with Pacific;

Till on a warm and level-keeled day hauled in
Held to the sun and the sailor, back to a gun-rest,
Scrubbed the cured skull with lye, perfecting this:
Not foreign as he saw it first: death's familiar cast.

Bodiless, fleshless, nameless, it and the sun
Offend each other in strange fascination
As though one of the two were mocked; but nothing is in
This head, or it fills with what another imagines

As: here were love and hate and the will to deal
Death or to kneel before it, death emperor,
Recorded orders without reasons, bomb-blast, still
A child's morning, remembered moonlight on Fujiyama:

All scoured out now by the keeper of this skull
Made elemental, historic, parentless by our
Sailor boy who thinks of home, voyages laden, will
Not say, 'Alas! I did not know him at all'.

Of note

A sad note... I made that little "Gilligan" joke in my last post. And then Bob Denver, the man who played Gilligan, goes and dies- making me feel like a jackass.

School officially starts on Thursday. We had meetings today and will have more tomorrow. My room is in disarray and there was garbage on my floor - not much, but a few items of trash. What ever happened to custodians spiffing the room before school started?

An interesting item... during my principal's "welcome back" speech this morning, she indicated that there were 90 or so new cameras installed in the school that she can monitor right from her computer, as can several other key administrators in the building. But they're not the only ones... oh no... apparently so can the administrators in the region and right up to the Board of Education. Big Brother truly is watching.

I can hear my father now.

The end... and the Beginning

Summer is over.

Well, for me, summer is about to end. I head back to the Bronx tomorrow, after spending the last couple of weeks at Little Sebego Lake in Gray, Maine. I am feeling the same I felt last year, when I moved out of Maine, which is, “What the hell am I leaving this for?”

Summer’s end at the lake is sort of anti-climactic. The lake is quiet, but there are some stragglers. Kids swimming… but most notably absent are the boats. In the heat of the summer, the lake is a veritable freeway of boats and tubes and water-skiers.

For homework class, please read “Once More to the Lake” by E.B. White.

I am looking forward to the coming year with hope and some regret. The regret… is very simple. I miss Maine. I miss the “Way Life Should Be.”

I have hope, because I have learned so much last year, this year will be a better year. And not that last year was bad, not at all. I had relatively NO problems. That doesn’t mean that things couldn’t have gone smoother – they certainly could have.

Before the end of last year I started hand writing a “manifesto.” This “manifesto” basically contained the things I felt I needed to work on as a teacher. Things I want to work on to be more effective.

Of course I hand wrote it on paper so now I’ve lost it. I must have been doing something boring that would cause me to write by hand… but I forget what that was.

The thing I need to work on the most is classroom management.

Now, I’m not saying that my classroom was a madhouse. It was in control far more than not. I can’t say that for all the teachers. Again… I think the age comes into play. The people who had a hard time managing behaviors were the younger set.

The aspects of classroom management I need to work on were the more fine tuning areas. Things that enable the class run smoothly.

I believe I wrote that the Fellows program often gave the advice… “Don’t smile before Thanksgiving.” Meaning, put this front on until November and then ease into being nice and friendly. While going through the training I must have heard this a thousand times. I thought they didn’t want you smiling because you were going to be up against hardcore gangstas. They didn’t tell you that the kids were HILARIOUS. They disarmed me immediately. I wasn’t expecting that. I was going to disarm THEM with my humor. “Hoisted by my own petard” – to quote Shakespeare… or Gilligan, I forget who said it.

So I have to be stricter about that… I was too nice I think.

By the way… Did you know that Gilligan was his last name, and that his first name was Willie. Willie Gilligan. Look it up!

Curious

One of the strange things about finding out about Eliezer was that the window by which I found out about him was very slim.

Let me explain.

They give the standardized tests (the New York State Regents exams – more about that another time) a number of times throughout the year. And grading them is a Herculean task especially during the school year when HUNDREDS of kids are taking it. Every English teacher is reading and grading… reading and grading… reading and grading for about 4 days after the initial test.

The test is given in the summer as well, but this time there were only about 150 kids that took it, as opposed to 700.

So I happened to call my Assistant Principal to see what things were looking like for next year. Of course he had nothing to tell me, but he did offer me two days of work grading the summer Regents exams.

Two days of “overtime” would amount to a tidy sum, so I decided to leave Maine for the two days and grade.

Grading can be tedious but it can be fun if you get the right group. It was me and three other English teachers doing the grading.

On the second day of grading, which I was determined to just finish grading and then be in the wind back to Maine, one of the other teachers asked me and the other teachers if we knew “Elijah Vazquez.”

“Elijah?” This teacher can be a bit of a dick.

“Oh, I don’t know how to say his name……” and he pulled the article out to show me.

I told him that indeed he was one of my students that last year.

“Yeah… I guess he died in a kayaking accident. You know sometimes they have good news in the paper… sometimes this.”

I felt very angry, it seemed he was carrying this article around - being kind of morose. As I said… a bit of a dick.

So that’s how I found out.

The thing that amazes me though is the article was in the paper on THAT day. (August 17.)

What were the chances that I would be back in NYC for such a small window of time, but in the same time that this article was printed. AND that some one would bring it in at the same time?

I guess I am alleging that some sort of cosmic force wanted me to see that article. Why, I have no idea. But the planets definitely aligned in order for me to know about Eliezer.

Tragedy

A first has happened to me this week. I found out a student of mine has died.

He died in a kayaking accident. He tried to swim across the Delaware River and the current took him under.

It is really a shame, he was quite bright. When school started last year, I decided that I was going to start the year by teaching one of my favorite books, “The Crucible.” Eliezer was our John Proctor - the "star" of the play.

