The school year has begun. My first school year as a teacher at Mitchell High School was back in the 1982-83 academic year. I was a first year teacher, 22 years old when the school year started, teaching high school seniors who were 18. It was a challenging first year in a number of ways.
I was interviewed for the position of Head Debate Coach and Social Studies teacher by Bob Brooks, then the Principal of Mitchell High School, and Dr. Dennis Peterson the Superintendent of Schools during rodeo week of 1982. I arrived the evening before my interview and stayed in a motel that is no longer there. It was situated where Walgreen’s is now. I had my interview and went home. The following Monday I received a phone call that the job was mine.
I arrived in town on August first and moved into one of the apartments on Capital Street across from the high school tennis courts which don’t exist anymore. I went to school to work in my room to prepare for the school year when Bob Brooks approached me and said, “Oh Mel, by the way, Ed Olson was hired as Principal of Litchfield Elementary (it was the predecessor to Gertie Belle Rogers), so the debate head coaching job went back to Cheryl Myers and now you’re head tennis coach. Ed was the coach, but he can’t do it because now he is an administrator. I hope that’s not a problem.” The first practice was slated for August 6th. I was the head boys’ and girls’ tennis coach for the next two years.
My first days in Mitchell were interesting. I entered the school for in-service (a full eight days prior to school then for everybody, ten days for us new teachers) and someone gave me the middle finger from down the hall. The sun back lit them so I couldn’t make out who they were. I thought, “I’ve been in town less than a week, who have I pissed off so badly they gave me the finger!?!” It turns out it was Tom Starr, the shop teacher. He had lost most of his other fingers on that hand due to an agricultural accident and he was just waving “Hi” to me. I was relieved.
In the opening week of my first year of teaching a random boy in the hall sneered at me and called me a son of a b****. Those were the days when the eastern portion of the school did not exist. For those of you familiar with the high school, the downstairs back hall where the Special Education and some English rooms and the corresponding upstairs wing with the Math and Science rooms weren’t yet part of the structure. We were a 10-12 high school with 1100 students then as opposed to a 9-12 high school of 940 or so kids now.
The school also had nearly zero air conditioning. There was a classroom on the first floor that had a window air conditioner because that was the computer room. There were no laptops or cell phones then, just some Apple IIEs in a classroom for an elective computer class. The advanced biology teacher, Jerry Opbroek, had air-conditioning in his room for two reasons. He had live critters in his room and also the storage room for volatile chemicals that required constant temperatures. The office area had central air but the rest of us suffered. Because of the heat, tempers often flared which brings me back to my story of the kid in the hall.
The student who sneered at me and called me a son of a b**** wasn’t done. “What are you? Some kind of businessman? All dressed up in a suit and tie?” Those were the days when most male teachers went to school with a tie and sports coat even if you shed them later in the day due to the heat. Then he took a swing at me. I quickly subdued him and kids who knew me asked what it was all about. The foul-mouthed bully looked ashen as I manhandled him to the office and he muttered, “Are you really a teacher?” To his credit, I did look young. Prior to the start of school, a custodian had frog marched me out of my room for “vandalizing” it, right down to Mr. Brooks’ office. Mr. Brooks introduced us formally and I explained I had been putting posters up on my bulletin board and otherwise decorating the room. That had been the act of “vandalism”. Another instance of mistaken identity happened when I was coaching tennis before the school year began. Practice was in the morning when it was a bit cooler, and then I’d go to the high school later in the day to get ready for the coming year. A young lady was decorating her locker and engaged me coquettishly in conversation in the hall on my way to my room. She invited me to a “back to school party” at that point I realized that my Twins t-shirt, shorts and tennis shoes had duped her into believing I was a fellow student. She almost died from embarrassment when I explained who I was. By the way, the invitation was withdrawn. It took her a whole semester before she could look me in the eye again.
I only had one “pop quiz” in my teaching career and I gave that one every year. I required the kids to know the Bill of Rights but in a practical way. I didn’t want them to rote memorize a list of rights, so I gave them a quiz that related to their lives. Which amendment allowed for the publishing of the school newspaper? Why was the DWU Blue and White Days Parade a protected event? Both of those questions are First Amendment rights. Why does Ellsworth Airforce Base exist? It’s partially because of the Third Amendment prohibition of quartering troops in Americans’ homes in times of peace. Why can you road hunt pheasants in season? The Second Amendment right to bear arms and the Tenth Amendment power reserved to the states (setting hunting seasons, game and limits etc.) were both acceptable answers to that question. You get the idea. The quiz went on in this vein.
I asked the kids to take out a sheet of their own paper. Everyone did except one boy on the far side of the room near the windows. I asked the kids again to take out a sheet of paper. Everyone had already and some held up the paper to show me – Duh! The boy by the window didn’t move. Finally, I said, “Todd, I’d like to personally invite you to take out a piece of paper.” He responded, “F*** you, you don’t scare me.” Without me saying anything, he got up and left the room and took himself to the principal’s office. I never saw him again.
I didn’t like being sworn at but if a student swore at me out of fear, frustration or despair – I took it. After we both cooled down, we had a conversation together about appropriate language and how to deal with authority. Teaching isn’t just about the subject matter, that’s just the curriculum. Education includes the “hidden curriculum”; how to do things and be on time, how to be respectful, how to question and challenge authority appropriately, how to point out someone is wrong (including the teacher), personal hygiene (I’ve had to have that talk with more than one student) and so forth. The one thing I couldn’t abide, and still can’t, is disrespect. One can tell when a ”f*** you” is uttered in fun, fear, frustration or with disrespect or contempt. It’s never appropriate but it can be tolerable depending on the circumstances.
I had a student once who swore like you use adjectives. He wasn’t really aware he was doing it and he certainly meant no offense. Once he brought up an assignment we did in class, and I could tell he really struggled with it. He gave it to me and said, “That’s the best I can do that mother f*****.” I said, “Tim! Watch your language!” He looked startled and I explained what he had said. He apologized and said, “Son of a b****! I promise I’ll try not to f****** swear again!” He meant it. I smiled and the class had a belly laugh. Tim was quizzical. He didn’t realize how he had cursed when he promised not to swear again.
I don’t miss teaching. I do miss the kids. I miss the bright, committed ones. I miss the competitive ones who did their best in my class just so they could star on the athletic field. I miss the ones who didn’t really have ability but who slogged their guts out doing their best anyway. That’s all you can really ask of anybody. I miss the oddballs who struggled to fit in and who hit their stride later in life. I admired the nonconformists and those who stood up to bullies on behalf of the weak and those who tried their best to include all those who were “differently abled” into student life of MHS. I miss the kids.
If you have children in school, do your best for them. They need you even when they say or think they don’t. If you don’t have kids in school, support them when they come around to fund raise and be in the stands and the audience when they play or perform. Being around young people is akin to bathing in a fountain of youth. Remember they feel things more intensely and take them more seriously than they should, or adults do. You can’t change that; you can only love them until they navigate the rough waters of adolescence and eventually arrive on the shores of adulthood.
Remember, school is in session so drive carefully.