Evan Hunter - The blackboard jungle

“By dis time, you’ve all said hello to ever’body else, so le’s calm down and get on wid the business before us,” Halloran said. “We’re here to get dis business over wit, and not t’dally aroun’ all day, so le’s get on wit it, and dat way get over wit it.”

The students were very quiet now, and Rick wondered what power Halloran wielded over them.

“Dere’ll be a assembly in the middle of da week for de extreme purpose of meetin’ the new princ’pul, Mr. Small, so we’ll dispense wit any conjecture as to wedder he’ll be here now or not. He won’t, and dat’s dat, so put it out of yer minds. We’re here for just two tings. The first ting is to wish you all a good welcome back to Manyul Trades...”

And here all the students groaned audibly.

“... and so I’m doin’ dat right now. Welcome back, and I hope dis’ll be one of de best terms we’ve ever had. So much for dat. Dat’s over and done wit, and now we come to de second point as to why we’re here t’day, and that’s to start the school term. So, witout any further ado, le’s start the school term. We will start it by havin’ all the teachers call the rolls for dere official classes. When your name is called, you fall out in de center aisle wit the rest of the boys in your class, and your teacher will den lead you up to your official room. We don’ want any monkey business now because we want to get dis term under way as soon as possible. And I can guarantee I know how to take care of any you guys who feel like a little monkey business, I’m sure you all know dat.”

The students laughed at this, and Rick continued to stare at Halloran, wondering if his speech pattern was simply affected in order to establish rapport with the boys.

“We’ll start wit de seniors,” Halloran said, “ ’cause the seniors got priority, and den we’ll work our way down to de freshmen. Any complaints you should register wit your official teacher after you’re up in your official room, so don’t start talkin’ it up now, we got business t’attend to. We’ll start wit a teacher you all know well, and dat’s Mr. Clancy from Carpentry and Woodworking. The floor is yours, Mr. Clancy.”

Rick watched the red-thatched, rotund Mr. Clancy mount the steps to the stage, and he heard whisperings in the audience which he could only interpret as “Ironman Clancy.” Then Clancy’s voice, in comparatively brilliant English diction, rolled forth over the assembled throng, and the seniors he called began filing into the aisle, slapping each other on the back occasionally, clasping hands, all friendly classmate gestures. And then Clancy’s voice ended as abruptly as it had begun, and he stepped down off the stage and walked back to join his class who immediately calmed down as he approached.

Halloran was back at the mike, and he shouted, “Shaddup, shaddup,” and the students who had deigned to open their mouths quickly closed them. “De nex’ teacher is a new one in d’school, and she’ll be takin’ care of the other senior boys. Miss Hammond, please.”

Perhaps Halloran’s choice of language was unintentional, or perhaps it was part of his pitch to the boys, the we’re-all-brothers-under-the-skin pitch, and I-know-your-problems-well, fellows. Rick had to admit, however, that his choice had been an unfortunate one. For after having introduced the woman who would “be takin’ care of the other senior boys,” Halloran stepped back and the new English teacher started mounting the steps to the stage. Her skirt, even though it belonged to the severely-tailored suit, was straight and perhaps too tight. At any rate, it rode up over her calves and the flawlessly straight seams of her stockings as she climbed the steps, and a loud wolf call whistle arose from several thousand throats simultaneously.

She was a pretty woman, and Halloran’s injudicious choice of words had put an anticipatory flush of excitement on her pale complexion. To make matters worse, she dropped her roll book, started to stoop down for it, and then seemingly realized what such a stoop might do to the riding-up-over-nylon-knees quality of her skirt. She pulled back her hand, looked to Halloran imploringly, and then was forced to stand by in embarrassment while Halloran retrieved the errant roll book for her.

Halloran grandstanded it all the way. He handed her the book, bowed from the waist, and then grinned out at the boys, who whistled and cheered in appreciation of Halloran’s chivalry, and who were all too aware o£ Miss Hammond’s reasons for not wanting to stoop down for the book.

Miss Hammond suddenly seemed to regain the composure she had all but lost. Like a follies queen whose breasts have been insulted by a drunken third-row heckler, she threw her shoulders back defiantly, tossed her black hair impatiently, and strode purposefully to the microphone.

She opened her roll book, and the kids packing the auditorium were dead silent as she prepared to speak. She opened her mouth, and her voice caught in her throat, and she succeeded in getting out only a mouselike squeak which positively convulsed the kids. Hell, this was better than Martin and Lewis. This was one of the best goddamn first-days-of-school ever.

Rick thought back to what Stanley had said about there being no discipline problem at Manual Trades. Perhaps this was so. And perhaps it was so because the people who were supposed to be looking for problems were casually ignoring them. When Miss Hammond, completely rattled now, the composure she had regained all gone again, hardly able to control her tongue, finally blurted the name of the first boy in her class, a cheer of congratulation went up from the assembled kids.

The senior who’d been called leaped into the aisle and shouted, “Lucky old me!” and this caused a fresh outburst of laughter. Man, this was terrific. This was grand! Let’s just sit here all day and have laughs at this piecy new English twat.

Rick writhed in his seat, wondering when Halloran was going to step in and take over the ball again. He didn’t have to wonder long.

A prolonged “SHADDDDUPPP!” burst from Halloran’s watermelon lips, and the kids heard the rumble of impending doom and promptly shut up like obedient little clams. Halloran kept his lips pressed firmly together, casting an evil eye out over the crowd. He nodded his head once in emphasis, a nod which plainly told the muted kids they’d better keep shut up or it would be their asses. Miss Hammond smiled tremulously, and then began calling the roll in a very quiet voice while the kids listened in cowed respect.

When she’d called the two dozen or so seniors in her class, she stepped down from the stage, and every eye in the auditorium was on the nylon sleekness of her legs. She walked back to her class stiffly, trying to hide a walk that was very feminine, but succeeding only in emphasizing the emphatic swing of her well-padded hips. When she’d finally left the auditorium with her class. Rick breathed a sigh of relief, and he nodded his head in disgusted agreement when Josh said, “That was an exhibition, wasn’t it?”

The party was over now, and the kids all settled down to listen to the droning voices of the less inspiring teachers as the rolls were called one after the other. Rick chatted quietly with Josh until it was Josh’s turn to call up his class, a fourth-term group. When Josh had left. Rick sat impatiently in his seat, almost dozing. When he heard Halloran call out his name, mutilating it as only Halloran could, he picked up his roll book and his briefcase, walked quickly to the steps, and mounted them with his shoulders back and his head high. He paused dramatically for a moment, and then began calling the roll in his best Sir Laurence Olivier voice.

“Abrahms,” and he saw movement out there in the seats, but he did not pause to focus the movement.