Bring Your Own Pencil! The Making of a Teacher

By Buddy Lee Walter

In the tradition of Goodbye, Mr. Chips; Blackboard Jungle; Up the Down Staircase; and Welcome Back, Kotter:

High school English and theatre teacher Buddy Lee Walter's fictionalized autobiography, Bring Your Own Pencil! The Making of a Teacher, will keep you in stitches while satirizing frustrated teachers, bumbling administrations, stupid bureaucracies, crazy students, troubled students, cool students, and the social conditions which produced all this.

Eduardo Ciannelli finds himself, unexpectedly, in front of a classroom of high school students, and finds himself. His story is one of a reluctant - accidental - teacher who has to confront his own biases and assumptions about himself, his students, and the educational system, in order to reach the understanding that the entire thing is ultimately about the human connection. It is about the teacher/student relationship ... and how sometimes these roles get reversed. Join Eduardo on his journey, as he deals with the best and worst of administrators and the most centered and most troubled of students, to discover if he even wants to be a teacher and, if so, how to become a better one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gegensatz Press
• Release date: Sep 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781621308171

Book preview

Bring Your Own Pencil!

The Making of a Teacher

Buddy Lee Walter

Published by Gegensatz Press at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1-62130-817-1

Copyright © 2021 by Buddy Lee Walter

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in book reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

2021

For Cate, Juliet, and Alex

Contents

Preface

Part I

1. All of This Happened, More or Less - Mostly More

2. Well, You See, It Happened This Way

3. The Best Piece of Advice I Have Ever Received

4. A Letter to Frank

5. A Crash Course in Teaching

6. There and Back Again

7. We're Going to Need a Bigger Boat

8. Another Letter to Frank

9. 1, 2, 3 ...

10. Messages from the Front (Office)

11. Can I Borrow Your Pencil, Please?

12. Yet Another Letter to Frank

13. The Good ...

14. ... The Bad ...

15. ... And the Ugly

16. More Messages

17. I Have Not Peed Since Before I Got to Work

Part II

18. As Fate Would Have It ...

19. A Letter to Henry David Thoreau

20. It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times ...

21. A Letter to William Shakespeare

22. Heading West (Well, First North, Then West)

23. A Letter to Homer

24. Go West, Young Man!

25. A Letter to Samuel Beckett

26. Hello, Mr. Chips

27. A Letter to Glenn Holland

28. Louie, I Think This is the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

29. A Letter to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

30. Congratulations! You Found the Beat

31. A Letter to Don Quixote

32. And, Then There Was That Day ...

33. A Letter to Sylvia Barrett

34. Mahalo Does Not Mean Garbage Can

35. A Letter to Han Solo

36. End? No. The Journey Doesn't End Here

Part III

37. Every Time ...

38. A Letter to Ron Weasley

39. What's in a Name?

40. A Letter to ... Me

41. Reality Check

42. A Letter to Douglas Adams

43. Fasten Your Seat Belts, It's Going to Be a Bumpy Ride

44. A Letter to Robert M. Pirsig

45. The Peter Principle Principal

46. A Letter to Alexandre Dumas

47. A Little Gypsy in Me

48. A Letter to Nathaniel Hawthorne

49. Broken Window

50. A Letter to Arthur Chipping

51. Goodbye, Mr. C.

52. Another Letter to Henry David Thoreau

Afterword

Preface

The story of my story began many years ago. During my student teaching experience, I and the other student teachers were required to take a companion course along with it. One of the assignments for this course was to keep a daily journal. This journal was to contain our thoughts, feelings, and reactions to what was going on in the classroom. We would hand them in at the end of each week. Dr. Gallagher would hand these back with comments. At the end of the semester, he handed back my journals for the last time. He made an offhand comment. I have no idea how serious he was. He had no idea of the profound impact this casual comment would have on my life. He said, You have some intriguing insights here. This would make a good book. Thank you, Dr. Gallagher, wherever you are.

It could be said that the story began many years earlier than that. In fifth grade, Mr. Yugen would end the day by reading to the class from The Hobbit. I was powerfully drawn in by the storytelling, by the grandness of it all, by the idea of the journey. Thank you, Mr. Yugen, wherever you are.

Many years passed since my encounters with Bilbo, Gandalf, and Dr. Gallagher.

While moving to another state for a teaching position, sorting through some items that had been stowed away, my hand found my student teaching journal. Listening closely, I heard an echo of Dr. Gallagher's comment.

At this point in my life, I had written monologues and scenes for my students to use as classroom exercises. I had written some poetry and some plays. But I had never written a book. I started writing one.

Beginning with material from the journal, I added the experiences and perceptions gained over several years as a teacher. It was put aside. It sat and waited. Every so often, when something noteworthy happened in the classroom, I would add to the manuscript.

Some more years passed.

