Up The Down Staircase

53. Up the down staircase

December 22

Dear Ellen,

I'm writing this from the hospital, where I am bedded down with a fractured foot; nothing serious, but a nuisance, since I’ll be laid up during the busiest time of the term: the holidays!

I was wounded in the line of duty. I might even say above and beyond. I was felled by an unhinged door with a pagoda on it.

I was not attacked or knifed; I fought no issue; proved no point. I had merely gone backstage, in the auditorium, to help Paul during the Faculty Frolic.

That whole afternoon was as macabre as a newsreel Mardi-Gras bobbing towards its grotesque denouement. Harry Kagan, as Clarke, prissy at the lectern; teachers in blue jeans and sneakers licking oversize lollipops or ostentatiously pulling bubble gum from their mouths in an exaggerated attempt at playing the good sport. Remember what's-his-name at Lyons Hall—the professor who used to perch on the windowsill in shirtsleeves and suspenders, munching a sandwich to show that he was one of us? Here was the same kind of phony camaraderie—only it got wilder and wilder. Teachers with skipping ropes, balloons, yo-yos; teachers in Japanese kimonos, pencils stuck in their lacquered hair, singing and dancing in a kind of parody of a parody: the Barringer "Mikado," to the stamping and whistling of kids jammed into the auditorium; and a separate, desperate whistle from McHabe. That was during the garbage-throwing.

I must explain that some outside kids—from a neighborhood gang, or students on suspension, or dropouts—who somehow got wind of the fact that there was a show going on, gained entry into the auditorium with contraband garbage, which they proceeded to throw around. They must have aimed it at the stage, but it landed on the audience: our kids. Naturally, ours threw it right back; they threw it back at ours; and so it went, back and forth, for a few rank moments. The auditorium, being windowless, and overflowing with the overflow of both X2 and Y2 kids, was already stifling. Eventually, the visitors were ejected, the garbage was trampled until it got lost, and the show went on.

I'm sure the songs were clever; it was impossible to hear because of the commotion. By this time I was backstage—that's when the pagoda fell on my foot. Or rather, the backdrop, which was a door, painted black with a red and gold pagoda on it. I don't know where it had originally been hinged—possibly a bank; it was heavy as metal. It hurt like hell.

The doctor says I am lucky. I could have had a crushed instep, instead of "a simple fracture of the base of the fifth metatarsal." My foot will be in a cast for a few weeks, but I’ll be well in time for the new term at Willowdale.

Right now I'm in a kind of limbo: Because of clerical errors and snarled red tape, I'm not officially out of Calvin Coolidge, nor officially in Willowdale. The only thing I'm sure of is that I am in the hospital, lying brazenly in bed in broad daylight, while someplace bells are ringing and classes are changing and kids are waiting. Kids in schools all over the city, all over the country, pledging allegiance to the flag in assemblies, halls, classrooms, yards—hundreds of thousands of right hands on the heart, hundreds of thousands of young voices droning the singsong: ". . . one nation under God in/divisible . . ." Someplace kids are taking a test, frowning, clutching pens, chewing pencils, thinking, thinking in a kind of silent hum. Or arguing in bus or subway about something they had discussed in class. Someplace a solitary kid sits absorbed in a book in a library.

It's absence that makes me so nostalgic. For I must remember, too, the drudgery and the waste. Frustration upon frustration, thanklessness, defeat. The 3 o'clock exhaustion; the FTG fatigue (The Sophomore Slump, the Senior Sorrows). And getting up for early session; in winter, dressing by electric light to punch in before the warning bell, to erase the obscenity from the board, to track down the window-pole, to hand in before 1, before 2, before 3 ...

And "misunderstandings of feelings." (How often I find myself quoting a student!). And the gobbledygook, and the pedagese, and the paper miles of words.

One wordless moment with Ferone, one moment of real feeling, and I had toppled off my tightrope, parasol and all.

And Ferone—where is he and what is to become of him?

I wonder how he himself will tell it, or recall it. "I had this teacher, see, and once, on a winter afternoon . . ."

I keep remembering what he had said to me. "What makes you think you're so special? Just because you're a teacher?" What he was really saying was: You are so special. You are my teacher. Then teach me, help me. Hey, teach, I'm lost—which way do I go? I'm tired of going up the down staircase.

