School Days,
School Days
Dear Old Golden Rule Days
by Don Drewniak
Note: The
title of this post consists of two lines taken
from the lyrics of a 1907 song, “School Days,
School Days.” Chuck Berry covered it in 1956
(Billboard U.S. #3/U.S. R&B #1).
The first half
of my senior year in college was dominated by
practice teaching of American History four days a
week at a local high school. The fifth day (Friday)
was spent at the college eduring two teaching
related courses.
Having
attended a large public high school in a small
city in Massachusetts helped to prepare me for
the experience. I was also fortunate to have
Richard Sherman, an experienced and very
competent gentleman as my mentor.
The center for
the boys’ basketball team was six-feet, five
inches in height. Rare in those days. Edward (name
changed) was well-behaved and a solid low A/high
B student.
I was teaching
solo for the first time during an early October
day when one of those never-to-beforgotten events
happened. The classroom had armchair desks and,
as a result, the kids brought their books and
other materials with them to their classes.
Edward carried what he needed in a large gym bag.
After my usual
short opening monologue, I told the kids to open
their books to page 77.
(There is a
reason why I have never forgotten the page number.)
Seconds later,
a girl (“Maureen”) who sat two seats
behind Edward let out an ear-piercing scream and
bolted to the back of the classroom. Resting on
her chair arm was Edward’s jockstrap.
His head was
buried in his hands. The jockstrap had apparently
been on top of his history textbook and when he
pulled the book out of the gym bag, it was “Up,
Up and Away”.
It is
impossible to accurately describe the pandemonium
that ensued. Ignoring the chaos, I walked over to
Edward and directed him to retrieve his .
jockstrap. I then walked to the back of the room
where four or five girls were trying to console
the victim. I had one of the girls escort Maureen
to the nurse.
I didn’t
say a word for at least five minutes before
resuming what passed for teaching. Maureen and
her escort returned shortly thereadter. Not a
sound could be heard as Maureen walked toward her
chair. She stopped alongside Edward and whispered
something to him. He smiled. Reading his lips, I
could see he said, “Thank you.”
Once a week,
Sherman drew check the boys’ restrooms duty.
This was primarily for student smoking as it was
a major problem. Students caught smoking received
five days of detention and a parent had to come
to school for a meeting with one of the two
assistant principals.
Nothing of any
note happened during our patrolling going into
early December. Walking into a second-floor
restroom, Sherman and I saw a small cloud of
smoke rising out of the first stall.
“This is
Mr. Sherman. Get out of that stall now!”
Seconds later
came the sound of the toilet being flushed.
“Out now.”
The door
opened and out staggered two boys.
I don’t
remember much of the conversation that followed
other than the boys denying they had been smoking.
Off we went to the office. Both assistant
principals were elsewhere in the school. After
consulting with the principal, a secretary told
us to bring the boys into his office.
Sherman
detailed what we encountered to the principal,
Theodore Bernacki.
“Boys,
anything you have to say?” asked Bernacki.
One of them
replied something to the effect that they weren’t
smoking.
“One more
time, gentlemen, why were you smoking?”
Both of them
once again denied doing so.
“Fine
gentlemen,” replied Bernacki as he put one
of his hands on the receiver of the phone on his
desk. You will remain in the outer office while
one of the secretaries calls your parents and
directs them to come to the school. You can then
tell them that you weren’t smoking, but you
will also have to explain what the two of you
were doing together behind a closed stall door.”
“We were
smoking.”
“We were
smoking.”
That was it
for notable events that happened during my days
of practice teaching. Except, perhaps, for twin
beavers that were once displayed to me during a
Monday morning class. I don’t want to bore
you with the details.
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