Searching for Sanity: The Decline of Public Education In the Early 21st Century

By David R. Carter

The story of public education in the early 21st century through the eyes of a well-respected educator and his fight against an over-zealous administration’s efforts to strip its teachers of all their individuality. Both exposé and memoir, this is the tale of one man’s search for the perfect career and what turned that perfect career into a struggle to maintain a teacher’s ability to create his or her own curriculum, based on years of experience, instead of a one size fits all model that was being shoved down our throats by administrators who were bowing to pressure from parents as well as their own ill-conceived feelings of superiority.  Do you want to know why the number of teachers are leaving the profession in greater numbers than ever before?  This is the story of what started it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781977268327

Book preview

Searching for Sanity

The Decline of Public Education In the Early 21st Century

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2023 David R. Carter

v3.0

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Photo © 2023 David R. Carter. All rights reserved - used with permission.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Dedicated to my long suffering wife of forty-three years.

Thanks for not killing me in my sleep.

I love you.

I originally wanted to quote a couple of songs that

capsulize my feelings toward public education

but later found out I legally can’t do that.

But I think I can at least mention the songs:

Authority Song by John Mellencamp and

Stuck in the Middle with You

By Stealer’s Wheel.

Table of Contents

Intro-May 1st-2023

The Covid Factory

The Aqua-Velva Man

The Olives Lady

Pajamas on Fire

The Musty Suit

Shaving at Walgreens

Turds on the Tee-Box

P.E. to Latin

No Cash for You

Jimmy D.

Intent Not to Rehire

I Return a Lot of Shit

Bank Job #1

Middle School Disaster

Dickless December

Growl, Sweat, Gas

I Earn an Upgrade

Do I Really Want This Job?

A Long Time Friend

Thank You, Oh, Mighty One

This is Why I Never Gave Up

Sharing Student Notes #1

Missoula on Steroids

If I Were a Carpenter

Remembering 9/11

Doc

Editorials Are Where It’s at

My Editorial Example

Hall of Fame Snubs

The Real Reason

This is a No Bieber Zone

Not Quite Ready for The Voice

Name That Band

Red Nose?

Bank Job #2

The Early Years

Mr. Biceps

Arena Scheduling

Computer Scheduling

A Proposal

Sugar-Free Candy

Sharing Student Notes-#2

Welcome to My Class

Dick on the Board

State Hockey Championship

My Personal Heroes

Sharing Student Notes-#3

The AVP Times

Sharp Dressed Man

Common Core is the Devil

What The Hell Happened?

Volume One, Issue One

I Became a Long-Haul Trucker

Japanese Poetry Classics

Homonyms and Homophones

My Class Term Paper

Randy Dick

Ms. McCoy

Earth, Wind, and Fire

And So It Continues…

The Big O Goes Nuts

Young Hippie

Writing Exams is Fun

Burning Hair

Leave it to Cleaver

Not Much of a Public Speaker…But…

Giant Moose One…Honda CRV Zero

Year-End Self-Evaluation

Headin’ Down the Shitter

Easy English…Hard Math

My Novel, Novel Choices

Thanks, Walt

Holden Is a Whiner

More Weirdness at Walgreens

Dumbing Down

Circle Five and One Half

The Scarlet Letter Episode

My Brush with Fame

I Hope You Like It

Wind, Sulfur, and Natural Gas

Six Traits Goes the Way of the Dinosaur

Go Ask Mr. Carter

The Movie Guru

Let’s Once Again Fix What Isn’t Broken

Lame Attempts at Poetry

What the Hell is Going On?

Sharing Student Notes #4

Here

The Rise of Door Dash

From Bad to Worse

Leave it to Cleaver

Wally Cleaver Morphs into Eddie Haskell

How Low Can You Go?

The Final Nail

Getting Rid of the Oldsters

Sharing Student Notes #5

Red Nose Finally Quits Running

Some More Verse

Osteen Did What?

Homework on Snow Days?

So Sad

My Amazing Sub-Plans

My Class Schedule

What the Hell is a Trans-Bathroom?

Sharing Student Notes #6

Mountain Billies

Poster Boy for What?

Tightening the Noose

Sharing Student Notes #7

Not Quite Finished

She Eats What?