So am I.

What is it that I wanted? A good question. Interesting, challenging, thought-provoking, as required in the Model Lesson Plan. A pivotal question, "directed towards the appreciation of human motives"— and eliciting answers I may not like.

I wanted to make a permanent difference to at least one child. "A Teacher I’ll Never Forget"? Yes.

I wanted to share my enthusiasm with them; I wanted them to respond. To love me? Yes.

I wanted to mold minds, shape souls, guide my flock through English and beyond. To be a lady-God? That's close.

I wanted to fight the unequal battle against all that stands in the way of teaching. To blaze a trail? Indeed.

Yet I am about to quit.

Am I but another dropout?

I think of new kids that will come and go, card after card in the Delaney Book, dropping without a ripple out of sight. The same kids, but with different names, making the same mistakes in the same way. I think how little anyone can do, even with love, especially with love. And I long for Willowdale. (Those windows! Those windows with trees in them!) I think I'm not so special after all.

I will have time, as I lie here alone with my fifth metatarsal, to do a lot more thinking.

They've just brought me a stack of mail.

Write me c/o the hospital. (I haven't told Mother or anyone at home of my accident.) Let me know if my electric rabbit reached Suzie in time for the tree, and how your eggnog recipe turned out. And a very merry Xmas!

Love,

Syl

P.S. What statistics can I give you?

Did you know that the median age for female accidents in the schools is 48.2? And that the accidents occur mostly on the stairs?

I don't seem to fit.

S.

54. Greetings on Your Illness

Greetings on your illness and best wishes for coming back soon. This sub we made her so miserable I bet she'll never show up around here again. While she's having histerics in the office we're all passing around this Round Robbin in rows alphabetically even though a lot of us are absent, to tell you your method of teaching was fair and square. If there is anything I can possibly do about it I would do it. Have a Happy New Year always.

Frank Allen

Elizabeth Elis said we should sign our real names to show that you thaught us to have the courage of our convinctions. So here goes. A man's reach should exeed his gasp is a statement true to life and I am using it daily. This proves your lessons sunk in and you didn't drum it into our heads for nothing. Hoping you will get well soon and enthuse about books once more.

Andrew Alvarez

(Use to sign Anonimus)

Some one told us a terrible rumor that you're not coming back to us. We miss you something terrible. Even tho it's just before Xmas the whole class can't enjoy it. Please please come back & I'll do anything for you, even read a Julius Ceasar.

Janet Amdur

A Xmas present doesn't have to be only a thing. It can also be by telling you how you helped us this term, which is what we decided to do. How you helped me is in giving me a liking for school which I previously lacked. It's awful you got hurt but they say you'll be OK soon. If Alice was in front of me she would sign her name too so I'll sign for her.

A Merry Xmas from Carole Blanca

And Alice Blake

I refuse to sign this robin.

Poisen

Excuse my english if I would of studied harder I could now be riting you a nice letter like the others, if you can read my riting you would know your class was my happist time of life.

Real name Marvin Chertock

I can't believe you're not coining back. School wouldn't be school without you. Every time you came into the room (304) I always looked you over, no offence I hope. When I told my friends about you they all envied me. You don't make the subject too confusing, also not too hard on the eyes, which adds to my knowledge. Myself and my whole family is praying for your speedy recovery to English.

Gary Daniels (A Bashful Nobody. Now you know!)

Some things can't be expressed in words. Even though I want to be a writer, I know this. But I think you know what I mean when I say only "Thank you".

Elizabeth Ellis

You and Roseanne (my imaginary twin sister) are my only friends and both beautiful to look at. Don't let anything Bad happen to you in the hospital. When I used to have my other English classes I used to have those excrushiating headaches. But since you, I don't mind if they give me English 20 times a day and I mean it.

Your Admireress

Francine Gardner

Though I made a funny face when you said you would read poetry I really disliked it. In case I don't see you in person, I hope they can save your foot, I knew some one (R.L.) who got into a foot accident and is on cruches.

I used to sign Guess Who—did you guess who?

Rachel Gordon?

