Diary of a Rookie Teacher (Part II)

This post is the second installment of a new series that examines journal entries recorded by the author of Blocker's Blog, Mark Blocker, during his first year teaching for the Los Angeles Unified School District at now-defunct Henry Clay Middle School. These entries were written 12 years ago in 2001 and appear below with no editing or revisions. They are accompanied by his commentary written now after more than a decade planning and writing lessons, interacting with students from the mean streets of LA and the laborious-but-beautiful farms and ranches of California's central coast, and observing teachers and administrators with varying degrees of social and educational skills.

SEPTEMBER 13, 2001
I started using my textbook today (received and ordered them yesterday) and compared to generating handouts--it made life easy. Heck, it was like getting free money. I even had Dire Straights's "Money for Nothing," going on in my head after lunch. (Yeah? How long did that last?)
The story we're reading is "The Treasure of Lemon Brown." The teacher's edition contains wonderful exercises and insights.(Good God, I sound like a lobotomy patient.)
Even my discipline cases seemed interested. (Reading out of a real book was new to this class. Students enjoy a change of pace.) Several times I had to remind myself to back off and let them slouch at their desks and mutter among themselves once in a while. (Loosening the reins...can't read if you're uptight. Good.)
Yesterday, on the other hand, was awful. Rough drafts of first assignment letters were due. (I assigned them to write me a letter about themselves explaining their interests, goals in life, highlights of their past 12 years, etc. This helps a teacher learn more about the students. It "humanizes" them.) I wanted to work one-on-one with some students. While I did, four started shooting spitballs. (What were they doing, filming an episode of "Little Rascals"?) I went ballistic and made them pick them up with their bare hands. (Oh, tough guy, eh?) Young McKellar (a teacher who helped me quite a bit at first) happened by and gladly escorted them away. He made them write me letters of apologies. DeJuan and Marcus complied. (Marcus was a budding comedian--and likable. His charisma and sense of timing let him get away with a lot of shenanigans.) Lonnel didn't. (Lonnel was a sullen kid. I don't think I heard his voice all year. Never got anything out of him other than crumpled candy wrappers and balled up papers tossed on the floor--his idea of turning in an assignment.) Luciano was absent. (Don't remember that kid.) They are all good kids--just prone to mistakes when they push each other like lemmings. (The image of students running off a cliff is a little strong, here, rook.)

LOOKING BACK:
The 8th-grade English textbooks, (Prentice-Hall "Timeless Voices, Timeless Themes" Silver Level) were indeed a God-send. At that time, and for a year or so afterward, I taught the contents in the order in which they appeared in the book. Unfortunately, that meant I was not hitting all the required "power standards"--what the state wants the kids to know in order for them to score high on the mandated tests each year. Instead, I was concentrating on my favorite subject, literary interpretation, while ignoring other 8th-grade content standards such as identifying the traits of different genres of expository writing.
The spitball incident occurred in 5th period. That class soon captured my heart. Eigth-grade students will not listen to a teacher unless he is saying something of interest to a 12-13 year old. But, do they observe! When things are going well, I have a habit of reclining in my chair, fingers laced behind my head, elbows out, and a satisfied smile on my face. One day while the class was quietly writing down answers to a few questions in the book, I was thinking about how teaching wasn't so damned bad after all, and that the kids actually were better daily company than the many smug know-it-all adults in the newspaper biz. I guess I had assumed my favorite posture. When my mind returned to the present I gazed at the class and every single student was leaning back, fingers laced elbows out, smiling back at me. They were jokingly imitating their teacher. It was late September and we had already bonded into a class. They apparently liked me, and I knew I was falling in love with them. We were now ready to learn. Or at least I was. The kids, meanwhile, were going to do a lot of "testing"--of me. 

Diary of a Teacher's Rookie Year

NEW SERIES!

This post marks the start of a new series that examines journal entries recorded by the author of Blocker's Blog, Mark Blocker, during his first year teaching for the Los Angeles Unified School District at now-defunct Henry Clay Middle School. These entries were written 12 years ago in 2001 and appear below with no editing or revisions. They are accompanied by his commentary written now after more than a decade planning and writing lessons, interacting with students from the mean streets of LA and the laborious-but-beautiful farms and ranches of California's central coast, and observing teachers and administrators with varying degrees of social and educational skills.