My manuscript, much like Glenn Holland's music sheets, gathered dust, silently mocking me, daring me to complete it. Something else always seemed to get in the way. Something else was always more of a priority.

Even more years passed. Life moved on. My wife and I raised two children. More years of classroom experiences accumulated. I delved deeply into the marrow of life. I lived and loved passionately. I dedicated myself profoundly to my family. I dedicated myself profoundly to my students. There are still days when I go to work loving what I do. There are days when I go to work completely burnt out with every intention of leaving. Still, I show up.

Somewhere in all this, a manuscript got finished ... or so I foolishly thought. That early version of the manuscript, which I attempted to get published, received the same basic response from several publishers:

We like what we see, but we don't know what we would do with it.

It's not an education how to book ... but it sort of is.

It's not a novel ... but it sort of is.

It's not a personal narrative ... but it sort of is.

It's not outré ... but it sort of is.

One reader, giving me some valuable critique, made a comment that inspired me. I did what any good writer does. I discarded the original version and started over. Thank you. I know where you are.

I once again found myself staring at a naked page screaming at me to fill it with stuff that had been rattling around in my head ... a few ghosts that needed to be confronted. My fingers are, apparently, much smarter than I. Something different ... unexpected ... ended up on the page ... far different than I first intended ... far better. An unexpected journey.

Sing in me, Muse ...

So begins Homer's epic tale of a journey. Our lives are, indeed, full of journeys - personal journeys, relationship journeys, career journeys, daily journeys. They leave indelible marks ... and scars ... on our lives and alter our existence in inextricable ways. Like a web, our own journeys are intrinsically tied to those of other people.

The inspirations for our journeys come in many forms - an offhand comment, a reading of a book, a relationship ending, a new relationship beginning.

This book was written as a tribute to the students that I have had the honor of having in my classroom. It was always my hope that my classroom be a place of acceptance and exploration. Acceptance of a person is unconditional. Acceptance of rudeness, purposefully harming someone else, or not embracing one's full potential is not.

Resilient students survive and thrive. All students encounter successes. All encounter failures. All have a backstory. Some enter the classroom with an understanding of the purpose of education. Some enter the classroom having made the deal that they will, at the very least, go along for the ride. Some enter the classroom with a preprogrammed detestation for anything and all that the educational system represents. They are only there because the law says they must. If you make the effort to learn their backstories, you are often rewarded with glimpses of how - possibly - to open up pathways.

My hope is that you will simply enjoy your journey through my journey. Perhaps you will identify with the student in you. Perhaps you will identify with the educator in you. Know that you are both. Laugh at the absurd moments. Rejoice in the students' triumphs. Sympathize with their failures. Cry at their angst.

It could be said that my story is the story of a reluctant - accidental - teacher who has to confront his own biases and assumptions about himself, his students, and the educational system, in order to reach his understanding that the entire thing is really about the human connection. It is about the mentor/mentee relationship ... the sensei/gakusei relationship ... and how these roles sometimes switch.

Bring Your Own Pencil! can trace its lineage to Up the Down Staircase by Bel Kaufman, Mr. Holland's Opus by Patrick Sheane Duncan, Goodbye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton, and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. The astute will find references to these and many other books scattered about. Another book which deeply influenced me is The Making of a Psychiatrist by David S. Viscott, M.D. For a while, in college, I was a dual major in theatre and psychology with a minor in philosophy. Viscott's book was a supplemental text in one of my classes. It is not just an enjoyable read, full of thoughtful awareness that an occupation is not simply learning the skills needed to work in a particular profession, but also discovering what changes happen to the person while doing it. In this way you might want to think of the subtitle of my book: The Making of a Teacher.

So ...

Eduardo Ciannelli finds himself, unexpectedly, in front of a classroom of high school students, and finds himself: a reluctant - accidental - teacher confronting his own biases and assumptions about himself, his students, and the educational system, eventually understanding that the whole thing is about the human connection. His story is about the teacher/student relationship ... and how sometimes these roles get reversed. Join Eduardo on his journey, as he deals with the best and worst of administrators and the most centered and most troubled of students, to discover if he even wants to be a teacher and, if so, how to become a better one.

Why is there no symbol for the word symbol?

Part I

... the end is in the beginning and lies far ahead. - Ralph Ellison, The Invisible Man, Prologue

1

All of This Happened, More or Less - Mostly More

It was a dark and stormy night.

{Seriously? THAT is your opening line? You can do better than that.}

[Okay, okay. Let me give it another go.]

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

{You are stealing? From Tolkien? And this book has nothing to do with hobbits.}

[But Tolkien is just so cool - and I promise I will bring up hobbits later. But I guess you are right. I will try something else.]

All of this happened, more or less.

{Now you are stealing from Vonnegut - but at least you are a little closer to focusing on your topic. Now just be more - well, you.}

[But all of this did happen - more or less - mostly more. Names have, however, been changed to protect the innocent and guilty ... mostly the innocent.]