I wish you a complete cure and New Years. You gave me a deeper understanding of people like Pygmallion and others.

Sam Harper

(Formally I signed )

You are my most memorial teacher, you teach a subject as fast as it can enter and stay put in the brain. And you're a person with a good sense of humor and a touch of teacherly love.

Jerry Hyams, former Cutter

To Miss Barrett, who helped me in education as well as my personal and business life, best wishes of the season.

Harry A. Kagan

(The Students Future Choice)

= Ronald Lipp

Now it can be told, that's who I am!

I want to join this r. robin to tell you how I feel. You are like the gems in the ocean. I’ll tell my children about you and my days with you. My motto is "never forget". The day is dragging out without you but you made the period fly like wings, even a long Home Room like this. Even the way you dressed made everything clearer and up to date. For the rest of my life I will try to grab higher than my reach.

Ronnie

Your not as bad as them.

Yr Freind

Use to be Yr Emeny S. Marino

A Happy Holiday! And Yuletide! A Happy New Year! And many more Happy Returns of English! You're the first teacher that got something into this wooden head of mine, Ha-ha! "This was the most unkindliest cut of all" (when you left us) I'm quoting from your boyfriend Shakesper (Jul. Caeser) in case you don't know! So get well right away! And come back healthful and happy to teach us some more things! Now how you helped me—I don't horse around so much, though I still do. Sometimes!

Lou Martin

If God only makes you well I would never again be unprepaired (Homework). I didn't mean it when I was writting those things in the Sug. Box. From the first day when I fell off my seat (remember?) I fell for you but couldn't show it.

(I'm really Lennie Neumark)

How you helped me was you didn't try to act like a King.

Doodlebug

Jill Norris

I still hate females but not you. This goes for me and the whole class including 16 who are absent. You can come back. But I don't know if I will.

Rusty O'Brien

Calvin Coolidge's New Year could be happy if only you return to teach us again. I never met any one like you in my whole life. I awaited every tomorrow just to see what you were going to wear or do. You made me come out of my shell to a size 14. My sister is size 11 but she's got skinny legs. I will love you till the day I die.

Vivian Paine

They hogging the entire paper. I want to say is I complaned a lot. but I didn't know how lucky I was to have you. until we got this jerky sub. she don't know a thing and she's trying to teach it.

Disgusted

Miguel Rios

I would swim across the Chanel like "Hero and Leander" just to see you teaching again. And that's no "myth," it's the truth. "Merry Xmas" and Love

Chas. H. Robbins

(I can now write without having quotion marks pile all over me and I'm trying to not think about the "atom bomb". I hope this makes you feel better in the hospital.)

C. H. R.

1. How You Helped Me

A. Apreciation of Life

1. The Road Taken

a. (choice)

2. Julius Ceaser

a. (was Brutus right?)

3. Spelling (Improved 99%)

4. Browning (a man reaching high)

5. Letters of the alphabet put together make up all lit.

B. I often think of these problems

2. Merry Xmas!

Teenager

Alias Ricky Roche

You helped me with better knowlege also respect. You gave me a push to take out a Librarry Card and get more meanings from my readings. You have been as wonderful as my own mother to me and I loved my mother very much while she was here. I guess I love you just about the same. You are the neatest teacher in the school.

Love and Xmas

Jose Rodriguez

Don't think me unscrupulous but I feel towards you like a friend. You tried to make even Shakesp. understandable. Also I dress more conservitive, I wear my eyelashes only on dates now.

Maybe it's none of my bussiness but you are young and I hope you don't make teaching a profession. I would like to see you married soon so you would take care of your husband and children, teaching takes everything out of your life. If you stay home and raise a familly you will be very happy and you will see your husband quite often.

Linda Rosen

A hospitle teaches you a good lesson. Only it's worst for the color people. Like today I was marked late even if it's almost Xmas. Is that fair? No mater what I do I'm always the last one, I'm next to the last one to sign this sheet.

Edward Williams, Esq.

If you read this and I hope you do you will know I'm crazy about you and if I ever did anything to show the opposite I'm sorry. It may surprize you because I kept quiet and never even wrote in the Suggestion Box but I want you to know more than anything how I think you're the most beautiful person I ever met as a teacher. I have to leave you to find a job next term but maybe I’ll catch a glimmer of you sometimes as I don't live too far away, having looked up where you live.