He loved acting the part, especially when John Proctor had to call Abby a “whore.” He took special care to make that line as dramatic as he could.

What warmed my heart about the way the kids took to “The Crucible” was that MONTHS later, Eliezer and K., the girl who played Tituba the slave, had exchanged words, and Eliezer said to K., “Shut up, Tituba.” K. gave it right back to him, “Shut up John Proctor - you adulterer.”

It was one of those moments when you realize these kids did learn… something DID stick, and there’s no way to grade that.

I’m sorry he’s gone. He was a good kid.

Bronx teen drowns on kayak trip BY BOB KAPPSTATTER and MAKI BECKER DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITERS A Bronx teenager drowned when he decided to take a swim during a kayaking trip on the Delaware River, his family and authorities said yesterday. Eliezer (Elio) Vazquez, 17, was on a day-trip Saturday in the Delaware River Gap with his friends, Daniel and David Morales, and their father, Ricardo Morales. The four were kayaking in two-person vessels down the river when they stopped for lunch at a peninsula. Eliezer wanted to try to swim across the river but Morales warned him against it. "I told him no, that the currents were strong," Morales said. But the teen removed his life vest and dived into the water with his shorts and shoes on. "He just took off," Morales said. Morales jumped into a kayak and started heading for the teen, who started to panic. "He started to yell for help," said Morales. Two canoeists who happened by tried to help, but Eliezer kept slipping under the water. "The water was so murky," Morales said. "He just disappeared ... just like that." Eliezer's body was recovered about 13 feet below the surface. Authorities ruled his death an accidental drowning. Yesterday, Eliezer's heartbroken family and friends remembered the teen, who would have been a senior this fall at T. High School, as a cheerful, friendly young man who loved basketball, his Xbox and art. "He was just a very happy young man with a lot of life ahead of him," said his older sister, Jacqueline Rosario, 31. Originally published N.Y. Daily News on August 17, 2005 Jacqueline Rosario with brother Eliezer's photo.

Meeting a Fellow on the Train

The other day we were going downtown to see my friend’s movie he and some actor friends of his made. The movie was not bad... but an interesting thing happened on the train ride down.

Soon after we got on the train, a gaggle of young, wide eyed, tired looking, bewildered kids got on. They were all talking to one another, and it was obvious to me they were all NYC Teaching Fellows.

And of course, it was pointed out to me... they all had NYCTF bags, just like the one I got last year. But I could tell without seeing the bag.

I approached one of them and said, “You must be a Fellow.” She was stunned that I picked her out. I confessed... it was the bag – I didn’t want her to think I was stalking her.

We chatted for a couple of stops on what part of the program she was in (elementary ed.) and other things. Then she flat out asked me... “What do I need to know?”

I said... “Routine. Get your routines down for your own sanity. Bathroom logs. Late logs. Get in the habit of documenting everything you can. When grading time comes, you’ll have it all at your fingertips.”

It was her stop. As the train was coming to a halt, she asked me, almost pleadingly, “Does the Fellows program teach you everything you need to know?”

The door opened. She made her way out.

“Yes and no,” I said before the doors closed. “Good luck!”

The door closed and we were on our way. I’m sure she didn’t feel any better with my cryptic answer. But it is true. They teach you everything they can, but they can’t teach you everything. EVERY experience is unique. Every school, every principal, every assistant principal, every class, every teacher. Multiply all these factors and you come up with a near infinite number of permutations. (I need to stop right there, I’m obviously tired, I’m lapsing into math terms... )

Lambs and Wolves

Three more days and my summer program is over. It’s been a fun few weeks. It sucks that I’m not going to see these guys anymore... their regular teachers are very lucky to have them in class, they are great kids.

When I was explaining to my father the program, he very simply broke it down for me. “It's Lambs vs. Wolves.”

Wow. That blew me away. With those four words he summed up the entire reason for the existence of this summer program.

In NYC there are probably five to seven or so “specialized” high schools. These schools are where you want to go when you DON'T WANT to go to my school. Bronx High School of Science is the “best” and most well known. Brooklyn Tech and Stuyvesant are two other schools.

As he was talking about it he mentioned two schools mere blocks from one another. Both are in the area of Lincoln Center. One is Martin Luther King Jr. High School... the other is the LaGuardia Arts High School. If this means nothing to you, LaGuardia Arts is the “Fame” school. You know... the one where the kids burst out of the school and dance in the streets and on cars, etc. Well, this doesn’t really happen. Why? Because the MLK kids would kick the crap out of them, and according to my dad, they do it anyway quite frequently. In fact, the ass kickery has been such a problem, that they have had to stagger the release times of the two schools.

But that pretty much sums it up. These specialized schools are parents’ last hope of keeping their kids “lambs” for just a little while longer. Otherwise they HAVE to become wolves. It's a matter of survival.

Towards the end of the year, my school had an orientation for 9th graders. I happened to be kicking around when the parents and kids were filing in. (Actually, one batch of orientation was happening in my room, and of course, my room being a mess, I didn’t know about it.) While the parents and kids were coming in, I noticed a good number of white kids. When I talked to a co-worker about how many white faces I saw, he said bluntly, “Oh yeah? They won’t be here next year.”

For as decent as I think it is, I guess my school is a school of wolves.

The white parents will more than likely send their kids to private/Catholic schools if their kids don’t get into these specialized schools.

So it’s legalized segregation. White kids "escape" and the black/Spanish kids feel crappy about their schools. Of course there are black/Spanish kids in the catholic schools, but they are still “minorities” there. Basically, according to my students, they have said in so many words, if white people (kids) don’t like it, it’s shit. Which is depressing to me, because I do like my school. I want all my kids to feel safe enough to remain lambs for as long as they want.