{Get on with it.}

I stood studying the large metal door. Tom Stoppard's line from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else, echoed in my mind. The other thought ricocheting in my mind was - what the hell am I doing here?

My feet, totally of their own volition, without any instructions from me, had stopped several inches from the entrance to the school. Were my feet smarter than I? The dull, gray metal of the door contrasted with the bright red of the warning sign, Trespassers will be prosecuted to the ... I stopped reading the sign as one of the large, rusted hinges caught my attention. It was bent - pulled away from the door as well as from the chipped, brick wall with deep gouges in it. I wondered if something was trying to get in or trying to get out.

A glint of early morning sunlight stabbed at my eye. Glancing up, I saw that the Frederick B. Miller High School sign, previously drenched in cloudy shadow, was now shining brightly as it towered above me. I took that as a positive sign - no pun intended - overrode my feet's decision to not move forward - took a deep breath - and moved forward.

The loud clang of the metal door closing behind me echoed throughout the empty hallway. Various sounds seeped in and out from a myriad of classroom doors. A combination of teacher voices teaching things, a smidgeon of student voices doing anything but paying attention to the teacher, a smattering of vulgar curse words, a dash of giggling, garnished with echoes of doors opening and closing and chairs and desks and things being shifted across floors.

What am I doing here? It was just a few days ago when I was here for an interview. I studied the slip of paper in my hand with the name and room number of the Chair of the Special Education Department. I looked at the room numbers of the doors to the left and right. I was not in the right place. I needed to be at the other end of the hallway and on the floor below. Before moving forward, I need to back up a little bit.

What am I doing here? I had just completed my work on my master's degree in theatre and was preparing to begin work on my doctorate when I realized, counting grade school through undergraduate and graduate school, I had been in school for over twenty years: Thirteen years of grade school, five years of undergraduate school (I took one additional year to study theatre in England), and three years of graduate school. A little bit of a break might be a really good idea. After applying for and receiving a leave of absence from the university, I auditioned for and was offered a job going on tour with a puppet company. I would be one of several actors manipulating the marionettes and doing the characters' voices. Then I got a call from a friend of a friend:

What are you doing now?

Thinking about whether I want to accept this job offer in a touring company.

How much are they going to pay you? How long is the tour?

The pay is okay. Not much really, but enough to make it worthwhile. The tour lasts four months.

What are you going to do when the tour is over?

I am not really sure ... look for another job, I guess.

Look, I've got a possible job for you. It's not an acting job. It's a teaching job. English. Special education. At a high school. In the Bronx. I know it's not what you're really looking for but it's for the school year and you would be making more money than you would with the touring company. They're having a real difficult time finding someone. They really need someone in there. Do it for the year - get some money in the bank. Go out on another tour next year. Or back to grad school.

It sounded like an okay idea at the time. I interviewed for the teaching job. Got it. Turned down the job with the puppet company. Started teaching - and I stayed for thirty years. Not at the same school, of course. But those stories are for future chapters. I liked teaching. I was good at it. I loved my interactions with my students. They have shaped me as much as I hope I have had an influence on their lives. Later in life, I was able to be on school breaks at the same time my own children were. Eventually I was even able to have my own children as students in my theatre classes. That was something that bonded us together as family in indelible ways.

{You are going off on a tangent.}

[You are right. I was just trying to ... ]

{Get on with it.}

What am I doing here? The first day of the school year was the day after Labor Day. It was now the end of September. In three weeks, there had been three teachers - hired and quit or fired - in this classroom. I am number four.

{Dang.}

[I know. Like I said, what am I doing here?]

I have never shied away from a challenge. I needed the money. I felt a little beholden to the friend of a friend since she had gone out of her way to get me the interview. I felt a lot beholden to the principal who interviewed/hired me because he really needed a teacher in that classroom - quite desperately. That - is what I am doing here.

The students I was to be teaching were referred to as fifth-year seniors, which means that they might have graduated the previous year, except that they had failed their English class. They may have failed other classes as well. But I was to be their English teacher. I was to be their guiding light, steering them toward the harbor of graduation.

As I made my way down the hallway to find the staircase to the lower floor where I would find Robert Zimmerman, the Special Education Department Chair, ...

{Wait a minute - Robert Zimmerman? That is the real name of ...}

[Yeah, I know. Bob Dylan. Not the same guy. Just the same name. I made that joke, too. He did not find it funny.]

... I concentrated on the soft, muted click-clack of my shoes. My gaze shifted from left wall to right wall in time with my steps. They were spattered with various stains that I decided to not spend any time attempting to identify. The resulting patterns were kind of interesting though ... in a strange Jackson Pollock kind of way.

The doors that led to the stairs were just ahead. As I pulled one of the doors open, the loud rusted creaking sound added to the