Katherine Wolzow

55. A for Effort

December 24

Dear Ellen,

It is Xmas Eve and here I lie, with my elevated plaster foot partly obstructing the funereal flower arrangement from the Teachers' Interest Committee on the hospital bureau in front of me, and papers piled up on the bed. Papers from the Board (which still doesn't know my sex); from Willowdale; from my colleagues; from Finch; from McHabe; Accident Reports; Absence Refund slips; End of Term sheets—papers to fill out, papers to check off, papers to sign, papers to countersign, papers to notarize, papers to mail and papers to file.

I feel quite at home.

The hospital allows it semi-private patients two visitors a day. Bea has been in and out. McHabe was here for a few uneasy moments to pay a duty call. He kept looking at his watch and waiting for the dismissal bell, I think. Paul came with a clever parody of Ezra Pound in many cantos. He's begun a new novel—about a nuclear physicist marooned on a peninsula: in Kamchatka, I believe. That's in Russia. Or maybe Asia. Each of my classes delegated one student to visit me.

My homeroom sent me a round robin of appreciation and revelation: a kid who all term signed himself "The Hawk" turned out to be a tiny, scared-looking boy given to outbursts of enthusiasm; my "emeny" is now my "freind"; and I have not passed through 304 unnoticed.

My English 5 presented me with a gift on which they must have lavished much love and thought and chipped-in money. It's in such bad taste that it moved me almost to tears: a shining chrome ashtray or candy dish with glass grapes.

My English 33 SS (my super-slows, my under-achievers, my non-academics) have composed a ballad for me which they are transcribing in India ink on a special scroll and which I am to receive shortly.

Not a word from Ferone.

Thank you for your eloquent letter. I'd like to think you're right, but I have learned my limitations and my private failures. It was the idea of teaching, the idea of kids that I'd been in love with. I didn't really listen; not even when their parents, on Open School day, tried to tell me; not even when the children themselves, in their own words, said so much more than their words on paper said. Not until I had come face to face with one boy.

Bea has a way of knowing. She listens to her feelings; that's why for her it's simple. And Grayson— for him it's simple too. But I, Sylvia Barrett—what mark do I get?" "A" for Effort.

"A man's reach should exceed his grasp" I once taught. This implies the inevitability of frustration. Not to lower my sights, not to compromise; to accept the "challenge," to keep fighting, to find rewards even in failure because failure is due to aiming too high; not to give up, for all the leather chairs in Willowdale.

It is too much to ask.

"Sauve qui peut," Paul once—

I hear visitors at the door—

To be continued—

Bea just left. She brought news of the latest legislation: future Faculty Shows have been outlawed. All school entrances, with the exception of the main one, will be locked "except when in use." Vigilance of patrol will be redoubled. It was suggested—but vetoed—that all visitors to school be frisked. The auditorium was to be used for assemblies only. The pagoda was scrapped.

I asked about the kids. Eddie Williams is definitely dropping out, as are several others. Jose Rodriguez is staying. So is Vivian Paine. She wants to be an English teacher, and a high school diploma is a prerequisite. Bea didn't know about Rusty or Ferone.

I don't know about Ferone either. He may be my most spectacular failure, or my one real success. If he drops out, I may never know.

"What else is happening in school?" I asked.

"Life is happening there. That's where life is," she said. It was shameless propaganda. She is still trying to dissuade me from leaving.

It's not fair. I admit my ambivalence—when I reread the round robin, when I look at the ugly chrome and glass candy dish, when I think of their faces.

I have learned how vulnerable I am.

But I must look realistically at the future. Perhaps I'm not equal to what awaits me at Calvin Coolidge. Unless I stop caring. Until, one day, I find myself punching in with indifference, punching out with relief. Until I become as bitter as Loomis, as plaintive as Mary, nursing my grievances and varicose veins.

At Willowdale, I have a chance to be "mine own woman."

If I choose to remain at Coolidge, then Clarke may justly, on his End of Term Report, call me "loony"!