ICEY LADY!!!

New York in the summer is HOT. Like tropical hot. Like Africa hot.

My summer school classroom is not air conditioned, I know... boo hoo. Well it's still hot. It was so muggy this past Monday, I was sweating just standing in the play yard. Sweat was dripping down my arms. And I was just STANDING there.

But... fortunately New York has an abundance of people walking or driving around looking to sell you something to eat or drink.

Of course everyone knows the Good Humor man, or some other mobile food vendors, but something about the ones in New York make them special.

For example, today, I was so hot, but what do I see in the distance? A Spanish lady pushing an Italian Icey cart. Ohhhh mama. For $1 you get a decent sized cup of pure heaven. Cherry is my flavor. It was so sweet, so cold. I could have had 4 more.

Then there's Mister Softee . I've tried to explain to people in Maine about Mister Softee, but just saying, "It's a Dairy Queen in a truck," just doesn't do it justice. Not to mention, Mister Softee has more to do with my childhood than anything else I guess. When I'm home I hear the jingle... that unforgettable jungle... I think of M*A*S*H where Radar heard the choppers in the distance before anyone else. You hear the jingle, but you don't know where it's coming from. Will he come down your street tonight? YOU JUST DON'T KNOW! (Of course he does, he does every day.)

The thing about these little culinary pleasures is they are like gifts from the gods. You see the Icey lady, you HAVE to get one... you can not refuse. The gods would be insulted. You don't know when you'll see her next, your paths may never cross again. And Mister Softee, who knows if you'll be home the next time he drives up your street?

OK, I get it... it's a pathetic attempt to justify having sweets/treats in the middle of the day.

But it's summer. And the god's might not grace you with a visit from Mister Softee until next year.











Yeah, Mister Softee may look a bit freaky, but man does his noggin taste good. (Click on the link to hear a snippet of his jingle.)

Put up or shut up... scratch that... just shut up

There was an article in this weekend's New York Times about how a good number of teenagers feel that their high schools let them down. Basically the article stated that in this survey, high school teenagers felt that their high schools were too easy. This is problem number one that I have. Teenagers know NOTHING. They have a hard day and all of a sudden they HATE their teacher's guts. These are the wrong people to be asking about what they feel they need. I’m sorry, they don't know what they are talking about. They're teenagers... they're a notch above children.

Later on in the article, there is a quote - "A lot of business people and politicians have been saying that the high schools are not meeting the needs of kids," said Barbara Kapinus, a senior policy analyst for the National Education Association. "It's interesting that kids are saying it, too." This quote was from someone from the NEA??? OK, here is problem number two. Business people say we're not meeting the needs of KIDS??? BULLSHIT. They're not satisfied with the way we are meeting the needs of BUSINESSES. They are not satisfied with the worker-bee/drones we're churning out. My question is WHO THE ---- CARES WHAT ANY... ANY... ANNNNNNNNNNNNY BUSINESS PERSON HAS TO SAY ABOUT THE STATE OF EDUCATION? What to businesses contribute to schools? ZERO! Yet they want to have a say in the way it's run?There is one exception... Bill Gates. Bill Gates gave a butt-load of money to the NYC schools. The catch? They have to start charter schools.

So we get some dough from Gates, we try these schools out, maybe they'll work, maybe not. But its worth a start and it's on Mr. Gates' dime. At least he puts his money where his mouth is. Although some might say, NYC will go where EVER the money is. (People like me.) If I had the money to donate to NYC schools with a catch - that catch being that each student had to wear propeller beanies, guess what NYC students would be wearing come September.

Problem number 3 comes in the form of a philosophical quandary. I taught Romeo and Juliet this year. I would say 9,000 times I heard how boring the story was, how it sucked, and my personal favorite... "WHEN ARE WE EVER GOING TO USE ROMEO AND JULIET IN REAL LIFE?" Let me answer this to any person who has ever said this about something they have done in school that they didn't like.

You will probably NEVER use Romeo and Juliet in real life. In fact, the only person I know who uses Romeo and Juliet at their job... is me.

But knowing about Romeo and Juliet (or any other story/etc. for that matter) is not a matter of being able to tangibly use it in your future. But it most certainly does have value. It is called cultural capital.

The notion of cultural capital is that you have knowledge about your world, your culture that elevates you above the unwashed rabble. Some call it being “well-rounded.” I will ask my students, "Would you wear lime green, polyester bell-bottoms to school?" All say NO. Why? Because they already have an idea of cultural capital, even if they don’t know the actual definition. If they did wear those bell-bottoms, they would probably be teased. They know what they can or can not wear according to their culture.

So when I hear teenagers saying that schools don't give them what they need, to that I say they have no CLUE what they need. But business on the the other hand KNOWS what it needs and that scares me even more, because they will probably end up getting it.

Also, this picture was in the July 18 New York Times. Taken by James Estrin. Images of the Bronx in summer... this was my childhood and it is still going on today.

"Yo, I hear there a fight on 5..."

I know I tend to repeat myself. But I think I repeat myself because the things I observe tend to reinforce these statements I make. I wrote earlier about how these kids are indeed just that... kids. They are children. When I worked in Maine, I believe the reason the teacher and myself were so successful with our special ed. boys was because we let them stay "boys" just a little while longer. They saw that it was ok that WE were juvenile, so they felt safe being juvenile themselves. Unfortunately kids in the Bronx don't have the luxury of staying kids as long as they would like.

As a result, there are many fights in my school. MANY fights. Some are little scuffles... but some develop into outright riots which are like a tidal wave and you can't move against it. These fights might include multiple scraps and of course there are the onlookers who make it that much worse.

