7

Trouble with a Capitol L

I KNEW ABOUT HIM BEFORE I ever laid eyes on him. I had read and reread his file until his very image visited me at night, and turned my dreams into nightmares.

His folder was close to four inches thick and contained a variety of statements from professionals, educators, and administrators. Several comments stood out: "Punished for bringing a weapon to school." (He was all of ten years old at the time). "Expelled for hitting a teacher." "Suspended for bringing drugs to school." "Thank God I won't have to deal with him next year." And finally, "All approaches have been tried: Behavior modification, parent conferences, threats, and corporeal punishment. Nothing seems to work!"

I'm not sure I was better off for having read his file. While it gave me an opportunity to prepare for this terror named Leland, it also gave me heart palpitations and indigestion. As Murphy's Law would have it, he was the biggest kid in the class. I only had two inches on him.

From the very beginning I could feel him testing me. It happened daily. He'd put out his index finger and say, "Come on honkey. Let's you and me go a few rounds!"

I would pretend to ignore his challenging comments by telling him to get busy.

"Finish your work, Leland," I'd say, wimping out. "This is school, not the streets."

Since I was the newcomer to this game, nobody was impressed. Not Leland, not my students, and least of all, not me. The bottom line was that he intimidated me, and in spite of the verbal and intellectual messages I sent his way, his gut level perception was that I was scared of him. I knew it and he knew it. But it got even worse when my other students got hip to it.

"Hey, Mr. Laz," they'd say. "How come when we do something we get punished? When Leland does something, you don't do nothin'!"

I told them their observations weren't true, but I wasn't very convincing.

This game went on for nearly a month. I started praying. I mean some serious prayer action to the Merciful One Above, asking Him to remove Leland from planet Earth.

"Lord, please make him sick," I whispered. "Don't let him return to my class. Please, do the world a favor: Take him back!"

My classroom situation worsened with each day. I knew what I was supposed to do. I remembered the urban education lessons from Dr. Foster as clear as day:

"When a kid intimidates you in class, don't move away from him, move closer! Even though you're trembling inside, show him that you're not afraid, and he won't manipulate you." (This technique is often referred to as "proximity control").

In Leland's case, he had the upper hand. By this point in time, I was teaching from the furthest distance from him I could manage without physically leaving the classroom. His desk was in the front row near the right wall, and I was teaching from the left-hand corner near the chalkboard. Had it been possible, I would have taught class from a different zip code! He had me in his pocket. I was teacher in name only. He was the one calling the shots. He dictated policy, while I collected the paycheck. The situation was desperate. Something had to be done, and it had to happen soon. It's one thing when the head knows what to do. It's another matter entirely to convince the heart, especially when it's pounding audibly inside your chest!

One day after lunch, he came at me with one of his taunts. It had been a rough day and I was in a foul mood.

"Yo, Mr. Laz. What you say I kick yo butt right now?"

A chord struck inside me. "If you don't respect yourself, no one will." An inner voice spoke up, "Do something now. It's your class. Put him in his spot. Don't let him take away your bread and butter. Take him down!" It was time for the breakfast of champions, the one that Foster psyched himself up with: Garlic & nails.

"Shut the door," I told one of my students. "Move the desks aside."

I cleared an area in the center of the room. "Come on Leland," I said, motioning for him to join me. "Let's go. You've been asking for this."

No one breathed. You could have cut the air with a knife. Leland just sat there staring at me, smiling nervously. From somewhere outside my zone of concentration, I thought I heard students taking bets.

"Five bucks on Laz."

"You crazy! Ten on Leland."

"Well?" I said. "Coming or not?"

Maybe it was going to be this easy, after all? Maybe he'd smarten up and stay put? No such luck.

Leland wasn't about to lose face, not after being challenged in front of the whole class. I had broken a very important rule, "Never back a student into a corner." Desperate times call for desperate measures, I reasoned. He got off his chair and walked slowly toward the center of the room. Ah yes, show time!

There was total silence in the room. A few of my student's mouths were gaping open.

"No punching," I said to Leland. "No kicking. Just wrestling." He nodded, and then threw a kick toward my groin. Fortunately, I was quicker. My two years of high school karate served me in good stead and I whispered a silent prayer of gratitude to Greg Edwards, my martial arts teacher from back-in-the-day. One time after school, he was surrounded by about 15 guys on the school's front grounds. He took a wicked kung fu stance. 'Who's gonna be the first five!" Greg said with a glimmer in his eye. There was a lot of movement, but no one dared face his lethal moves. Greg had manikins in his basement that he used to practice on. Somehow, he was able to decapitate them all in about three seconds.