And Now the Time is Near

Once an Ass Hat, Always an Ass Hat

I’d Suggested That Years Ago

Lame Duck

E-mails from Former Students

Praise from Parents

I Go Out on a High Note

The Current State of Education

A Random Poem by Me

A Little Prose

Some Creative Writing Ideas

Free Verse Free-For-All

I Love Composing Poetry

My Rhyming Couplets Blues Song

Please Read What This Man Said

Courtesy of Dave Letterman

The Air Academy High School I’d Like to See

Sorry, Shakespeare

This is the End

My Final Proposal

ChatGPT

The End

Tire Tracks to Toledo led to nothing but Flats

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Intro-May 1st-2023

Okay…let me first tell you I think this is a great read and you’ll laugh more than once. It’s not all depressing and serious and finger-pointing. But I am trying to pass on to you, the reader, what transpired in the early years of the 21st century that led to the so very serious issues afflicting our young people today.

I have been working on this for over a year and a half. It’s part memoir, part exposé, with some of my own thoughts regarding the current state of public education. From 1996 until 2019, I taught in public schools in some capacity: three years as a substitute, two years in middle schools, seventeen years at one high school, and two years at a community college. Since at least the latter part of the first decade in the 21st century, I have been advocating for an outright ban on cell phones during regular school hours. I was scoffed at, laughed at, and poo-pooed until I pretty much gave up. However, it seems to me that others have finally discovered the unmitigated disaster social media and cell phones in general have caused in the lives of young people throughout our land. As of the middle of April, 2023, forty school districts, nation-wide, have sued various social media entities for the harms they have caused our children. It’s certainly time for something to be done to get cell phones totally banned from all public schools. Technology should only be used during an actual computer class. I pray that it isn’t too late.

I started writing this on 9-11-2021. Enjoy. And thanks for reading.

The Covid Factory

Today is my seventieth birthday and I work part-time at Walgreens. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a bad thing, I’m just trying to think of a somewhat catchy way of starting off the first chapter of my memoir.

When reading those two sentences, some of you may feel sorry for me or a few of you may give me kudos for still trying to be productive at such an advanced age. But actually I’m a retired school teacher who just got a little bored and decided to find something to do. Unfortunately, you can’t play golf year-round in Montana.

When my wife and I first moved up here to Montana, I started working at the municipal airport in Missoula delivering luggage that had been misplaced, and then found; but due to the infamous Covid-19 pandemic, I wasn’t making much money since no one was flying. I saw a help wanted sign at the Walgreens where my wife and I picked up our prescriptions and decided to give it a shot. So I applied and was offered a job on the spot. I really didn’t take that as a compliment but chalked it up to how desperate Walgreens was when it came to finding even slightly competent applicants.

I was told to get a drug test while they did a background check. I’ve never taken any illegal drugs in my life, which my former students found hard to believe because I was too cool to not have once been a stoner. By former students I mean those whom I once taught during my years as a high school English teacher. I also found it a little disturbing that so many young people felt you had to have once been a stoner in order to be a cool old guy. But more on that later.

I didn’t hear back from Walgreens for a couple of weeks, so I finally called and spoke to the manager. He told me that the assistant manager, with whom I had interview, would get back to me in a day or two. He did, and told me I had originally been turned down because of something weird concerning my background check. He then said that it had all been a misunderstanding of some sort and I was good to go. I blame the F.B.I. So I ended up going. I probably should have taken that original turndown as an omen of some kind.

My first day progressed pretty well. We, of course, were wearing masks while my trainer, Ned, showed me the ropes. I watched quite a few mind-numbing videos concerning policy and such, stocked a few shelves, and observed one of the cashiers in action. Not bad.

Well, it so happened Ned soon found he had contracted Covid and he passed it on to me who, in turn, passed it on to my wife, who obviously was pretty ticked off. Why it the world would you get a job at Walgreens in the middle of a pandemic? Half the people who walk in that place are sick!

As you certainly know, I replied, one of the reasons I got this job is because we can use a little extra money. Like most couples, if not all, we argue from time to time over our lack of financial stability. It’s both of our faults, I suppose. She’s actually come up with a certain idea that she mentions to me from time to time:

If you write a book and get it published you can stop working altogether and actually retire.

Hmm…that’s really not a bad idea. A long shot, but if Justin Bieber can do it, why not me? So, here I am attempting to write something that someone might find the least bit entertaining. And when I think about it, I’ve actually had quite an interesting life. I’ve never done anything that would put me on the cover of Time magazine, but it’s not like I’ve spent my whole life in a cave. Maybe it’s a lack of confidence that’s holding me back.

So this probably feeble attempt at writing something worth publishing will be a combination of wacky things that happen at Walgreens, some anecdotes from my twenty-five years of teaching high school English, a few semi-amusing stories from my youth, some moments of reflection on my rather unfortunate career choices before teaching, and just the everyday musings of a slightly bitter but still generally happy old man.