Believe it or not, some of the worst fights are girls. Girl fights tend to be bad because that's when the onlooker factor skyrockets. When two guys fight, there are definitely spectators, but if there's word it's two girls, kids will run out of their classrooms to see it. Actually, one of my proudest moments as a teacher was when there was a fight in my hallway, the first fight I remember seeing at my school, and NONE of my juniors ran out of the room, or even GOT OUT OF THEIR SEATS! I was so happy about that.

So as a result of all these fights and various other security issues, we are supposed to have phones in our rooms. On my floor we went a whole year without a phone in our room. So if there was any kind of issues, we had to get out our cell phones and call security. Once again, dad's voice rings in my head.

The two scariest moments I had working in my school, and believe me, there haven't been many scary moments - in fact, there are pretty much the only two - involved fights that spilled into my room.

During my 4th period freshman class, there was a knock on the door. I answer it:

"Yeah, I need to talk to E. - he's my cousin."

"Well you can't talk to him now - we're in the middle of class."

I close the door and go back to my class. I then notice about 20 people collecting in front of my door. I didn't think they were ALL his cousins. In fact, I highly doubted that first kid was his cousin anymore. Called security on my cell phone and they took E. out of my room to talk to him. E. didn't make it to the end of the year, he transferred to another school.

Another time is when some kids were after J. and they DID manage to get into my room. That was even scarier, because there were probably 10 kids in the room after one kid, and there was nothing I could do. I played cool and acted indignant and for some reason that worked - they left.

We're told not to break up fights. It's not "our job." That's what these security agents are for. Security agents look and talk and act like NYPD... but make no mistake - they are not cops. They're the muscle of the school and if I'm not mistaken do have the power to charge a kid. But it’s their jobs to get in the middle of a fight and physically break it up. I have heard many students say that these security agents actually escalate kids, rather than de-escalate them. In special ed. we were taught not to get in "power struggles." You, as an adult, emotionally "walk away" from some issue and it takes the wind out of the kids’ sails. They have nothing to go on. Well these security agents, they're not interested in just ending a beef and having a kid go on his or her way, they want you to know they are right. (This works in any situation. Most fights occur... let's say between a married couple or two family members... the fight isn't about an actual issue, but who is right and who is going to come out "victorious." If you have a genuine issue don't make such a case out of it and chances are you will get what you want in a less traumatic way... I'll elaborate on this another time...)

One of the fights that really stand out to me is one day toward the end of the year, there was a "girl fight." And these two girls were going at it down the hall from my room. I happened to have a free period at this moment, so I stepped out to see what was going on, hearing that familiar roar of a fight.

The two fighting girls were actually moving as they were fighting, to right in front of my room. As they did, I was able to step in between and in one fluid motion I was able to step in between and guide the girl facing me right into my room. But the most fascinating thing about it was usually you see the posturing going on right to the end. "You're lucky this teacher is here, Imma KICK YOUR ASS...." etc. In this incident, this girl's body language spoke volumes. As I stepped between them and guided this girl into my room away from the crowd, her body language said, "OK, I am going into your room and thank you for saving me." There was no resistance and she in fact hurried in my room.

When I talked to another teacher about this later on, he said he wasn't surprised. He said that often times they want to be "saved" from fights. He said he has seen fights where the kids were screaming and yelling at each other but nothing physical started until adults got there and could break it up.

As I said... Children indeed.

You're older than you think...

It's my second week in "summer school." I'm beginning to understand what this program is exactly. In order to not be sent to a lame "regular" school, NYC junior high school kids take a test to get into a "specialized" high school. Meaning a school which is "better" than say... MY high school. So my job is to prep them somewhat for this test.

Normally I don't dig a class like this... I'm all about opening minds, expanding horizons... challenging people's beliefs. NOT THIS SUMMER PAL! This summer I am TOTALLY ok with checking my brain at the door and just following the workbook. No grading, no reading papers, I get out at noon. Done August 4. It's a sweet gig.

One thing I did notice, the staff of the "regular" summer school at the place I work is downright rude to the kids. While that may be OK for the flunkie kids who are there because they screwed around in the school year, I will NOT tolerate them talking to MY cherubs like they're juvenile delinquents. These are SMART kids who WANT to be here. Well, of course they don't WANT to, who wants to be in school in the summer, but they know it may help them to be here.

And its amazing how young these kids are. It's an eye opener to this cynical, high school English teacher. I have two classes, one group of 6th graders, another is 7th graders. My what a difference a year makes. The 6th graders are SWEETHEARTS - every one of them. They are bright-eyed, excited, anxious, ready, curious... The seventh graders? It's like the hormones have been injected into them and their energy has all gone sour.

The other day, I asked one of my sixth grader girls if she did anything fun the night before.

"Yeah... we went to Toys R Us last night and I got a Barbie."

WHOA.

Then the 7th graders I have mope in... what a bunch of miserable bastards! And it stays this way until 11th grade when as I say, they "become human." Grades 7, 8, 9 and part of 10 (they're just getting out of it) are just hellish. In the 11th grade, they start becoming the adults they are going to be, and you can talk to them, joke around with them... and the hostility is at a minimum.

I still wonder at how young they are. Ages 11... 12... 13... Ugh... I feel so old.

The Process Part II, The Fellow Strikes Back

OK, you hopefully read the first part of my saga. The interview process, etc. What they don't quite make clear though when you're getting into the system is that even though you have been accepted to the program and you are "guaranteed" a job, you don't REALLY have a job.