Teacher shortage frees college grads from dull cubicles
This journal you're about to read was required by the LAUSD District Intern program which Blocker  entered at the ripe age of 43. At the time LAUSD had a terrible shortage of teachers, and it was offering a free, two-year program where "interns" were paid to teach while receiving free district classes at night, and some Saturdays, to earn credits toward a California single-subject or multi-subject credential. To qualify, potential teachers had to hold a BA in their subject or pass the California Single-Subject Aptitude Test SSAT (or MSAT for elementary school teachers.) These tests measure whether an applicant's knowledge of a subject is equal to that of someone holding a bachelor's degree.
In 2000, the state's teacher shortage was so severe that the LAUSD even offered classes to "pre-interns." These classes helped people with college credits--and a passing grade on the California Basic Educational Skills Test (CBEST which all substitutes must pass)--gain enough knowledge to pass the SSAT or MSAT. It wasn't an easy route, but many brave individuals wanted to help society--and get a free ticket out of dead-end cubicle jobs.
After 20 years in publishing and the newspaper business, Blocker decided to try his hand at teaching. He had never done anything exceptionally brave in his life, except for entering some tough bars back in his 20s and maybe romancing a few estranged girlfriends of jilted bikers. Still alive despite his youthful follies, he was getting older and wanted to do something better than make rich people richer and poor people poorer. His last private sector job was running the "dummy room," or supervising a staff of four producing page templates for five editions comprising Ventura County's largest daily newspapers all owned by media behemoth Scripps-Howard. It sucked. Newspapers were being bought up and condensed by corporations utilizing new technology to automate many jobs. The days of walking into a building rumbling from an exciting, muckraking newsroom and a giant, independent printing press were limping to an electronic close. Blocker couldn't tell the difference between the paid ads and the news anymore. He was surrounded by yuppie blow and meth addicts; hypochondriacs faking Carpal Tunnel Syndrome; old alcoholics; hacking chain smokers; and fading cardiac patients. Their linking trait: they complained well.
So Blocker answered the call of the nation's second largest school district, LAUSD. Thanks to the amazing book, Understanding Poetry, by Cleanth Brooks and Robert Penn Warren (Holt, Rinehart & Winston 1976) he passed the SSAT English on his first try despite not studying great literature for 20 years; instead writing bullshit about mobile home dealers, and frantically laying out newspaper pages past deadline.  In May 2001 Blocker moved his family from Ventura County down to LA. Soon all hell broke loose, professionally and personally.

Teacher shortage turns into teacher surplus
Twelve years later the dust has settled. Blocker's Blog previously published the downfall of Harry Mills, so you know how this LAUSD career collapsed when the teacher shortage turned into a surplus four years ago. The LAUSD and the state declared war on teachers and their organizations, so top LAUSD brass--answering to their contributors and benefactors in the burgeoning, well moneyed charter sector--began instructing administrative thugs to harass educators out of the industry and give right-wing media misinformation to hasten the impotence of a wilting United Teachers of Los Angeles.
Mark Twain said about numbers used for purposes of deliberately fooling the public: "There are lies, damned lies, and statistics." Today, asshole politicians and pundits often cite test scores and drop out rates while deliberately leaving out any context. Their quotes obfuscate the truth but feed the LA Times's and KFI's insatiable appetite to bash and defame the LAUSD teachers and their students. Rest assured, thousands of LAUSD teachers and students arrive at work every day making the best of a very challenging and often unfriendly situation for both groups. Today, Blocker regrets quitting LAUSD and wants back inside. Memories earned during 10 years in rooms 37, 2 and 11 at Clay Middle School run the gamut from elation to disappointment.
Lets look back now at Blocker's journal. It will be posted here in weekly installments with no editing whatsoever. Blocker's comments and thoughts,after reading it--for the first time in 12 years--appear in bold. Readers are encourage to share their comments.

WEEK ONE: SEPTEMBER 6, 2001
The first three days of teaching saw some interesting peaks and valleys. I believe I have good delivery and rapport with some students. I should have prepared more instructional handouts and decor for the room. (Uh oh: handouts and worksheets--funny money printed by a teacher to buy some time from students.) My 4th and 5th periods contain some potentially massive discipline problems that are forcing me to implement discipline procedures very rapidly. (No shit, huh?) It would be nice to have more guidance from administrators on resources/tools available for instruction: overheads, TV, consumable workbooks. (Those went to the teachers that knew where to find them.) It would be nice to have more cooperation from the kids, (Dreamer) but ironically, and sadly, that won't be the case (See students' job description, rookie.) All in all, the true test in the coming days will be how I can generate quality worksheets, handouts, quizzes and tests both economically and professionally. (You should engage and teach them an interesting concept or useful skill first before you start throwing paperwork and tests at everybody.) It looks like I need a secretary or a cat burglar to accomplish that goal. (You'll soon learn you're loaded with those.) Today the assistant principal visited 4th period after I mentioned the problem. She stayed for half the period then departed. Ten seconds later, the two antagonists started in--but not so bad. They were held reasonably in check the rest of the period.

LOOKING BACK TODAY: 
I remember those two kids. One shares first and last names with a famous comedian who once prided himself on intellectual humor, but now the chickenshit shill competes with Rush Limbaugh for the hearts and minds of xenophobes and sycophants.
Anyhow, this kid, Dennis, was funnier than the famous comedian despite my attempts to suppress him in class. By October, I knew Dennis had a gift that could never be measured in a standardized state test. I still vividly recall the time I was reading to the class Walter Dean Myers's short story, "The Treasure of Lemon Brown." The opening passage describing the setting and bleak tone has the main character, a mixed-up kid, climbing the stairwell of a ramshackle housing tenement. As I read this Dennis got on all fours atop his desk, and started pumping his pelvis up and down while making the sounds of a box-spring mattress coiling and recoiling. Simultaneously he cooed to his invisible lover "oooh, baby, heah it come mama, heah it come..." As vulgar as it was, Dennis was merely providing an appropriate sound effect--if Dean had written an R-rated movie.
I sent him to the back of the room and eventually recovered enough to resume reading. Within minutes Dennis arranged various boxes into a makeshift lunch counter. He had made signs, "Dennis's Wiener Dogs" on scratch paper and taped them to the boxes. He folded more paper into a chef's hat. Dennis was an entrepreneur ready to serve. There also may have been some double entendre on the menu or on his front sign. He turned his detention into a creative endeavor more fulfilling than listening to old man Blocker recite a hackneyed tome about a black kid who learns a wino has painful memories.
The bell rang and the kids left. I had learned a valuable lesson myself that period: These kids needed me like Ray Manzarek's bile duct needed cancer.