And I suppose this could also be considered an exposé in a way, as I want to especially emphasize some of the unfortunate choices made by the powers that be concerning public education. What was once a great career, at least in my opinion, turned into something completely different during my twenty-seven years as an educator. And it seems to have gotten worse since I left the profession entirely in the spring of 2019. Administrators have totally lost focus when it comes to what needs to be taught and how that teaching should be accomplished.

Educating our young people should have nothing to do with politics or agendas or causes or any of that nonsense. It should only deal with how to best prepare our students for the future. No matter what that future may be. We should be emphasizing math, English, history, science…that’s it. What does gender identity or politics or critical race theory have to do with that? Nothing. A teacher’s job is not to indoctrinate his or her students into some kind of nutbag political group or zombie cult; or to start questioning his or her gender. What the hell is that all about? It’s to help them better themselves. Give them the tools they need to accomplish that self-improvement. Come on, people, it’s not that difficult. Let’s get back to what’s real. Damn…

The Aqua-Velva Man

So why would I be so brazen to think that even for a second anyone would want to read anything I had to write on any subject at all? That’s the question I’ve asked myself time and again and the main reason I’ve never attempted to write anything before now. But I’d really hate to die and not at least given it a go. And now that I’ve turned 70 something has really changed as far as my outlook on life is concerned. I wasn’t that traumatized when I turned 40, 50, or 60, but, dang, I am not taking this latest birthday all that well. So no more wasting time. Mainly because I don’t have that much left. It’s time to either shit or get off the pot.

So...once upon a time…

I had a Civics teacher in the ninth grade by the name of Mr. Bakken. He wore a suit every day and just looked really sharp. Probably mid-forties and smelled of Aqua Velva. And besides that, he made the class interesting. I don’t know exactly what it was. I just admired the way he presented himself; his confidence and coolness. The respect he garnered from the class. And what else could I do with my love of history and books?

So all through the rest of my public school days, I retained the idea of someday becoming a teacher. And even though I was a horrible student, it wasn’t because I was dumb, it was due to boredom and a general lack of effort more than anything else. You see, not all my teachers were as interesting or passionate as Mr. Bakken.

In grade school I was in the advanced class during sixth grade. That was a combination class with the smarter sixth graders mixed in with the struggling fifth graders. I remember my grammar school days with fondness. I was cute, book smart, and a decent athlete.

Then came junior high and a total change in just about everything. I put on a little weight and was constantly ripping the crotch out of my pants whenever I’d squat. I also became a somewhat accomplished class clown. My grades suffered and I wasn’t in any advanced classes whatsoever. I was well-liked by my teachers and had a few good friends but didn’t really accomplish that much. Something I’m sure many junior high kids could corroborate.

I remember being in band all three years. I played the baritone as did my two best buddies, Rich Wagner and Carl Barton. Our band teacher was an old guy with wild hair and thick glasses. He once, during class time, complimented the three of us for our outstanding playing on a particular piece of music the class had just performed. What was kind of weird about his praise was that the three of us had purposefully played a different song than the rest of the band. Now that I think about it, he might have been speaking facetiously, but I’m pretty sure it was because he was nearly deaf.

I also remember my brother, who was two years behind me, getting suspended for pulling off the music teacher’s toupee.

In shop class our teacher would make us run laps when we misbehaved in class. I remember looking out the window from time to time while in another class and seeing all the kids circling the field in their street clothes. Definitely shop class kids. But, maybe they continued to run later in life and got some benefit out of it. They obviously didn’t get much benefit out of shop class.

I also remember the time in the ceramics section of our shop class a kid made a clay dildo. I laughed along with everyone else even though I didn’t know what a dildo was.

The Olives Lady

This elderly lady yelled at me from the grocery aisle and requested some help finding olives. I can’t find any olives and I need some help. Where’s the manager?

Just a minute, ma’am, I’ll be right there. Let me finish with this customer. I was performing my cashier duties at the time. We were short-handed as usual. I was actually giving our manager the benefit of the doubt when I told the lady that he was doing something important in the office.

When I finished with my customer, I went over to the grocery aisle to help the poor, obviously traumatized, lady. We went down the rows looking for what she wanted. Don’t blame Covid if you’re out of olives! I want to speak to your manager if you don’t have any. I’m like, this lady is nuts, but really not that unusual when it comes to our typical patron.

Well, luckily, we found some at the last minute. Two jars of your typical green olives for three bucks. She seemed happy so I went back to the front to wait on our paying customers. A minute later, there she was in line with three jars of olives. Check to make sure these are on sale.