See my little "air-quotes" up there? Well there's a reason for them. The word "guarantee" means that they can 99.999% assure you that enough people will be fed up with the system and leave vacancies that you will be filling.

That means that there is no REAL position for you, but they know that turnover is so high, they don't think twice about hiring TWO THOUSAND TEACHERS the year that I enlisted. That number is simply staggering. And that's not counting the handful of teachers who were hired outright... meaning NOT as Fellows. As I said earlier... the school district I worked at in Maine had ONE English vacancy last year. And chances are there won't be another one for YEARS. My school hired ELEVEN new English teachers this year alone. Just astounding.

So when you become a Fellow, they "guarantee" you'll get a job. It's up to YOU however to find it. But they don't quite tell you how.

Oh, of course they have job fairs. The one job fair I went to was in mid-May of last year. A pointless effort I found out, because no schools could make any job offers, as current staff have until May 31 to decide if they want to transfer to another school. (I can hear dad now...)

The pre-service training begins and no joke, you're WAY too tired to go hoofing around the Bronx to look for a job. Not to mention if you also have to find an apartment, it makes it that much tougher. (I had to do both.)

The Bronx is divided up into two Regions - 1 and 2. I was hired for Region 1. And we were told, you ONLY look for jobs in your Region. ONLY LOOK FOR JOBS IN YOUR REGION. As the summer was coming to a close, I didn't have a job yet. The person in charge of the Fellows for the Bronx said there was a job fair at the school I'm working at now.

"But it's in Region 2. I am only allowed to look for jobs in Region 1," I dutifully told her.

"Who said that?" she asked.

"Well, everyone."

"NAH, that's not true. You can look anywhere you want in the city."

Once again. My father's voice echoes. The fact that we are told this is a HARD and FAST rule. ETCHED IN STONE! You can ONLY LOOK FOR A JOB IN YOUR REGION. Even my Fellow advisor was taken off guard by this obvious bending of the rule.

But I have to say, she was right. I went to the school, interviewed with several schools who were there, including MY SCHOOL'S Assistant Principal of English. He said he'll be making a decision in the very near future, but he liked me, so I had a good shot. I was excited. It was a high school, which is what I wanted all along - not a middle school, which some of my classmates went to work for. Not in a million years did I want to work in a middle school. Brrrr, I get shivers just thinking about it.

Later that day, I get a phone call. My A.P. says he would like me to come in for a second interview, with the PRINCIPAL no less. I agree and in a few days I'm heading back to the school for a second interview. When I get there, the principal is nowhere to be found, and my A.P. is running around like a madman. "What am I getting myself into," I think to myself.

When I finally get to meet with my A.P. he promptly begins the second interview - WITHOUT the principal to boot. Here is a transcript of that interview in its entirety. Enjoy.

"Do you want to work here?"

"Yes."

"OK, you're hired."

And there you have it. As dad would say... ("New York City...")

Now, to be fair, it's not as if he just hired anybody off the street... remember, Fellows are super-scrutinized even before they get in the door for an INTERVIEW, let alone before they are actually given a slot in the program, so he knew that whoever he hired, if he or she was a Fellow, they've been given the once over more than once.

When you're a Fellow, you sort of have a "green light." All the coach has to do is sign you on, because you're already been, as Mr. Guthrie would say, "injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected." All your principal or assistant principal has to do is sign the paper and BAM, you've got a job as a teacher.

Another one bites the dust

Here's an example of New York City at its finest.

A NYC Social Studies teacher who resigned because he got in trouble for taking 11 days off to be a professional wrestler. He says, "I would have been better off beating a kid, because those teachers always seem to keep their jobs."

To clarify... if you ever do something "wrong," like say... hit or touch a kid inappropriately... they send you to the "rubber room" in the Regional Office. In this "rubber" room, which is not rubber obviously, but really just a waiting room, you sit and do nothing and get paid. People read, do crossword puzzles, etc. But they are still collecting their checks. Here's a New York Times article that gives the details of the dreaded "rubber room."

But about the wrestling guy? I can see their problem with him using sick days for personal gain, but give him a slap on the wrist. He's a teacher... and it seems the kids like him. If he can connect with them on wrestling, why not?

Teaching Fellows - The Process part I

Teaching Fellows - The Process - Part I

For those interested in becoming a teacher in New York City - it's not that difficult a process. In fact, if they could, they would hire a monkey to do our job. It would cost them less and maybe they might get better results. ("That's New York City for ya... They were tryin' to hire monkeys when I was in school.")

Actually, it was January 2004 when I decided that I would try for the Fellows program. By June I was in my pre-service training. How many humans did I talk to during the course of my application? ONE.

That's right. I applied online. Signed up for the licensing tests online. Corresponded via e-mail. The only thing I didn't do online was my interview. But I did sign up for it online. When you apply, you sign up initially on the Fellows page. Send in your information, reams of paper, several copies of everything... Then, you wait to see whether you make it to the interview segment. If you do, you then sign up for an interview - online of course. It is on this date you will meet your first human in the entire process.

By the way, the interview is not just an interview. It's called an "interview event." They call it an interview event because the damn thing lasts all day.

You have to give a sample lesson - 5 minutes long - but you have to sit through 10 other people's lessons in your interview group plus questions and feedback. Then, you have a problem solving meeting and you are observed during that. That's a chunk of time. Then you have your individual interview, which is a half hour, but you could be waiting for all the other interview people. Luckily, I fibbed slightly and told them I had to drive back to Maine. Which was half true. I was driving back later that day.

They must have liked my interview, because I bamboozled them enough to offer me a position.

SUCKERS!

Or am I the sucker???

