Evan Hunter - The blackboard jungle

Rick did not realize this. He was, in fact, pleased that he had two English 2 classes. And he was especially pleased over the fact that one of those classes was his own official class, 27. He did not know that this, too, was undesirable for the simple reason that a prophet is never appreciated in his own backyard, and his official class would never appreciate him as an English teacher, even if he were the best English teacher in the school, or the system, or the world — which he was not.

The Hall Patrol period did not disturb him, either. He knew that there were so-called “duty” periods in every high school, and a hall patrol was a nice time to sit on a chair and catch up on lesson plans while the monitors did all the work.

He did not as yet know that his hall patrol was in the short end of the first-floor corridor L, and that there was an entrance at the end of that L, and also a toilet. Even if he had known this, it would not have bothered him because he didn’t know the locks on every door to that entrance were broken, and he didn’t know that this particular toilet was a gathering place for every kid in the school who was cutting, smoking, or just generally killing time.

He was glad they’d given him an English 5 class. Perhaps he would still have been glad if he had known a little about English 55-206, but that is doubtful. Most of the boys in 55-206 had started as freshmen in Ginzer’s reign. A good many of them had traveled in a block program with a freshman named Juan Garza, and Juan Garza had raised delightful sorts of hell at Manual Trades, culminating it by throwing an inkwell through Ginzer’s closed window and attempting to throw him after the inkwell. Nor was Juan Garza without disciples, and most of those disciples were in 55-206, and those disciples were reported to be some of the worst troublemakers at Manual Trades, even now that Garza was safely ensconced in a reform school. Rick did not know all this.

He vaguely surmised that it would have been more desirable for his unassigned period to immediately follow his lunch period, and he didn’t like the idea of lunch at 11:20. It would have been better if English 55-206 had not separated these two periods. However, he could always eat lunch in his unassigned period, which was at one o’clock. God knew, there were millions of people who ate lunch at 1:00. And besides, a fellow couldn’t ask for everything. His program looked fine, especially when he saw that he had two English 7 classes.

Now everyone knew that English 7’s were ideal. They’d come to within a term of graduation, and they sure as hell didn’t want to get thrown out of school for fouling up at this late stage of the game.

This was ordinarily true.

It was, unfortunately, not true at the present time.

Because most of Rick’s English 7’s were boys of eighteen and nineteen, and most of them were expecting to be drafted into the Army of the United States at any moment. They were really not interested in English or Manual Trades because they would soon be carrying guns — a prospect most of them looked forward to — and if there should be another outbreak any place on the globe, they might very well have their goddamned heads blown off.

In the meantime, most of them worked after school, so it was doubly unfortunate that one of the English 7 classes was during the eighth and last period. A last-period class is always a restless one, and when a boy is thinking about the money he can be out earning, it can become a torture, even if the English teacher is the best English teacher in the world — which Rick was not.

Nor can you push around a nineteen-year-old boy when he sometimes outweighs you and outmuscles you and outreaches you.

Rick did not think of all these things. Rick was immensely pleased with his program, and after Stanley had spoken to the gathered English teachers, including the lovely brunette with the peekaboo blouse — a blouse which seemed to unruffle Stanley until he finally advised her to wear something “less feminine” this coming Monday — after Stanley had spoken to them about the books they would be using and the classroom procedure and the conferences he would like to have with each of his staff before the first week was out, after all that, Rick had gone down to the general office to pick up the roll book for his official class, to see just what sort of a crew he was getting.

The older teachers were all lined up like bums at the Salvation Army, and Rick wondered what this was all about until he realized they were probably waiting for their August checks, the one real reason they all looked forward to the Friday Organizational Meeting. He picked up the roll book, a heavy leather folder with the numerals 27 lettered on its front in white ink, and then crossed from the metal rack where the books were kept to the key rack near the time clock. He took the key to his official room, and then walked out into the corridor, passing the lined-up, chatting teachers.

“What did you think of the new Boss?” a thin man with rimless eyeglasses asked the shorter, stouter man with him.

“So-so,” the short man replied, rubbing his broad, flat nose with his spatulate fingers.

“You didn’t like him, Solly?” the first man asked.

The one called Solly shrugged. “He sits when he goes to the can, doesn’t he?” he asked philosophically.

Rick smiled and walked down the corridor to the elevator that had been pointed out to him earlier. He buzzed for it, and then realized it probably wouldn’t be running until Monday, so he took the first stairwell he came across and climbed the steps to the second floor. Room 206 was situated on the long stem of the L that was the floor plan of North Manual Trades High School. It was close to the elevator and close to the stairwell, and it received sunlight from six large windows that faced the street. It was also directly below a machine shop on the floor above, a fact Rick would discover shortly. The machines were not running since the school term had not yet started, so the corridor was absolutely still as he inserted his key into the door and twisted it now.

He shoved back the door, pushing the metal prong in its back against the metal forks set in the wall behind the door, holding it open. He noticed that the upper half of the door consisted of four panes of glass, and he thought that was sensible and wise in a vocational high school, where any passerby could look through the glass and see if the teacher inside were perhaps being pinned to the wall or stomped into the floor.

The room was absolutely silent. The sun streamed through the windows, and the dust motes floated lazily on the broad golden beams. There was something almost sanctified about the room at this moment, and Rick walked solemnly to his desk and looked out over the rows of empty seats, feeling something like a priest in a new parish awaiting his Sunday congregation. He pulled back his chair gently, and then opened the drawers in the desk, looking into each one. There was a pencil in one of the drawers, but aside from that, they were empty.

He put the leather-covered roll book on the desk top and opened it. For each boy in his official class, there was a plastic-encased white card in the book. The plastic cases were lined up vertically, with each one overlapping the one beneath it. The boys’ names were lettered at the bottom of each white card. The only full card that showed was the top one. After that, only the names of the boys were visible in a row down the length of the book. Rick glanced down the list of names quickly.

Abrahms, Morris

Arretti, Louis

Bonneli, George

Casey, Frank

Diaz, Alonso

There were more, a good many more. He did not bother looking at them now. He would make a list of the names before he left the school today, and study them when he got home. He flipped back the plastic cases, choosing one at random in the center of the row. The white card was divided into sections for each month, and each month had a row of boxes, one box for each day of the month. The attendance was kept in these little boxes, on these white cards which were easily slipped out of the plastic cases. It was a simple matter.