Ma’am, I know they are. That would be two for three dollars, since that’s the special, and a third jar at the regular price of a dollar seventy-five.

Well, let me think, she said. After thirty seconds or so she said, I know that Albertson’s has a deal going on right now for three jars of olives for $4.41. That’s a better deal than what you have. Never mind. She left the jars on the counter and walked away.

Later on that same evening, I watched a woman looking at some candy in the impulse section of the store near the checkout line. She was talking to someone behind her down the candy aisle. I could hear the man’s voice as he answered her questions. Deep timbre…very masculine. Then she walked up to check out and right behind her came this 6’ 5" guy around 50 years old in total drag. He had on a lady’s wig and the biggest poodle skirt I’d ever seen. I don’t even want to think about how many poodles were euthanized in order to make that skirt. He also had on open-toe shoes with bright red nail polish. I really try not to judge people, I truly do but, dang, that was crazy. How could anyone be that messed up to want to go around in public like that…I just don’t get it. Believe me when I say I could care less about anyone’s sexual preferences, but let’s just tone it down a little…wow! I know I sound homophobic, but believe me I’m not. I know for a fact that I’m just losing touch with what’s going on in the world today. Too much change. Too much craziness. Too much freedom of expression, maybe? And red toenail polish with a black and white poodle skirt? Come on, now…oh, fashion police! Wherefore art thou?

Pajamas on Fire

I’ve had people tell me that they could remember back to when they were a year or two old. I have only one memory when I was that age. And it’s not a very pleasant one. I was trying to go to the bathroom in the big people’s toilet, but I forgot to put the ring down. So when I went to sit, I fell into the water, butt first. I don’t know what the significance of that would be to let’s say a psychiatrist. Maybe something to do with being anal retentive? I also remember sitting out in the parking in front of our house when I was about five or six and having to poop. But for some reason I just sat there holding it in. My mom saw me through the window and made me come in and use the bathroom. Later on, while running across the street on my way to North Junior High, my mom said she’d watch me lean to one side a little in order to pass gas.

I’ve always been a little fascinated with farts. I remember my good buddy Rich Wagner, one of the guys from band class, who was also my roommate my freshman year in college, trying to light his farts one night while he was leaning against the wall on his shoulders while holding a match to his buttocks. He ended up catching his pajamas on fire. Pretty funny. He was a nut. He’d look up mannequin’s dresses whenever we’d go shopping. He also liked to run as fast as he could into the closet doors in our dorm room. He transferred to another school his sophomore year, and I didn’t see much of him for many years. He was actually a good friend. No doubt.

I had a little bit of trouble even getting into college. I was such a screw-up during my high school days. God, what a waste. I was certainly smart enough, I just didn’t have any ambition. I even remember my counselor, Mr. Volkman, once suggesting that I apply to the Coast Guard Academy…I had that much potential. But my grades sucked. If only…

So I had to take some entrance exams to see whether this small in-state college would even accept me. I talked to a lady after the tests who couldn’t believe how well I had done. What did you do in high school? Your GPA is under 2 and yet you aced these tests.

So a guy who’d never gotten above a D in any English class in junior high or high school was placed in an advance English class my freshman year in college. Go figure…

The Musty Suit

I officially retired from teaching in May of 2019. Thus ended twenty-five years of substitute teaching, INR contracts, and eighteen years at a once wonderful but later a dreadful high school. I obtained my bachelor’s degree in June of 1973 from that state college I managed to get into after taking those entrance exams. I had a major in history and minors in English and political science. The only garbage class I ever took was Shorthand 101.

If you don’t know what shorthand is ask your grandmother. I, in my infinite wisdom, thought this would be a snap class when it actually was one of the most demanding classes I ever attended. I’d even go to labs in the evening to try to sharpen my skills. I was the only guy in the class. Believe me, I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. They probably thought there was something wrong with me, and anyway I was way too shy. I did manage to pull out a C, only because the instructor felt sorry for me.

In the fall of 1973 I participated in the rather scary and not so well-managed experiment called Student Teaching. This was at Coronado High School in Colorado Springs. I was guided along this path by three master instructors with obviously different styles and approaches to teaching. I remember one of them was a Mr. Murphy. One was a part-time weatherman on the local news. The third I really can’t remember at all. I was a little out of my comfort zone due to me being only four or five years older than my students. I knew my subject areas pretty well and was able to organize a decent lesson plan, but I was not much of a disciplinarian. Luckily, teen-agers still respected their teachers for the most part, even ones fresh out of college.

