Tuesday, May 29, 2007
An Underwood Memoriam
This morning I received an e-mail from my girlfriend letting me know that a teacher at Underwood High had died sometime during Memorial Day weekend. I had known that this teacher, who for the purposes of this blog post, I will refer to as Ms. Crowe, was ill. After being diagnosed with cancer earlier in the school year, she had taken a leave of absence from her normal position in the roster room to pursue treatment. When I heard about this, I, like most of the other teachers, assumed that it was a routine procedure and that she would be back in a few months.
Consequently, when the school's principal, Ms. Oldman, informed the Underwood community at the end of second period that Ms. Crowe had passed away, it came as something of a shock, especially for the teachers. Most of the students didn't know her very well, which was understandable given the amount of time she was forced to devote to work in the roster office rather than in her special education classroom. But to the teachers, including myself, she was a dynamic presence, always helping to organize social events like the end of year retirement dinner or holiday potluck lunches we held in the school's media center. She was a boisterous, compassionate woman who never left anyone in doubt regarding her loyalty to the school and its students.
Perhaps it was this love of her students which led her to become the head of Underwood's night school program, intended for those kids who had gotten either too disruptive or too old to succeed in a normal classroom environment. It was a thankless task. Hundreds of kids showed up to enroll each semester, but their numbers swiftly declined once they realized that Ms. Crowe did not intend to just pass them along for no reason. They had to attend classes regularly, arrive on time every night, and behave appropriately. Failure to follow any of these guidelines could lead to a student's expulsion from the program, a major selling point to potential night school teachers tired of feeling impotent in the face of blatant disrespect during the regular school day. The night school was Ms. Crowe's project and she threw every bit of energy she had into making sure that students who were participating stayed in for the long haul and earned their diplomas. She was frequently praised by the school's administration for helping to boost Underwood's traditionally poor graduation rate.
She occassionally attempted to recruit me to work for the night school while I was working at Underwood. "You're already staying at school until 6 or 7 o'clock most nights," she said. "Why not get paid for doing it?" Much as I would have appreciated a little extra supplement to my salary, each time she asked, I declined. After a full day standing in front of a classroom of disruptive freshmen or disrespectful upperclassmen (or vice versa), I simply could not muster the energy to teach students who had, in my mind, already demonstrated a lack of interest in what education had to offer. By the end of a typical school day I was too drained, demoralized, and hollowed out to do much of anything...how could I muster up to the enthusiasm needed to stick with these down and out kids, to let them know the system hadn't abandoned them and that there was a still a chance of success after all? How could anyone?
Some of my colleagues taught night school only for the money. They still treated the kids with respect and provided them with basic instruction, but in most cases these involved worksheets or problems from textbooks rather than actual instruction. To them, and to an extent to me, night school was something of a sham, another effort on the school district's part to boost statistics and prevent students from slipping through the cracks. But to Ms. Crowe, the night school program represented hope. It was the way she demonstrated her love for the students, even the worst of them. She deeply cared about every child under her supervision. It was obvious in everything she said or did. And because she cared so much, it sometimes served to persuade even the most jaded and cynical to lend a hand to make her work successful. It was why I volunteered on a few occasions to help cover classes when regular night school teachers were out sick or, on one memorable occasion, ended up supervising a business class for 2 hours while the official teacher ran off on a "10 minute" errand to fix her car. (That teacher was subsequently fired from night school for her irresponsibility.)
The impact of Ms. Crowe's death on the regular student body is likely minimal. Its effects on the behind the scenes machinery that allows Underwood to function as a semi-viable educational institution, especially the night school program, are likely devastating. The roster office has lost its most experienced worker and I have no idea who will take over as the supervisor for the night classes. Whether the school will be able to ensure any semblance of continuity within the program is completely up in the air.
All of these things ran through my mind when I read the news that she was gone. But besides her dedication to her students, both past and present, I think the thing I'll remember the most about Ms. Crowe was the support she gave me during my time at Underwood. She was one of the few teachers who arrived at school as early as I did, and always said hello to me in the morning. She provided good advice for how to deal with some of my more troublesome students and one a few occasions helped arrange to change their rosters if they were giving me too much trouble. She even let me grab a free snack from the leftover sandwiches provided to the night school kids. They were greasy, tasted terrible, and always came with a piece of underripe fruit, but given that I probably wasn't going to be getting dinner for another few hours, they helped me get through the afternoon and focus on grading rather than eating. Of course, she always told me that I should get out more and conspired with some of the other teachers to find me a girlfriend. Needless to say, after I found one of my own conveniently located a few doors down the hall, she was quite pleased...and she regularly told my girlfriend so even after I resigned!
In my past few posts, I promised to write something more about Underwood High. I had hoped that these entries would be more along the lines of the "zany adventure" type stories to which this blog was originally devoted. In fact, this very post was going to be a discussion of how my collection of preserved mice was stolen right out from under my successor's nose by a mob of kleptomaniacal freshmen. But then...a colleague, a friend, a fellow soldier in the trenches of inner city academia died, and all of that seemed less important. And I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one connected with Underwood High who feels a sense of loss, both personally and to the life of the school, and are trying to come to terms with it.
