NO WORDS CAN ACCURATELY characterize just who Lenny was and what Lenny did. Some described him as three Lelands rolled into one creature. Physically, Lenny wasn't as big as Leland. Terror-wise, he far surpassed him. Fortunately for me, Lenny was not part of Leland's class. That combination would've created nuclear fission.
Lenny was frequently in trouble with all authority figures, including those at home, school, the detention center, and the police. He was a constant visitor to Dr. D's office for the "wood treatment." It did little good, however. He was back terrorizing the very next day.
Lenny was graduating eighth grade. It was his third and final attempt. He would "graduate" in June no matter what his grades were; a law had been passed that a student could not make more than two attempts at any grade level during his or her primary school career. During his endeavor to navigate eighth grade, he had gone through four teachers in less than two months. Unable to deal with Lenny, they quit teaching at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School. A few quit teaching for good. Lenny was that inspiring.
Lenny liked and related to the excitement and craziness in our class and so, we gradually formed a relationship. He really wanted to participate in some of our class trips, and was always asking me if he could leave his regular class to join ours. Legally however, I was in no position to accept him because all of my students were tested and placed through the C.O.H., (Committee on the Handicapped). He was, in fact, a highly intelligent kid. It seemed to me that he needed a lot of attention and TLC. He also needed an educational setting that sustained his high interest level. He was basically a bright, bored, and thoroughly turned-off student.
As we bonded, he began telling me about some of his wild exploits. Most of them were more mischievous than harmful. He figured out ways to rip off batteries from cars that were supposedly safely locked up behind barbed wire fences. His older friends, however, were a bad influence, exposing him to some hard-core drugs. We spoke very openly to each other. I tried to encourage him not to mess up his life with drugs. I told him stories about people that I knew who were either serving time or six feet under. He always listened with interest, but it was difficult to measure the effect I had on him. Regardless, I knew I had to try. As close as we got, I always thanked the good Lord that Lenny was not in my class.
Little did I realize, however, that Dr. D had different plans – plans that he worked out behind my back. This brief saga is my proof that a Supreme Being indeed exists, and is actively involved in the little details of life.
I was in the middle of giving a math lesson to my motley crew. We were doing a unit on interest and credit cards. I passed out replicas of VISA cards to each kid. They could buy whatever they wanted, but in order to acquire the item, they had to figure out the true cost, including the interest.
I knew many people who used credit cards to buy groceries, even when purchasing small goodies like a bag of chips and a drink. I wanted the class to see that a tiny amount of three bucks grows to about thirty when accumulated interest at 25% is thrown in.
As I was speaking, I leaned over and put my hands on Phil's desk.
"Get off my ** desk," he mumbled, accenting the nice juicy curse word loud enough for the class to hear.
I couldn't believe my ears. I must've imagined it.
"What did you say?" I sputtered, feeling the blood surge through my body.
He put on that cocky inner-city grin, tilted his head to the side and looked into my eyes. "I said, get the 'F' off my desk!"
"That's what I thought you said," I responded, a true model of decorum.
Then, I absolutely exploded. I reached over his desk, grabbed him by the shirt, hoisted him over his desk, and started banging him against the blackboard.
It only happened one other time during my six years in the Buffalo public schools – where that rubber band inside me snapped. And man oh man, did it snap. I freaked. I couldn't believe that any student could have the nerve to say such a thing to his teacher. I might have retained my composure if he had said it privately, but in front of the whole class, well that was a different story.
Little did I realize that the main office had just sent Lenny to join my class. He was, in fact, standing by the doorway about to walk in, when Phil made his remark.
As I was turning Phil into chalk dust, I caught sight of Lenny from the corner of my eye. He was standing at the doorway staring, his mouth stretched out of shape and his eyes bulging.
"What do you want?" I yelled, still holding Phil in the air. "What are you doing here?"
"I-I..."
"Go on," I shouted. "Spit it out!"
"D-D-Dr. D s-s-sent me here."
"Get in the back of the room, sit down, and keep your mouth shut. Understand?"
He nodded while he crept along the wall to the back of the class.
I threw Phil back into his seat.
"Don't ever say such a thing to me again. Got it?"
Phil was crying, more from the scare of the encounter than from any physical pain. I was still smoking. No one breathed loudly.
"Do the problems in your workbook," I said, and went back to my desk. "I'm sick of all this nonsense."
Lenny was as quiet as a baby fawn.
Later on, I marveled about this sequence of events. The Good Lord, (GMO – The Great Mysterious Oneness), in his infinite wisdom and kindness, had put those curse words into Phil's mouth at the exact moment Lenny was about to make his grand entrance! Lenny's stay in our room would only be temporary; I knew, of course, that he hadn't been processed by the COH. But the next morning while doing cafeteria duty, I overheard a conversation Lenny was having with another student.
"From now on, I'm gonna behave in my class," he said. "Otherwise they're gonna keep me with that crazy white Jewish dude, Mr. Laz. Trust me; you don't want to be sent there."