I had a so-called advisor assigned to me from the college. Some old guy in a musty suit who didn’t know me from Adam. He sat in the back of the classroom to supposedly critique my performance. He watched me teach one time for about forty-five minutes. My whole grade was pretty much based on that one visit. Later, the teacher whose classroom I was in told me the guy talked more about some book he’d just gotten published than paying attention to me. Thanks for nothing, you old turd.

My best performance, which I guess is a good thing, came on my last day there. I knew my subject and better yet was interested in it. I still remember the lesson was based on Benjamin Franklin; his life and times. His Poor Richard’s Almanac and autobiography. His attempt at the perfection and the chart he made while trying to maintain a sense of being the ultimate rational man. Herman Melville once said that Franklin was everything but a poet. No so much criticizing him but just stating a fact. He was a pragmatist. It was the Age of Rationalism. Melville and his contemporaries came a few decades later. Great stuff!

The students were all paying attention and even laughing at the right moments. My teaching mentor was quite pleased. I still remember him saying that I’d reminded him a little of Will Rogers. I took that as quite a compliment and obviously remembered it throughout my teaching career.

And then the wait for my final grade to arrive in the mail. I remember I’d once been told by a college professor that an A in student teaching was pretty much essential when looking for a full-time position. In other words there was no shortage in teachers in the mid-70s. I remember like it was yesterday when I witnessed the envelope slide through the mail slot where I was still living with my mom and dad. I took it with me to the back bathroom and sat down on the can. I don’t know why I was so apprehensive. And there it was…I had gotten a B. That one moment in time would be without a doubt the greatest turning point of my whole life. I was basically stunned and struggled to hold back the tears.

Instead of doing the smart thing and getting into the substitute teacher pool, I decided to give up on my dream and do something else…anything else. And that led to my spending thirteen years in banking, and a ton of other mostly meaningless jobs, while all the time thinking, what if…?

So, finally, after spending the previous nine months in a shithole in Wyoming working for Colorado Interstate Gas, I decided to go back to what I was meant to do. The only problem was that it was 1992 and the demand for teachers was still not that great. Nothing like it is now. But I was determined. It’s like I finally ran out of options. I did a lot of screwed up things between 1974 and 1992. And, believe it or not, all of those things finally led me to where I was supposed to be and what I was meant to be doing.

Shaving at Walgreens

I walked into the restroom at work this morning to use the facilities before my shift. An old guy about 80 was standing at the sink shaving. He was using an ancient straight razor and a ton of shaving cream. And, of course, the shaving cream had a bunch of hairs sticking out of it. When I came out of the stall, he was still there. He looked at me and said, I’ll be done in about an hour or so. I couldn’t tell if he was serious, but I left the restroom for one of the few times in my life without washing my hands.

I did get a raise last week…from $14 to $14.59 an hour. I guess that’s not bad. Today was Senior Discount Day; it’s the first Tuesday of every month. There were so many old farts wandering around the store that I started feeling good about my age. I try to empathize with the oldsters since I will soon be in their position. And it’ll happen way sooner than I want it to.

We have an old folk’s home across the street from the store called The Manor. Therefore, we do see a great many senior citizens on a daily basis. There’s the one who comes in with her dog, Layla, and gets a pint of ice cream every time along with the occasional bag of treats for her puppy. She’s missing an eye and can’t remember her pin number. One of my fellow employees told me that years ago her husband shot her in the head. That’s what happened to her eye. Really sad, for sure. One time she came in with her dog and was using an electric extension cord for a leash. Another customer in the store witnessed the scene and bought her an actual dog leash. I hope something nice happened to that wonderful person later on that day. Pass it forward, please,

Turds on the Tee-Box

One of my best buddies during most of junior and senior high was a kid named Mark Stallman. He lived a couple of blocks from me and we had some good times for sure. He’s the one who got me started playing golf. We spent a lot of time at the local public golf course playing the game as well as hanging out in the creek that went through the center of the property. We’d hunt for lost balls to replenish our always meager supply.

There was a fairly large pond that sat right in the middle of the fairway on the ninth hole. I remember we liked to sneak out at night and turn this big metal wheel on the north side of the water that would drain the pond within a couple of hours. Then we’d wade out in the mud and collect the hundreds of golf balls lost within the cursed waters. After a couple months of that, the managers of the golf course finally got smart and put an iron chain with a padlock around the wheel.

My two brothers took their motorcycles over to the course one night and did some extensive damage to the green on the first hole. That even ended up in the newspaper. I’m hoping the statute of limitations for destroying a golf green has passed by now. I certainly don’t want to get my two best friends in any trouble.

The funniest thing I remember