Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Police Enter the Classroom


(Continued from last Wednesday, September 18 . . . )



Cartoon courtesy of Fishducky.

Each weekday between January 18 and February 15, 1960, I entered a seventh-grade Omaha classroom. After the students and I said morning prayers and recited the pledge of allegiance, I’d try to teach. Many of them talked, shouted, sang, cursed, yelled across the room. Others, however, maybe as many as two-thirds of the fifty-five, leaned forward at their desks, attempting to hear my voice over the din.
         At least once a week, a policeman visited me after school, asking questions about the students in my classroom, several of whom were members of the gang terrorizing that area of Omaha. Ron, the gang’s leader, gave me a hard time each day. I’d first met him as he banged a fellow classmate’s head against the playground ice.
         “They can bruise every part of your body and not break a bone,” the policeman confided. “Every kid in this neighborhood’s frightened. No one’ll rat on ‘em. You gotta be careful, Sister. They’ll turn on ya. Right here in this classroom.”
         I thanked him for his advice but I’d learned on the third day in that classroom that I had to face the students at all times. On that day—Wednesday January 20—I was facing the chalkboard, my right hand raised and to the side as I wrote some tidbit of knowledge. I heard a zing and then a thud.
         A quivering knife embedded itself about an inch from my little finger. My hand started trembling.
         The room was ominously silent as I turned and looked at that sea of faces. Some bore horror; others, triumph; still others, scorn.
         Given that the knife had zinged right past my hand, I thought it must have come from a boy in the row behind me. But no one looked guilty. Everyone just seemed interested in what I’d do.
         My hand still trembling, I pulled out the knife. Carried it with me to the door. Left the room. Crossed the hall to Sister Brendan’s room. Knocked.
         When she came to the door, I handed her the knife and explained what had happened. “Have all the students empty their pockets and purses on their desks. Then confiscate any weapons,” she said. “I want you to stand by your classroom door each morning from now on. Have the students empty out their pockets and handbags before coming into the room. Give any weapons to me.”
         I did this for the rest of the school year.
         During those early weeks, I had one proof-positive experience of what the policeman had tried to explain to me. After school one day, James stayed to ask what he needed to study to get into college. Not knowing the Nebraska colleges, I offered to talk with the other nuns that evening and get some information for him.
         The next day, I noticed that he moved gingerly in his desk as if in pain. When the other students filed out at the end of the day, I said, “James, you’re moving like you’re hurt. Has something happened?”
         He stood silent as if not sure what to say. Slowly he drew up his T-shirt. Dark bruises covered his entire chest and back. Deep purple bruises on top of bruises. Despair filled his dark eyes.
         “Who did this to you?”
         “The guys. In the gang.”
         “Why?”
         “They thought I was snitching on them when I stayed after school. Yesterday. So they ganged up on me.”
         “Will you tell this to the police?”
         He shook his head vehemently. “That’d land me in the hospital. Ron won’t be so easy on me next time.”
         And that was that. I was powerless to help him.
                                    (. . . continued tomorrow, Thursday September 19.)

NOTE: I don’t want to hold you in suspense any longer as to how and why things changed in that Omaha classroom. So tomorrow—Thursday—I’ll tell that story.          

40 comments:

  1. Oh, my God!! You obviously survived that year--did James?

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    1. Dear Fishducky, I don't know what happened to any of these young people after they left grade school. There was no high school in this parish. But I've never forgotten both the first and the last names of six students: Ron, Bill, John, James, Tommy, and another John. They must all be 66 now. I so hope they've had good lives. Peace.

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  2. Wow knives flying across the room, that would sure be scary

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    1. Dear Pat, it was--for me and I think for many others in the room. Peace.

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  3. Thanks for not keeping us in suspense much longer, Dee. This is such a riveting account and I really do want to know how things turned out. You're a brave woman and you learned that courage the hard way.

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    1. Dear Perpetua, you've all waited patiently. It's time for a denouement. Peace.

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  4. I couldn't turn my back on my students because they threw things at me, but never a knife. A number of them had already been in jail or juvenile detention, and when I asked them why, the answer was always "fighting". Your experience is so frightening. Thank you for sharing it with us, in your usual way that makes us feel we are there with you.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, your experience, I think, was more frightening than mine. Peace.

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  5. You are so much braver than I would ever have been...I'd of been out of there!!! That's just terrible! But, I can't wait till tomorrow.

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    1. Dear Turquoisemoon, I don't think I was brave, just naive. Peace.

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  6. Dee, in all my 29 years in teaching, I never had to deal with anything like that. That you didn't walk out is a testament to your perseverance. I look forward to reading what happens!

