SO THIS BRINGS US BACK to my first day of teaching. And yes, I was standing in front of the class wearing my yarmulke. The students had been speculating about whether I was a Navy man, bald, or had lice. Our first verbal exchange had been a royal disaster. My classroom was falling apart; order was sliding out from under my feet. I knew I had to establish control. I had to let them know, in their guts, that I was the teacher, the boss of the classroom.
Dr. Herb Foster's story flashed through my mind. He, more than any other educator, (except for Dr. BBY from Buff State College, who we'll save for later), prepared me for this moment. In his book, Ribbin', Jiving' and Playin' the Dozens, he relayed his own first teaching experience:
He had been hired to teach shop in a tough inner-city high school in NYC. Prior to his arrival the class had eradicated about eight teachers. Some left from nervousness. Some had nervous breakdowns! But they all left. He was the new bait.
As he turned to write his name on the board, one of the students threw a piece of chalk at him. Fortunately, it missed. Dr. Foster, remembering his educational psychology courses, said something like, "What a lousy shot!" (Herb wanted to show the student that he wasn't intimidated and was, in fact, a bit cocky and cool).
The kid responded with, "Oh, yeah?" and proceeded to pick up a chair and throw it at Foster's head. Dr. Foster ducked for cover, (and for his life), behind his desk. Pandemonium broke loose. A riot started. Other students began throwing objects not only around the room, but out of the second story window, as well. A long minute passed before the principal finally arrived to save him.
After apologizing, the principal gave Herb the day off. Herb was an emotional wreck, and ready to call it quits. But later that evening something clicked inside him. He knew that to give up would mean he was not only quitting on them, but on himself. Having served in the armed forces, he decided to chew some garlic and nails for breakfast and make a grand-return to his classroom.
Needless to say, the class was amazed when he reappeared the next day. This time it was very different. He went up to the biggest kid in the class:
"How'd you like an A in this class?" he asked.
The student nodded his head in approval.
"Anybody in this class steps out of line," Herb said, "bust his jaw!"
The student nodded again in approval.
Then Herb went up to the student who threw the chair, grabbed him by the shirt, lifted him off his seat, and said, "You ever throw anything at me again and I'll kill ya. No questions asked. I'll kill ya. I'll go to jail for killin' ya, but it'll be so worth it!" I think he even breathed some garlic down the kid's throat.
Order was restored. Dr. Foster taught there for sixteen years and won all sorts of honors and awards. It was a stroke of good fortune that he was currently mentoring me during my doctoral studies.
My situation was nearly as serious and as desperate as his. I knew I had to "take the reins."
I put my hand out again, my palm outstretched toward the biggest student in the room. I looked him dead in the eyes. For about fifteen seconds I didn't say a thing. When I finally lowered my hand, I gazed at every student in the room. They were actually quiet, almost afraid of me. I smiled.
"Good. Let me repeat that rule, cuz it seems that you either have real memory problems, or you simply don't care to listen. But that's not how I operate. When I talk, you shut up and listen, and when it's your turn to talk, I'll do the same. Got it?"
They nodded their heads.
"Say, "Yes, I understand, Mr. Laz,"' I added.
They said it. I didn't say another word for a good 30 seconds and no one dared even breathe loud.
Pointing my index finger toward the big guy who had questioned the condition of my hair, I raised my eyebrows and gave him a "got it?" look. He nodded and looked away from my gaze.
I breathed a sigh of relief and uttered another prayer of thanks to the Boss. Who said a good teacher isn't a good actor? Although a truce had been cinched, I hoped it wouldn't be like this every day.