When I found out that I had gotten the position with the Fellows program, I had real sense of dread. I really didn't want to leave Maine. I gave my notice to my school. "Please," I said, "keep me in Maine." My school couldn't help me. I wasn't "permanently certified" in Maine, only "conditionally," so most schools can't do nothin' for ya. Not that they can't... they just won't. I applied to a private school in southern Maine and for that ONE English position, they had over 100 applicants.

I kept up hope, but it gets down to the wire and I don't get any jobs that will keep me in Maine. The move back to the Bronx is about to become a reality. I am dreading this move more and more, but I know it is allegedly "for the best."

So June 21 comes... I am down in NYC... Lincoln Center. A 9,000 hour ceremony later, I'm meeting my "cohort" the other suckers who will be teaching in the Bronx for the next few years. Eight intensive weeks later of graduate classes, summer school and fellow advisory classes and according to the City of New York, I'm ready to teach High School!

Oh, did I mention... there's one other catch. You HAVE TO FIND YOUR OWN JOB! Stay tuned for Part II of "The Process."

More summer school drama...

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"That's New York City for ya" continues...

I applied in May for summer school. I'm a poor teacher in a crumbling middle class. I needed to work summer school. Here, on June 28, the last day of school, I still haven't heard whether I am or not working summer school. I was told by other teachers that I would have definitely heard by now, so its pretty much out for me and summer school. I can hear dad bashing the city and how poorly its run now...

But NYC giveth and NYC taketh away... but sometimes the opposite happens. My Assistant Principal, feeling sorry for my poor self, gave me the number of a principal of a new program... he said, they are "DESPERATE FOR PEOPLE." He used the word "desperate." I gave the guy a call and will know TONIGHT whether I have to attend a workshop for this program TOMORROW. Nothing like knowing THE DAY BEFORE something starts whether you have a job or not.

I would normally be livid at this, but the potential program that I will be working for is thus: Monday thru Thursday instead of the normal Monday thru Friday. 8:30 to Noon rather than 8 to 1. Oh, and the students? According to my hopefully soon to be boss, the BEST middle school kids who want extra help instead of the kids who failed and are cranky that they are in summer school.

So I guess the quote, "That's New York City for ya..." can sometimes work in my favor. Not often though, just sometimes.

I just taught this entire school year and all I got was this stinkin' t-shirt?

So it was the last day of actual school last week. Then tests of course – I’ll give more on that another time. I just wanted to share the only gift a kid gave me.

Now, I really don't EXPECT any gifts... I mean sure, I know people who work in Massachusetts who regularly get lavish gifts from their kids' parents. And man, would that be nice. But of course, I work in New York City... so I am not expecting, well, ANYTHING.

So class is just about to end, last period of the day, and J. a cute, chubby Mexican girl, is struggling to say goodbye. She's going to another school next year and the separation anxiety is setting in. She hands me my gift. My ONLY gift from a student. A set of green, plastic Rosary Beads.

"I know green is your favorite color."

I thank her, and she asks for a hug. I hug her and tell her we will miss her.

When she leaves, at first, I look at the beads. I don't really know what to make of them. On the one hand, it was such a sweet gesture on J.'s part. But of course, I then think of the lavish gifts they're getting in Massachusetts... Then my thoughts drift to some of the nightmare year some of my other fellow Fellows have, and begin to love my green Rosary Beads more and more.

I tell my family about J. and her plastic Rosary Beads, green because it's my favorite color. They think it's cute and dismiss it… moving on to the next topic. I guess it's really more symbolic to me, and would be too much to explain to them.

You say the Fellow's only 22?

Well, I'm sitting here, an English teacher, proctoring the Chemistry Regents exam. (My father would have something to say about it... "That's New York City for ya...") These kids are being quiet and well behaved. That is so refreshing and is a very good sign. BUT – we only had about 20 out of the 30 that were supposed to be in my room. It's NOT a good sign.

There's a weird thing about the Teaching Fellows. They're all 22. If you read the website, or see the ads on the subway, or wherever they advertise, they try to get you in the door under the idea that "it's time for a change." One of their slogans asks, "How many lives did your last spreadsheet save?" They try to appeal to professionals in other fields to fulfill their life-long dream of teaching. Well, let me tell you... it doesn't happen that way.

Oh, there are a few... a few older - MORE EXPERIENCED people who really do want to try something new. Former ad-execs or even, gasp, LAWYERS who are tired of their rat race.

But for the most part, that is not the case. For the most part, I work with a bunch of 22 year olds.

Now don't get me wrong... there is nothing - NOTHING wrong with someone 22 years old. Hell, I was once 22 a million years ago. But these are kids who have JUST GRADUATED COLLEGE. They haven't done ANYTHING before this. I mean, some of these students are 19 - 20 years old... 22 is like DATING range for these kids. And please don't misread me... some of these young teachers are absolutely outstanding. In fact, walls of the room I'm sitting in is plastered with projects, poetry terms, collages, etc. This teacher, 24 years old. They have great ideas, great energy... but there is a problem. These tough, Bronx youngsters don't always take them seriously. I have to admit, as a 33-year-old, MALE to boot, I don't seem to have as many classroom management problems as my younger counterparts. So where does that leave a city desperate for teachers?

I am a smidge envious though. I admire these kids having their shit together enough to have the start of a career at such a young age. I have to admit, the money I am making now, is THE MOST MONEY I have ever made in my life. Granted, that's not saying a lot, but to be making this much money at 22? I commend them on that at least. I certainly was nowhere near that at 22.

Another thing, my school has about 25 English teachers. This September alone, about 11 were new hires, 10 of which were first year teachers. Sure, times might have been rought, but NOT one "freaked out" and quit, never to return. Of course we are losing some between now and September, but everyone in my department at least managed to stick it out all year.