In the meantime, Willowdale is waiting for clearance on my resignation from the Board and for a letter from Dr. Clarke—a mere formality. I am waiting for a "Dear Sir or Madam, Resignation accepted" letter. No regret, no gratitude, just "Resignation accepted"; that, I understand, is the usual form the Board sends.

And, of course, I am waiting for a letter from you.

I shall be here at the hospital for another week or two; after that I'll take my metatarsal home in a "walking cast" till the end of the term.

Remember me in your wassail, and—to quote a student for the last time—may you have a Happy New Year always!

Love,

Syl

P.S. Did you know that teachers have been resigning from the New York City school system at the rate of approximately a thousand a year?

S.

56. Ballad

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year

From your Poets of Eng.33 SS

57. Dear Sir or Madam

BOARD OF EDUCATION OF THE

CITY OF NEW YORK

DEAR SIR OR MADAM:

IN REPLY TO YOUR REQUEST FOR RESIGNATION, PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT YOURS WAS FILLED OUT IMPROPERLY.

YOU MUST OBTAIN THE PROPER FORM FROM THE OFFICE OF TENURE AND APPOINTMENTS.

January 5

Dear Miss Barrett,

We at Willowdale are looking forward to having you with us in the February semester. As you know, your appointment is contingent upon your resignation from the Board of Education and a letter from your principal. We have not as yet received either communication. Would you be kind enough to let us know the reason for the delay?

Most cordially,

Robert S. Corbin

Dept. of English and Comparative Lit.

P. S. There is every likelihood that a Chaucer seminar will be formed, open to eight students majoring in English.

Dear Miss Barrett,

I am sending you to the hospital: Circulars #42 and #43 on Teacher's Welfare. Please fill out Accident Reports A and B and the forms Miss Finch is sending you under separate cover, and mail them back at once, with witness or witnesses to the accident.

James J. McHabe

Adm. Asst.

We miss you.

JJ McH

Jan. 5

Dear Syl—

I'm glad you're up and hobbling, and that you'll be out of the hospital soon. You looked wonderful when I saw you last week—rested and relaxed. Little wonder.

School is the usual post-holiday bedlam. One forgets, when one has been out of it for a while, the pettiness, the fever and the fret; then swiftly, in a day or two, one is sucked in again! Right now we're in the midst of final reports and entries. Once more the library is closed to the kids; once more we poke and scratch in the PRC's.

It doesn't seem possible that you may not be here next term. What can we do to lure you? Give you lunch period at noon? Classes of no more than 35? All the red pencils you can use? Extra board erasers? Your broken window fixed? No patrol assignments? Honors classes? A non-floating program?

Or could you be seduced by the new building the Board has been promising us for the last seven years? According to plans carefully drawn up and dangled before us every couple of years we are supposed to be getting: a courtyard rimmed by classrooms, with "facilities for dining and study among shrubs," a complete air-conditioning system, electronic devices that sound like hoot owls to signal the end of classes, two gymnasiums and an indoor swimming pool with underwater portholes for instructors to observe and instruct swimmers!

Teaching here isn't so bad. Once you accept as one of the ineluctable laws of nature that kids will continue to say "Silas Mariner" and "Ancient Marner" and "between you and I" and "mischievious," and that the administration will continue to use phrases like "egregious conduct" and "ethnic background" you can go on from there.

And you can go much farther with adolescents than with college people—especially you, with your gift of generating excitement and provoking thinking, whether in a slow and stumbling kid or a quick, bright one. You've seen them open their eyes and walk out, blinking, into day. You've heard that sudden intake of breath, like a sigh, when suddenly it becomes clear and they see, they see! This is what it means to teach— and you are one of the few who can.

Come back!

The new term will be shaping up very much like the old; there will be the usual number of sabbatical and maternity leaves in February, and more than the usual number of new kids. Mary has been asked to volunteer for additional duties as grade adviser. Loomis, who's had an offer in industry at a much higher salary (and without kids), got cold feet and chose to remain in the safety of the school system. Paul has been sauntering into school in a faint vapor of alcohol. And Henrietta went and touched up her hair over the holidays: from salt and pepper to bright ginger.

I got carried away there a while back. But I feel it would be such a waste if someone like you were swept away from us.

