Bel Kaufman: Up The Down Staircase

Teacher (? gray suit, mustache): suggested adjourning. McHabe: Not time yet.– 1/2 min.

Bea Schachter: re problems of integration. Dr. Clarke: Due and orderly process.

Patience and Fortitude. Professional Dignity. Brother's Keeper. The

Constitution.– 21/2 min.

Mary Lewis: re plaster falling from ceiling of her room. Grayson not cooperative.

McHabe: Must go through channels.–1/2 min.

McHabe: Urged cooperation on lateness. Epidemic of. Strict observance late procedures. Parents to be notified by Letter #3. "Academic marks are affected when report cards are distributed" (sic).–8 min.

Miss Finch (School Clerk): "Teachers should function according to instructions." Means: Hand in on time!–1 min.

Miss Friedenberg (Guidance Counselor): Need more accurate CC's on PRC's. (Means: "Capsule Characterizations" for each student entered by teacher on Permanent Record Card.) One phrase enough, provided it's in depth .

Example:

"Latent leader; needs encouragement." Study previous PPP's (Pupil Personality Profiles).–31/2 min.

Barringer: Suggested abolishing morning homeroom. Vetoed by McHabe.–1/2 min.

Mary Lewis: Now that reading from Bible on assembly days has been declared unconstitutional, any objection to a minute of silent prayer?

McHabe: OK if word "prayer" is not mentioned, and if don't move

lips during.–1 min.

Teacher (? gray suit, mustache): suggested adjourning.

McHabe: Not time yet.–1/2 min.

Displaced Teachers: Because Fire Dept. found 5th floor Science Office a fire hazard, it was moved to 3rd floor Math Book Room and math books were left in Shop Closet for time being, while Shop Teachers' Supplies were moved to 2nd floor Storage Closet, the contents of which were moved to Main Office for time being. In the shuffle, 5th floor Social Studies Teachers who used Science Office for marking papers, etc. were displaced. Where can they go? Committee formed to look into.–5 min.

Dr. Clarke's conclusion: Education is necessary for growth in democracy.–2 min.

Problems of instructional load, burden of clerical work and inadequate facilities were postponed for lack of time.–1/2 min.

Teacher (? gray suit, mustache) suggested adjourning.–1/2 min.

Faculty Conference adjourned at 4:06P.M.

TOTAL: 60 min.

(Rewrite, type up in triplicate, and respectfully submit)

Oct. 2

Dear Ellen,

Another FTG; another week. Time collapses and expands like an erratic accordion, and your letters bring order, sanity and remembrance of things past to my disheveled present. I envy you your leisure to browse and putter and to enjoy your family in peaceful suburbia. As for me—as for me . . .

The cold war between the Admiral and me is getting warmer; tension between Ferone and me is getting tenser; Miss Finch, the school clerk, floods me with papers from the giant maw of her mimeograph machine, and I'm not at all sure that I will last in the school system.

In my homeroom, I'm lucky if I can get through the D's in taking attendance. Admiral Ass lurks outside in the hall, ready to pounce at the first sign of mutiny. Or perhaps he watches through a periscope from his office.

In my subject classes, we are still juggling books. Essays Old and New was changed by the powers that be to The Odyssey and Myths and Their Meaning . I have only two weeks in which to teach my SS class the mythology of the race and Homer's great epic, since other teachers are waiting for these books, since they must be read before the Mid-term Exams, since questions on them will appear on the Midterms, and since the Midterms must be scheduled before Thanksgiving to enable the teachers to mark them during the holidays.

I keep looking for clues in whatever the kids say or write. I've even installed a Suggestion Box in my room, in the hope that they will communicate their feelings freely and eventually will learn to trust me.

So far, most of them are still a field of faces, rippling with every wind, but a few are beginning to emerge.

There is Lou Martin, the class comedian, whose forte is facial expressions. No one can look more crestfallen over unprepared homework: hand clasped to brow, knees buckling, shoulders sagging with remorse, he is a penitent to end all penitents. No one can look more thirsty when asking for a pass: tongue hanging out, eyes rolling, a death-rattle in the throat, he can barely make it to the water fountain. No one can look more horrified at a wrong answer issuing from his own traitor lips; or more humble; or more bewildered; or more indignant. I know it's not in the syllabus, but I'm afraid I encourage him by laughing.

I'm beginning to learn some of their names and to help them—if they would let me. But I am still the Alien and the Foe; I have not passed the test, whatever it is.

I'm a foe to Eddie Williams because my skin is white; to Joe Ferone because I am a teacher; to Carrie Paine because I am attractive.

Eddie uses the grievance of his color to browbeat the world.

Joe is flunking every subject, though he is very bright. He has become a bone of contention between McHabe and me because I believed in his innocence in the stolen wallet incident. I trust him, and he—he keeps watching me, ready to spring at the first false move I make.

Carrie is a sullen, cruelly homely girl, hiding and hating behind a wall of fat.

Harry Kagan is a politician and apple-polisher. He is running for G.O. president, and I'm afraid he'll be elected.

Linda Rosen is an over-ripe under-achiever, bursting with hormones.

And pretty Alice Blake, pale with love, lost in a dream of True Romances, is vulnerable and committed as one can be only at 16. She feels deeply, I'm sure, but can translate her feelings only into the cheap clichés she's been brought up on.

Then there is Rusty, the woman-hater.

And a quiet, defeated-looking Puerto Rican boy, whose name I can't even remember.

These children have been nourished on sorry scraps, on shabby facsimiles, and there is no one—not at home, not in school—who has not short-changed them.

You know, I've just realized there is not even a name for them in the English language. 'Teen-agers," "Youngsters," "Students," "Kids," "Young adults," "Children"—these are inappropriate, offensive, stilted, patronizing or inaccurate. On paper they are our "Pupil-load"; on lecture platform they are our "Youngsters"—but what is their proper name?

The frightening thing is their unquestioning acceptance of whatever is taught to them by anyone in front of the room. This has nothing to do with rebellion against authority; they rebel, all right, and loudly. But it doesn't occur to them to think.

There is a premium on conformity, and on silence. Enthusiasm is frowned upon, since it is likely to be noisy. The Admiral had caught a few kids who came to school before class, eager to practice on the typewriters. He issued a manifesto forbidding any students in the building before 8:20 or after 3:00—outside of school hours, students are "unauthorized." They are not allowed to remain in a classroom unsupervised by a teacher. They are not allowed to linger in the corridors. They are not allowed to speak without raising a hand. They are not allowed to feel too strongly or to laugh too loudly.

Yesterday, for example, we were discussing "The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars/ But in ourselves that we are underlings." I had been trying to relate Julius Caesar to their own experiences. Is this true? I asked. Are we really masters of our fate? Is there such a thing as luck? A small boy in the first row, waving his hand frantically: "Oh, call on me, please, please call on me!" was propelled by the momentum of his exuberant arm smack out of his seat and fell on the floor. Wild laughter. Enter McHabe. That afternoon, in my letter-box, it had come to his attention that my "control of the class lacked control."