The Dreaded Memo

To any new teacher, I offer this advice... learn to prioritize.

Anyone who has ever worked anywhere ever, has received a flurry of inane memos. The dreaded memo. A new teacher might mistakenly believe that each of these pieces of future garbage is actually important! NO NO! Learn well that you can sift through them and remain a less-stressed, relatively happier teacher.

The way I view memos is thus: imagine yourself as a T.V. viewer, the advertisements are fighting for your attention and your hard earned American greenbacks. As with any company, you realize there are many different departments within an organization - EACH FEELING THEIR DEPARTMENT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE and whose sole job is to put out memos to make you believe it. Does human resources care about school security? No. Does the math department give a crap about social studies? No. Does the fundraising for the baseball team know or even care that you already gave money to the multi-cultural club? HELL no! Yet they are ALL fighting for your attention. It's up to YOU to decide which is the most important and which can be placed in the circular file. (Garbage)

Back in my old school, we had a woman who was similar to Bill Lumbergh from Office Space. I foolishly tried to befriend her before I got to know her for the manipulating bitch she was. One of the tactics she would use was withholding information ESPECIALLY when it came to the memos. I would ask, "So S. do you know where the meeting is this afternoon?" The reply: "Oh, didn't you get that memo? It said it right in the memo. I can't believe you didn't get it... they gave them to everybody. Let me see if I can find it." (She would scurry through her belongings.) "Ah, here it is.... now let's see..." Basically taking her time and knowing that she was rubbing in that SHE had information I needed and "exposing" that I really didn't give a shit about where the damn meeting was, or for that matter, anything these damn memos said... ever.

Of course unless they're good and hilarious.

At the beginning of the school year, we got a really good one.


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Date: September 13, 2004
Subject: Alcoholic Beverages

Please be advised that alcoholic beverages are strictly prohibited on school property.

Thank you for you cooperation.


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This memo is the "I'm-talking-to-the-group-but-really-addressing-one-person-and-we-all-know-who-it-is-but-the-administration-is-not-trying-to-fingerpoint-even-though-we-really-are" memo. You know someone stupid brought booze to school and probably played dumb about it, hence, the memo had to be written.

This one is a similar one, but really addresses a number of people in my building. I just like the wording, and keep in mind... both of these memos are written VERBATIM, errors and all. If there is a spelling error, it was in the memo - INCLUDING the bold, specifically the three !!!'d BOLD FACE PLEASE at the end. It ended just like that. "Please!!!"

What I also love about it, is the date... June 2, 2005. Why not wait til the last day of school?


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Date: June 2, 2005
Subject: APPROPRIATE PROFESSIONAL ATTIRE

We assume the following:
1. We are all adults.
2. We are all professionals.
3. We understnad the tremendous influence we have in our positions as role models.
4. We know that our students have little or no control over their hormones and impules. [sic]

That being the case:
1. We must dress like adults.
2. We must dress like professionals.
3. We must dress knowing we are role models.
4. And we must dress in a manner which does not in any way stir up those adolescent hormones/impulses into a frenzy.

We must wear:
1. Clean clothes.
2. Nothing which reveals skin between the neckline and the knee.
3. Nothing we would wear to the dump on Saturday.
4. Nothing so tight that there is nothing left to imagine.
5. Nothing we would be ashamed to wear to our favorite Aunt's house for the holidays.

Please!!!


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So to all you new teachers out there... learn to prioritize. If the paper has your name HAND WRITTEN on it, keep it. If it is a generic paper tha tyou see each teacher has in his or her mail box... chances are its a tosser. Of course, don't blame me if you get fired for not reading the memo about the principal's Christmas party. Just learn that each memo is not the end of the world.

Stay a kid, just a little while longer

A lot of people have these pre-conceived ideas about what these kids are like. Young, Bronx kids of the "darker" persuasion. I'll tell you what these kids are. They are little children. Forget the tough talk, forget the swagger... they are children. Period.

It's a sad fact, teachers in New York City get burned out FAST. And there's a legitimate reason for that. We are not just teaching these kids. We're raising them. We have to be everything their parents are not.

Not to say some kids don't come from "normal" homes... loving parents, one parent, two parents, grandparent, aunt, uncle, whatever. (I said "normal," not "traditional") A good number of them do get what they need at home. But sadly, most do not... so we become "foster parents" to nearly 150 kids.

When I first moved to Maine, I worked as a paraprofessional in a satellite program of a treatment facility. These kids basically had emotional issues or behavior issues. While education was a priority, the number ONE priority was their treatment. If education had to take a back seat for them to therapeutically work through their problems, then that's what happened - and it happened in both "bad" and "good" times.

An example of a "bad" time would be when a student acted out, he would have to be removed from the classroom (sometimes physically) and his behaviors dealt with. I say "he" because in my three years of working there, we only had ONE girl, and that was the last few months of the last year I worked there.

An example of a "good" time would be the time the teacher, M., was teaching class and had a spastic fit with a football that belonged to one of the boys. In a matter of moments, M. picked up the ball, started hooting, whipped the boys into a frenzy and then ran them all out to play an impromptu game of football. The room was suddenly quiet and there I was... sitting at my desk, wondering what the hell just happened.

But I soon figured out what happened. M. felt that the guys needed a break (and maybe he did too.) But the treatment is where it's at. On a higher level, what I realized is that M. and myself, two big kids at heart, were exactly what these 12-13 year-old-boys needed. M. was the athletic kid, I was the comic/geeky kid. Our child-like (or childish depending on which co-worker you asked) behavior was exactly what they needed... it allowed them to remain boys - to remain children - for just a little while longer.
I apply this thinking to my kids now, although it is harder to remain a child on the tough streets of the Bronx... They crave attention. They want to be told they are good. They want stickers and treats. They want to be trusted. They want to please. I tell them, "I don't care what you are outside of my room, but when you come through the door, leave that person out there." Nearly all of them do.