Bea

Dear Miss Barrett,

Will you please enter final marks on the enclosed End Term Sheets for each of your students, so the substitute can transfer them to PRC's.

Will you please send to me the CC's, Service Credits, and number of times absent (excused and unexcused) and late (excused and unexcused) for each of your homeroom students.

Also, Book Blacklist of students who failed to return their books, and any moneys you have collected for the renewal of subscriptions to The Clarion and for the G.O. Field Trip.

I hope you feel better.

Sadie Finch

Chief Clerk

BOARD OF EDUCATION OF THE

CITY OF NEW YORK

DEAR SIR OR MADAM:

AFTER 35 YEARS OF ACCREDITED SERVICE, OR AFTER 30 YEARS OF SERVICE IF AT LEAST 55 YEARS OF AGE AND IF THE TEACHER HAS ELECTED 55-30 COVERAGE, OR IF THE TEACHER IS NOT AT LEAST 55 YEARS OF AGE OR DID NOT ELECT 55-30 COVERAGE, AFTER 30 YEARS OF SERVICE, BUT AT A CONSIDERABLY REDUCED PENSION, A TEACHER IS ELIGIBLE FOR RETIREMENT.

Dear Miss Barrett:

Due to an unavoidable and regrettable oversight, your letter asking for a letter to Willowdale Academy has been inadvertently mislaid. I shall be pleased and happy if you plan to leave us to write a recommendation with an S rating, but

I hope and trust you will return to active duty here.

Sincerely yours,

MAXWELL E. CLARKE

PRINCIPAL

Dear Sylvia,

Delighted to hear you're mending. Do you happen to have on you an extra key to the john? Can you mail it to me?

Henrietta

BOARD OF EDUCATION OF THE

CITY OF NEW YORK

DEAR SIR OR MADAM:

APPARENTLY YOU WERE SENT THE WRONG FORM. THE FORM YOU WERE SENT IS A RETIREMENT FORM. YOU NEED A RESIGNATION FORM.

BUREAU OF APPOINTMENTS AND RECORDS

Dear Sylvia,

The Teachers' Interest Com. (they've stuck me with that too!) want to know if and when you are leaving, so that we can start collecting money for your going away gift and farewell tea.

I've been meaning to visit you, but the work has been piling up so high I have to take it home every day to get it in on time. I wish I could just lie down someplace like you!

Mary

BOARD OF EDUCATION OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

DEAR SIR OR MADAM:

IN ANSWER TO YOUR REQUEST FOR A RETIREMENT FORM, YOU WERE SENT THE OLD RETIREMENT FORM INSTEAD OF THE NEW RETIREMENT FORM.

BUREAU OF APPOINTMENTS AND RECORDS

Dear Miss Barrett,

Due before 3: All items on the enclosed circular #134 are to be checked off. See also Addenda to the Circular.

I'm sorry you've been getting the wrong forms from the Board. You must apply for the correct form to the Division of Appointments and Records.

Sadie Finch

Chief Clerk

Dear Miss Barrett,

I recall a lesson on "The Road Not Taken," and a fruitful discussion on choices. I hope you've made the right one; though whichever it is, as you yourself pointed out, it is bound to be charged with regret.

With best wishes for a speedy recovery—

Samuel Bester

Dear Miss Barrett,

No matter how I add up my marks my average is still 61%! Well, well! Here's hoping that one more Extra Credit will pick me up to 65%! I have no more books I read but will try to read some more if I pass!

Odyssus

Odyssus left Troy after killing a couple of million people and with his men were going home. But these giants at an island they stoped at smashed Odyssus men to pieces! After that they went to the Cyclopes who ate them gradually, but Odyssus stuck something in his eye blinding the Cyclope and which resulted in the Cyclope not being able to see. After that they went to Circe who changed the men into pigs but Odyssus changed them back! Finally they went to the island of the sun and ate up all the sun's cattle. But Zeus killed all the men except Odyssus since he was the hero. By now all the men are dead! Odyssus lands in Ogygia and stays there for 7 years. Finally he comes home.

Even if I don't pass I hope you come back! Because you know you can't get along without us, Ha-ha!

(I laugh a lot but mostly I don't mean it)

Lou Martin