Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Married to the Mob Mentality
A few nights ago, the Invisible Dad returned to town for a meeting and we had the chance to meet up with his parents (the Invisible Grandparents, as it were), for a fancy dinner and a chance to discuss all the exciting things we had not had a chance to share in the week and a half following Thanksgiving. As was the case on that occasion, the meal, for me at least, had an avian focus, although ostrich is arguably the most bovine of poultry so far as texture and flavor are concerned. And although both meals had potato themed side dishes and pie for dessert, enough interesting items had happened during that week to provide some distinguishing features for later blog entries.
Take, for example, the tale of my fellow chemistry teacher and his first period honors class. I have a class during that period, so I only heard about the full story later in the day from scattered sources, but the basic gist is as follows. First period, my colleague had to make a few extra copies, and since his classroom is right across the way from the science office, he left his juniors alone for a moment to run things off. Upon returning, he found the door was closed and, strangely enough, locked. A quick run through the keychain indicated that the door's main lock was not involved, but rather the door's interior latch.
It was about here that one unfamiliar with Underwood High School might wonder why the doors would even have an interior latch. I have yet to determine a definitive answer on this point, but I suspect that it has something to do with the school's previous lack of security in the hallways. Although still persistently dangerous, Underwood's hallways are much quieter than in the past when gambling and fighting were omnipresent phenomena. In any event, the latch was closed. So my colleague did the only thing he could, he started knocking.
Now if this had been just an ordinary day and just an ordinary example of kids playing around, then after a few minutes, someone would have opened the door and the story would be over and done. But things didn't turn out like that. Instead, the entire class was sitting at their desks, quietly doing their work as their teacher pounded on the door. For one minute.
Five.
Ten.
After this point, as I heard the story, school police were called in to deal with the situation, but as they banged on the door, there was no change. The students just sat there. Coolly. Calmly. Once or twice a student would get up, walk towards the door, throw out a gum wrapper or shrapen a pencil, and then go right back to their seat.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then twenty.
After twenty-five minutes, a student finally opened the door. Needless to say, their teacher was angry, but the head of the honors program (who had also been called in) was livid. This was supposed to be a group of the smartest students in the school, the ones upon whom our test scores depend for NCLB certification. And here they were acting like fools. No...that's too kind. Ordinary foolishness is a different animal, characterized by noise, disorderly conduct, and impulsiveness. This was calculated maliciousness, which is why not one teacher in the honors program disagreed with the decision to suspend the entire class.
When I finished the story, my grandparents were relatively stunned. My grandmother asked why no one opened the door earlier, and my grandfather commented that probably someone had told the class that if anyone went to open that door, he'd kill him. The evening of the incident, my principal had told me something similar to that. She wanted to find out who it was so that she could get him in something more productive. Someone with that kind of charisma belonged in a leadership role on mock trial or student government. Unfortunately, it is highly unlikely that such a convergence of talents would ever take place. The student responsible will likely never come forward of their own accord and has enough of his peers spooked that they will not point him out. After all, "snitches get stitches," or so the saying goes.
Which is rather unfortunate for people who like their schools or societies orderly and safe. But what this incident confirms is that the veneer of order at Underwood High is dangerously thin. The same day as this chemistry incident, there were six separate fights at the school, including one in the cafeteria where a security guard's ankle got broken. (I learned later a student of mine was involved in that one!) As the Invisible Dad noted, the illusion of control is starting to slip, and it would not be at all surprising if my principal were replaced next year, especially if poor test scores provide the new district superintendent with the perfect excuse.
A few nights ago, the Invisible Dad returned to town for a meeting and we had the chance to meet up with his parents (the Invisible Grandparents, as it were), for a fancy dinner and a chance to discuss all the exciting things we had not had a chance to share in the week and a half following Thanksgiving. As was the case on that occasion, the meal, for me at least, had an avian focus, although ostrich is arguably the most bovine of poultry so far as texture and flavor are concerned. And although both meals had potato themed side dishes and pie for dessert, enough interesting items had happened during that week to provide some distinguishing features for later blog entries.
Take, for example, the tale of my fellow chemistry teacher and his first period honors class. I have a class during that period, so I only heard about the full story later in the day from scattered sources, but the basic gist is as follows. First period, my colleague had to make a few extra copies, and since his classroom is right across the way from the science office, he left his juniors alone for a moment to run things off. Upon returning, he found the door was closed and, strangely enough, locked. A quick run through the keychain indicated that the door's main lock was not involved, but rather the door's interior latch.
It was about here that one unfamiliar with Underwood High School might wonder why the doors would even have an interior latch. I have yet to determine a definitive answer on this point, but I suspect that it has something to do with the school's previous lack of security in the hallways. Although still persistently dangerous, Underwood's hallways are much quieter than in the past when gambling and fighting were omnipresent phenomena. In any event, the latch was closed. So my colleague did the only thing he could, he started knocking.
Now if this had been just an ordinary day and just an ordinary example of kids playing around, then after a few minutes, someone would have opened the door and the story would be over and done. But things didn't turn out like that. Instead, the entire class was sitting at their desks, quietly doing their work as their teacher pounded on the door. For one minute.
Five.
Ten.
After this point, as I heard the story, school police were called in to deal with the situation, but as they banged on the door, there was no change. The students just sat there. Coolly. Calmly. Once or twice a student would get up, walk towards the door, throw out a gum wrapper or shrapen a pencil, and then go right back to their seat.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then twenty.
After twenty-five minutes, a student finally opened the door. Needless to say, their teacher was angry, but the head of the honors program (who had also been called in) was livid. This was supposed to be a group of the smartest students in the school, the ones upon whom our test scores depend for NCLB certification. And here they were acting like fools. No...that's too kind. Ordinary foolishness is a different animal, characterized by noise, disorderly conduct, and impulsiveness. This was calculated maliciousness, which is why not one teacher in the honors program disagreed with the decision to suspend the entire class.
When I finished the story, my grandparents were relatively stunned. My grandmother asked why no one opened the door earlier, and my grandfather commented that probably someone had told the class that if anyone went to open that door, he'd kill him. The evening of the incident, my principal had told me something similar to that. She wanted to find out who it was so that she could get him in something more productive. Someone with that kind of charisma belonged in a leadership role on mock trial or student government. Unfortunately, it is highly unlikely that such a convergence of talents would ever take place. The student responsible will likely never come forward of their own accord and has enough of his peers spooked that they will not point him out. After all, "snitches get stitches," or so the saying goes.
Which is rather unfortunate for people who like their schools or societies orderly and safe. But what this incident confirms is that the veneer of order at Underwood High is dangerously thin. The same day as this chemistry incident, there were six separate fights at the school, including one in the cafeteria where a security guard's ankle got broken. (I learned later a student of mine was involved in that one!) As the Invisible Dad noted, the illusion of control is starting to slip, and it would not be at all surprising if my principal were replaced next year, especially if poor test scores provide the new district superintendent with the perfect excuse.