"That's New York City for ya..."

"Max, the city is terribly run." - Annie Hall

When I was considering joining the Teaching Fellows... I got endless advice from my family. Some was good... some was bad... some was screwy... all of it I took with that proverbial grain of salt.



The advice I have the hardest time digesting is that from my father. We have a strained relationship at times... but overall, obviously, I do indeed love him and want to please him like the good son I feel I am.

When I told him about my applying to the Fellowship, I was met with "The Factor." "The Factor" is this anomaly in my family where when you say something is great, you are inevitably met with a blasé attitude from other family members. Example... "Oh, this restaurant is FANTASTIC, you really should try it!" After they try it, "I wasn't too impressed with it." So if you want them to like something, you yourself have to be blasé over it.

My father of course follows this rule... so when I talked to him about considering the Teaching Fellows, he gave me 9,000 reasons why it was not a good idea. Being a retired New York City Fireman, my father had his share of run-ins with the administration, he figured that working in a NYC school would bring frustrations equal to what he received at the hands of the FDNY. In my uncertainty I would say that if I am able to get a job in Maine, I'll ditch the Fellows and stay where I am. Of course he would be contrary with this also... "You can't beat the pay and benefits of working in the city..." and give me 9,000 reasons why working in the city is a GREAT idea.

Well, Dad... which one is it?

Well obviously I am here, so therefore my father's contrary advice did nothing but get me a little crazed… nothing new there.

The one CONSISTENT thing about his advice when it comes to New York City as an employer is this: NOTHING SURPRISES HIM.

Example... we just got computers in our classrooms. In fact, we got them on JUNE 2. The school year is all but over, and they decide NOW to put these computers in our rooms. "That's New York City for ya," is the response. WITH OUT FAIL.

We went the entire school year without phones in our classrooms. If there was a fight in front of our classroom, we are expected to use our cell-phones to call security. "That's New York City for ya... they make you buy your own paper for copies, you think they want you making phone calls?"

I put in a request in September to have the air conditioners in my room fixed. They haven't fixed them yet. It's JUNE. "That's New York City for ya... to have a school with air conditioners that don't work."

I have at least three mice in my classroom... I've seen them. "That's New York City for ya... if you have one mouse... you have a million of em."

I heard they're going to hire monkeys next year to teach classes as a way to save money. "That's New York City for ya... they've been trying to hire monkeys since when I was in school."

The scary thing, he's right. This city is so big, so terribly run, I sincerely wonder how ANYTHING ever gets done. And what’s worse… it makes me think about who is suffering the most as a result… the kids. I may whine, but ultimately I can go to Westchester or a suburb and earn 10-15% more, but these kids are stuck.

An Introduction?

So here I am with a soapbox and who knows who's listening. I guess that's the point of these things... you have a platform, but nothing to say, right? I'm there with you, friend.

To preface - for the past year, I have been a New York City public school teacher. THE BRONX, USA. So you ask, why the hell am I starting this now, in JUNE? Well, look at the last post. I figure better late than never. If you've read the book Educating Esmé by Esmé Raji Codell, then you know exactly what a first year teacher's first year is like. Just go with that. Picture the exact same behavior but by kids who are 10 years older.

To be honest, I'm not technically a "first year teacher." I've been working in classrooms for the past 10 years in some form or another, so I had somewhat of an idea of what to expect... kids are kids, right?

Add to the fact that I GREW UP in the Bronx. I moved to Portland, Maine in 1995 from New York - and decided last May it was time to come home.

This is NOT the Bronx I grew up in.

The Bronx that I grew up in (meaning my neighborhood) was mostly Italian... although I was there to witness the start of the changeover. When I saw my first Jerk Chicken place - go ahead and laugh, I did when I first saw it - Jerk Chicken/pork/beef is VERY real - I knew that things were about to be very different.

In my school the predominant color is black, but the predominant race is Jamaican. The second color is "tan," Spanish of some sort... P.R., D.R., Mexican, Honduran, Ecuadorian... the list goes on. Just to give an idea... there are 4,000 or so students in my school. There are THREE white students. THREE. The staff however, is - I would say - 99% white. This "statistic" bears its own post, but I'll save that for another day. When we were cleaning out the book room one day, there were OLD books we were discarding... so old that the last name written in them was something like Melvyn Goldfarb. THAT old.

But whatever... as I said, kids are kids, right?

When I first moved down here, I went through a period of intense internal questioning... am I too soft? Have I been in Maine too long? Am I too suburban?

The short story is, no... because I'm still here. One school year later and I'm still here. The long version would include more "maybe's" but once again... I'll save that for another day.

So what am I hoping to throw out here? What is going to be my focus? Well, I guess my thoughts/observations on the things that seem to occupy my world right now. Race. Culture. Art and Literature. Education. School administrators. The Future. Mice. (I have at least THREE mice in my classroom.)

Oh, and not only MY thoughts on the subject... you would be surprised to hear some of the things that come out of my students' mouths... both good AND bad. Some people would believe that it is more bad than good, but that is not so, I will dispel that rumor right now. Overall I love my students, and as a brilliant mind once said... no matter where you go, Maine, Tibet, The Bronx... indeed... kids are kids.

For Starters...

I just want to state, for the record, I hate the word BLOG. I have heard it too much recently, and I am beginning to despise it. Just wanted to get that out of the way.