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    1. Dear Shelly, I never experienced anything like this again either. Peace.

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  7. This is so disheartening. It seems the entire school is held hostage.

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    1. Dear Joanne, I've never thought of the whole school being hostage but in a real way it was. Peace.

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    1. The things you have been through, Dee are amazing. You are a true survivor!

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    2. Dear Arleen, thanks for the kind thoughts but I really believe that all of us are survivors in some ways. And we all go through difficult times. I look at women who have children addicted to drugs or something else. Those mothers are the survivors in my book! Peace.

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    3. Dear Arleen, I didn't have many words at the time either. Mostly I took deep breathes and fought back tears. Peace.

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  9. I am just so amazed that you persisted. The knife would have done me in though the police warning might have done it earlier. I feel so badly for you but also for those good kids that really wanted to learn and better themselves. I can't wait to hear more.

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    1. Dear Patti, so many of those young people did want to learn. And they, too, were amazed at how the rest of the class tested me. Peace.

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  10. what darling children! I look forward to the rest of the story tomorrow.

    Mimi's watercolors

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    1. Dear Mimi, there are two or three more postings to finish that year off. Peace.

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  11. It seems almost impossible to believe that you survived all this, and became the person you are. I can't wait until tomorrow to find out how this turned out.

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    1. Dear DJan, the solution itself was simple, but the aftermath made me feel so inadequate. Peace.

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  12. i'm so glad you will finish the story for us! Dee...knives thrown at you? I think i say the same thing to you each week, but you just amaze me. I can't even imagine how you stayed with it! You are truly someone special. See you tomorrow. :-) (http://www.breathelighter.wordpress.com)

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    1. Dear Debra, wait until I get to the posting after next! At least I think that's when I'll get to tell Maureen's story. Peace.

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  13. Oh Dee. My heart hurts for you, and for all those in this class. I will be here tomorrow.

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    1. Dear EC, so many of those students wanted to learn--like James. Peace.

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  14. My heart is thumping away and I'm waiting anxiously to 'turn the page' and find out what happens next. By gum, you've lived life, Dee! Not only that, but you sure know how to tell a story...

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    1. Dear Broad, thanks for the words about my telling a story. I'm 3/4s Irish and both my brother and I love to weave a yarn! Peace.

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  15. Knives whizzing past your body ..... WOW. And yet you stayed. Your life is movie material..... ever think about that?

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    1. Dear Manzanita, I didn't really have much choice about staying or going. I'd taken a vow of obedience. The only thing I could have done was leave the convent and that simply wasn't done at that time. Peace.

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  16. I'll be awaiting for the rest of the story, Dee. I really, really want to believe that some of these children (for they were still children) turned out okay. The trauma you endured teaching, with knives flying through the air and a pervading sinister air, as well as how that trauma affected the other students is mind boggling.

    Was Boys Town, forever famous by Spencer Tracy, in Nebraska?

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    1. Dear Penny, all of this is a little mind boggling, but I think that's because it happened over fifty years ago. We've gotten use to learning about classrooms throughout our country where these kind of things are happening today.

      And yes, Boys Town is in Omaha, Nebraska. Peace.

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  17. My Gosh... I taught school in 1965 (after college)... I had a few unruly students but nothing like what you encountered... Your situation sounds like it happened these days --since kids 'seem' so much worse now than they did. I had no idea there were gangs in 1960--and that bullying went on back then. I can't wait to see what else happened... This is an incredible story... I couldn't have stayed in that classroom since my temper probably would have gotten the best of me. Not sure what I would have done.... I'm sorry you EVER had to endure this...

    Hugs,
    Betsy

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    1. Dear Betsy, despite how hard all that was, I learned in the weeks between then and May, when the school year ended, how to teach and those days influenced my teaching down to this day. Peace.

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  18. This kind of gang stuff is really scary and thatwas in the '60's!

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    1. Dear Heidrun, yes, in the '60's. And still today. Peace.

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  19. I was not expecting a knife being thrown at you!! OMG! I am so glad you are posting again tomorrow! I would have been in shock, I think. Gang members and weapons. To say you have led an interesting life is an understatement!

    I feel really badly for the teachers today where this kind of thing isn't as unusual as it might have been in the 60s. Sadly I think it has become more common for them to bring knives and guns--and why schools have metal detectors and such. Sorry state of affairs.

    Anyways, can hardly wait to read tomorrow's post!!

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    1. Dear Rita, yes, teachers today in so many schools face terror every day and so many students who want to learn are not being taught because of this. It's a tragedy. Peace.

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