This morning I received an e-mail from my girlfriend letting me know that a teacher at Underwood High had died sometime during Memorial Day weekend. I had known that this teacher, who for the purposes of this blog post, I will refer to as Ms. Crowe, was ill. After being diagnosed with cancer earlier in the school year, she had taken a leave of absence from her normal position in the roster room to pursue treatment. When I heard about this, I, like most of the other teachers, assumed that it was a routine procedure and that she would be back in a few months.
Consequently, when the school's principal, Ms. Oldman, informed the Underwood community at the end of second period that Ms. Crowe had passed away, it came as something of a shock, especially for the teachers. Most of the students didn't know her very well, which was understandable given the amount of time she was forced to devote to work in the roster office rather than in her special education classroom. But to the teachers, including myself, she was a dynamic presence, always helping to organize social events like the end of year retirement dinner or holiday potluck lunches we held in the school's media center. She was a boisterous, compassionate woman who never left anyone in doubt regarding her loyalty to the school and its students.
Perhaps it was this love of her students which led her to become the head of Underwood's night school program, intended for those kids who had gotten either too disruptive or too old to succeed in a normal classroom environment. It was a thankless task. Hundreds of kids showed up to enroll each semester, but their numbers swiftly declined once they realized that Ms. Crowe did not intend to just pass them along for no reason. They had to attend classes regularly, arrive on time every night, and behave appropriately. Failure to follow any of these guidelines could lead to a student's expulsion from the program, a major selling point to potential night school teachers tired of feeling impotent in the face of blatant disrespect during the regular school day. The night school was Ms. Crowe's project and she threw every bit of energy she had into making sure that students who were participating stayed in for the long haul and earned their diplomas. She was frequently praised by the school's administration for helping to boost Underwood's traditionally poor graduation rate.
She occassionally attempted to recruit me to work for the night school while I was working at Underwood. "You're already staying at school until 6 or 7 o'clock most nights," she said. "Why not get paid for doing it?" Much as I would have appreciated a little extra supplement to my salary, each time she asked, I declined. After a full day standing in front of a classroom of disruptive freshmen or disrespectful upperclassmen (or vice versa), I simply could not muster the energy to teach students who had, in my mind, already demonstrated a lack of interest in what education had to offer. By the end of a typical school day I was too drained, demoralized, and hollowed out to do much of anything...how could I muster up to the enthusiasm needed to stick with these down and out kids, to let them know the system hadn't abandoned them and that there was a still a chance of success after all? How could anyone?
Some of my colleagues taught night school only for the money. They still treated the kids with respect and provided them with basic instruction, but in most cases these involved worksheets or problems from textbooks rather than actual instruction. To them, and to an extent to me, night school was something of a sham, another effort on the school district's part to boost statistics and prevent students from slipping through the cracks. But to Ms. Crowe, the night school program represented hope. It was the way she demonstrated her love for the students, even the worst of them. She deeply cared about every child under her supervision. It was obvious in everything she said or did. And because she cared so much, it sometimes served to persuade even the most jaded and cynical to lend a hand to make her work successful. It was why I volunteered on a few occasions to help cover classes when regular night school teachers were out sick or, on one memorable occasion, ended up supervising a business class for 2 hours while the official teacher ran off on a "10 minute" errand to fix her car. (That teacher was subsequently fired from night school for her irresponsibility.)
The impact of Ms. Crowe's death on the regular student body is likely minimal. Its effects on the behind the scenes machinery that allows Underwood to function as a semi-viable educational institution, especially the night school program, are likely devastating. The roster office has lost its most experienced worker and I have no idea who will take over as the supervisor for the night classes. Whether the school will be able to ensure any semblance of continuity within the program is completely up in the air.
All of these things ran through my mind when I read the news that she was gone. But besides her dedication to her students, both past and present, I think the thing I'll remember the most about Ms. Crowe was the support she gave me during my time at Underwood. She was one of the few teachers who arrived at school as early as I did, and always said hello to me in the morning. She provided good advice for how to deal with some of my more troublesome students and one a few occasions helped arrange to change their rosters if they were giving me too much trouble. She even let me grab a free snack from the leftover sandwiches provided to the night school kids. They were greasy, tasted terrible, and always came with a piece of underripe fruit, but given that I probably wasn't going to be getting dinner for another few hours, they helped me get through the afternoon and focus on grading rather than eating. Of course, she always told me that I should get out more and conspired with some of the other teachers to find me a girlfriend. Needless to say, after I found one of my own conveniently located a few doors down the hall, she was quite pleased...and she regularly told my girlfriend so even after I resigned!
In my past few posts, I promised to write something more about Underwood High. I had hoped that these entries would be more along the lines of the "zany adventure" type stories to which this blog was originally devoted. In fact, this very post was going to be a discussion of how my collection of preserved mice was stolen right out from under my successor's nose by a mob of kleptomaniacal freshmen. But then...a colleague, a friend, a fellow soldier in the trenches of inner city academia died, and all of that seemed less important. And I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one connected with Underwood High who feels a sense of loss, both personally and to the life of the school, and are trying to come to terms with it.
