Speakout Columns
Winning respect
Dec 6, 2007 4:09 PM
Back then, when I was still in the classroom molding American youth, my colleagues and I took it as gospel that the status of teachers had declined in the eyes of the public, that earning respect was a constant struggle. But, paradox of paradoxes, I found that the school building itself made it possible to win some significant victories. Just let an adult walk into old Alma Mater and all sorts of influences almost force an instant reversion to childhood attitudes.
This was particularly noticeable on open school night. When I talked to a parent at my desk I observed that the others waiting their turn were just like model students sitting in their children’s seats — no talking, no slouching, no gum-chewing. I often saw middle-aged mothers and fathers clasp their hands on the desk top just the way they were taught to do 25 years before. And no one dared to ask for the bathroom pass.
Although in each case I tried to put them at their ease by shaking hands and introducing myself, parents positively shuddered when I turned to my grade book and were palpably relieved when they recovered enough to remember that it was their son or daughter I was talking about and not them. How humiliating it would have been for the vice president of a bank to be reminded that he or she still owed me a book report.
I must admit that, like most teachers, I went in for a bit of theatrics on those occasions. My practice was to record in my grade book all passing marks in black and failing grades in the brightest red I could find. There was always that heart-stopping moment when I pushed the book toward the parent and my finger paused for an instant on a crimson splattered line. “Oh, the wrong page. Sorry about that.” By then the parent was so shaken that he was grateful if junior could squeeze by with the minimum passing mark.
And a little self-promotion never hurt. I never erased the blackboard after my last class before open school night. If parents saw a phrase like “Jesuitical equivocation” on the board, they didn’t know from “Macbeth,” but they did know that heavy learning was going on and no one ever had the nerve to ask what it meant.
Of course, once a teacher gets away from the intimidating environment of the schoolhouse we’re often not quite so impressive. One of my colleagues told me that once, while she was less than fully dressed in a Bloomies fitting room, one of her students entered with mama in tow. “Mom, look it’s Mrs. Arnold, my English teacher,” the kid shouted with glee at the happy encounter. “And how is my Sharon doing?” said mom, jumping at the chance to save herself a trip to school. Without her grade book, and under the drafty circumstances, it was difficult for my colleague to muster the appropriate professorial dignity and I’m afraid that she missed the chance for some heavy academic counseling.
Once I was in the middle of a supermarket express check-out line, which means I had looked at my watch a half-dozen times, when one of my students and his mother joined the line. “Look. It’s my English teacher!” Since he clearly waved at me, it did no good to pretend that he was talking to someone in the veggies. Everyone looked. He blew my cover, which wasn’t so bad until he started to reprise some of my lessons. “Boy he’s funny. You should see him do Hamlet when he talks to a knife floating in the room.”
“That’s Macbeth,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“Then he makes believe he’s walking like a tree to the castle. It’s weird.”
By this time the whole line had me sized up and were sort of moving back a little while I was trying to hide the two six-packs that someone had mistakenly put in my wagon that were barely covered by the National Enquirer.
Then I remembered that I had forgotten to get wheat germ and disappeared among the cereals. I wasn’t being anti-social. It was just my way of demonstrating “Jesuitical equivocation.” I just couldn’t pass the opportunity of driving home a lesson.
Now retired, Ed Janko taught English at Bayside HS from 1957 to 1990.