Because of Greg's training, I blocked Leland's foot and swung his leg high in the air. In an instant, he was flat on his back. My students cheered. Some jumped on top of their desks.

I moved in for the kill, leaning onto his arm with my hand and his neck with my knee. I didn't hurt him, but I wanted to let him know I was there and that I meant business. My right fist was clinched above his face.

He looked into my eyes. For a few long seconds, nobody said a thing.

"Okay, okay, you win," he finally muttered. I slowly eased my death grip, not sure what would happen next.

He put out his hand as if requesting help getting up. I wasn't sure whether to trust him or not. After all, he didn't exactly follow the rule of "no kicking."

I carefully extended my right hand. He grabbed on with both hands and I swiftly pulled him to his feet. Then he reached out and gave me five.

"You ain't bad for a honkey," he laughed.

"You ain't so bad yourself," I said. The entire class began laughing and exchanging high fives. In spite of some who were calling for more action, most were relieved it was over so quickly.

About an hour later, Leland came over to me, gave me a hug and said, "You the first teacher that ever stood up to me. I think we gonna be all right!" From that day on, our relationship improved.

While many educators have questioned my rather unorthodox solution to this dilemma, it worked. In fact, it worked for both of us. It enabled us to overcome our fears and pretenses about one another. Ultimately, what it really meant was that I could get around to doing what I was being paid to do ā€“ teach my class. Leland included. He became in fact, as you will later read, my #1 superstar student!

As a novice teacher, I was concerned that I felt compelled to pump weights in order to survive on a daily basis. My rationale was that I had to be in top shape to face an all-male class composed of teenage boys with special needs. I even wore a protective cup to work, as if playing in a football game. I kid you not.

But that conception came to a stunning halt one day while I cruised the school's hallways during my break period. I've already mentioned Dr. D's open-door policy. As a teacher, it was rather embarrassing to have a noisy class, so we all did our best to keep the noise level down to a dull roar. Two rooms down from me, I couldn't help but notice one teacher's class. It was completely quiet. You could hear a dang pin drop in her room. At first I assumed she might be privately tutoring two or three students. As it turned out, her classroom was packed-to-the-gills; and furthermore, in this rather tough, inner-city school, her students were learning in near-silence! To make things even more interesting, she was not only Caucasian ā€“ she was old! I don't mean that in a derogatory manner, it's just that it totally surprised me to see this cute, petite, white-haired lady standing in front of all these tough, hip, and often-wild students. What knocked my socks off was that she had total control over the class. How did she manage to pull that one off? I stood in the hallway and watched her operate, my mouth open wide.

She was pretty much the exact opposite of my teaching style and yet, she never, ever, raised her voice. In fact, she spoke in a whisper! Here, I was working like a horse to pump up my Pecs and Biceps, and this teeny, older white lady, with a bad case of laryngitis, was teaching her class in complete silence! Something clearly was amiss here. What did she have that I didn't have? Was it an Uzi submachine gun hidden under her long, totally unfashionable skirt? Was she disguising Quaaludes as M&M's for her students?

After the bell rang and the hallway came bustling to life, I decided to approach her. How the heck did she do it?

"Excuse me," I whispered to her. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Why are you whispering?" she responded in a regular speaking voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I just thought you had a problem with your throat."

"Oh that," she laughed. "No. That's just my teaching voice."

"Your teaching voice?"

"Yes," she said, gathering her papers and supplies. "I figure that if I speak quietly they'll have to pay really close attention to hear me. Works every time."

I was speechless.

"Oh, and one more thing," she winked. "Never ever discipline when you're all hot and bothered! The calmer the better. Getting all emotional just teaches a kid that it's okay to freak out. Plus, then they know what buttons to push to get your goat!"

Great advice in light of what Leland and I had been through. I knew I didn't want a repeat of anything like that ever again, even though in this particular instance, it had effectively cleared the air. She was reminding me to stay cool, calm, and collected.

I decided right then and there to try to emulate this superstar teacher. In fact, during my first three years as a teacher, she became a trusted mentor. One of the things she had over me was 30-plus years of experience. I could only marvel about her amazing skills in the classroom. In addition, she loved and respected the students. Her students knew this and respected her all the more. She was that rare combination of fairness and toughness. She set high expectations for her students and in return, they did everything possible to make sure they worked hard enough to meet them.

I still kept working out and pumping iron, but I realized that one doesn't have to become the Terminator or Predator to be a good teacher. You simply have to become yourself! Go with your own unique skills and personality. Like the Fab Four sing in their song, All You Need is Love, "Nothing you can do but learn how to be you in time... it's easy!"