Schoolville: Chapter 16
“To a hungry rat, food is a natural reinforcer.”
- B.F. Skinner, famous behaviorist of rats who, sadly enough, has had a profound influence on the manipulation of human beings.
Chapter Sixteen
The weekly Wednesday Entmoot was in full swing, and Sara was giving us her version of a motivational speech. It was 6:30 A.M. and I wasn’t surprised that about a third of the faculty was not yet there. Sara however, had walked into the library exactly on time, ordered us all to sit down, which we were already doing, popped a tape into a VCR, and told us to watch. It was a video cartoon version of a book called “Who Moved My Cheese”.
“This is appalling!” Horton was aghast.
“Whassup?” B.D. was curious
“This is her idea of a motivational speech?”
“Oh c’mon!” B.D. laughed. “This will be fun. I mean, look at her! She really thinks that she is motivating Tom here with a cartoon! Hee Hee!”
“After all of her crap, and her deceitful manipulations, now she’s going to show me a cartoon?”
“You got it Hoss!” B.D. was knee deep in his favorite topic: bullshit.
The cartoon featured several worn out old rats in a B.F. Skinner maze. The parallel was so ironic, that I couldn’t believe this video wasn’t really a joke. But I knew by now that Sara didn’t joke.
The rats were used to having their cheese fed to them in a certain spot because they had been made to eat it there for years. They have never had any choice about what to eat, where to eat it, or when. All those decisions had been made by someone else for years. But the rats had complied slavishly.
One day, the manipulative bastard who has complete control over them, moves their cheese. No reason is given; he or she just does it, because they have the power over the rats, which had spent their entire pointless lives in a maze they didn’t make. This maze has artificially limited their growth, intelligence, and their creativity. The have lost the ability to overcome obstacles, and create solutions to problems, not to mention anticipate problems and deal with them proactively. The rats have no choice about being controlled or manipulated. When their cheese is moved, they have no effective mechanism for coping. They become negative and reactive. The rats have grown old as disempowered mindless rodents, doing what they were made to do, never having any thoughts or any control over themselves until they get screwed once again.
“Someone moves their cheese! Can you believe that she doesn’t see the irony in showing this video to a bunch of teachers in a public school?” Horton wasn’t finding this humorous at all.
The story continued with the cheese being moved a second time, after the rats finally found it again. B.F. Skinner would have been proud. B.D. loved the rich irony. He was screaming with delight. “Ok, Ok, Ok! Let’s see if I’ve get this. Rats are taken out of their natural environment, and put into an unnatural environment. Am I right? Am I right?”
“Right,” I replied.
“They are only in this maze because they are forced to be there. They don’t have the power not to be. Am I still right?”
“Right!”
Horton was sadly shaking her head. “I wonder if they would ever have the balls to show this to the students…”.
“Their existence in this maze is both artificial and pointless. The only reason that they are there is so someone can manipulate certain behavior from them. They are there to be coerced at the whim of whoever is in charge. They are never allowed to be anything else, other than mind-numbed rodents, because this same Skinnerian bastard wants it that way. Then he moves their cheese because he wants to coerce some other behavior out of them. Am I still getting this?”
“Right again, B.D.!” I replied.
“They aren’t allowed to think for themselves, they don’t really serve any function except to do what they are made to do if they want to eat. Right?”
“Right!” Horton and I were growing bored by these incessant questions.
“And they’re showing this to a bunch of public school teachers!” I couldn’t help but break out laughing. The other teachers at my table scowled vaguely in my direction, and Sara narrowed her eyes at me.
“Look out! No one’s going to move her fucking cheese!” B.D. was laughing his ass off now.
Horton moaned. “They sure as hell better not ever show this to the students! They won’t be as stupid as the teachers!”
I decided that I’d had enough, and tuned out the cartoon rats mindlessly searching for their cheese.
“Horton, what’s the message behind this cartoon?” I asked as I slumped down to close my eyes and regain my self-control.
“Oh, probably that you have to accept change, or some such nonsense, overlooking the obvious fact that the only one who never changes is Sara Getty.” she replied.
“Oh c’mon! She is going to lecture us about accepting change?” B.D. was really rolling now. “Maybe it’s just that we are threatened by a strong woman…”
I started choking and coughing badly. Excusing myself, I went out to the hallway. I wasn’t going back until the video was over. B.D, Horton, and I all agreed that we weren’t up to the task of being rodents.
However, even the best of things come to an end, and I saw the lights go up through the windows. Sighing resignedly, I walked to the door. Entering the library again, Sara was already introducing her next topic. “I’m passing around a form that you all need to sign. It is our proof that you have all heard the mandatory equal opportunity lecture on sexual harassment.”
“OH…MY…GOD! You’d better listen to this, you white male oppressor you!” B.D.’s voice was lilting with laughter.
Sara was reading passionately from a paper, with an enraptured look on her face. “At Wilson High School, we are firmly committed to diversity. Failure to comply with this policy will meet with disciplinary action, up to and possibly including termination.”
Sara folded her paper solemnly in half, looking very much like a preacher who has just delivered a sermon to a congregation of liars, thieves, and fornicators. Horton sighed. “I wonder if she can even hear herself. How can she, of all people, read that with a straight face?”
“She believes in diversity, as long as everyone is like her.” B.D. sneered.
Sara began flogging the same dead horse once again. “Now, I want to say one more thing about these minority failure rates…”
“Oh God!” B.D. just couldn’t take it, so I changed the subject for him.
“You know B.D; they really don’t believe this diversity crap anyway.
“No shit?”
Sara’s voice suddenly became quite loud as she slammed both her hands on her table. “So, to take a lesson from the video that we just watched, we have to change how we’re teaching the minority boys.”
“THAT’S A LAUGH!” B.D. yelled back at her. “We can’t even wash mold off of a wall without you having a cow over it!” Fortunately, I was the only one who could hear.
It was easy to see, from the look on Sara Getty’s face, that the answer to every problem always lay with the kids or the parents these days, (Why when I was a parent, I never allowed my kids to… blah, blah, blah). Although in all fairness, she occasionally did blame the quality of the teachers, or the custodial staff, or the building, or the fact that we put too much emphasis on football. The answer to Sara Getty’s problems would never lay in the mirror. I’d bet the ranch on that.
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As I tuned back into “Somnolescence with Sara”, she was saying; “This is why I make a point of hiring teachers in the alternative certification program. They can’t leave until after the second year. They are stuck with us for two years. Otherwise they will not obtain a teacher certification in this State.” She wore her most winning smile as she actually said that right in front of us new teachers as if we weren’t there. I glanced over at Joan and Carmen, both who were certified through the alternative certification program, which indentured them for two years at the district. They couldn’t leave. Both were slumped down in their seats studying the tabletop in front of them diligently. They probably already knew that they had made a mistake in coming to Wilson High, and I felt sorry for them.
“What a stupid insensitive bitch! What a witless oaf!” This was Horton.
B.D. goaded her on a bit. “Wanna go over and hit her?”
“With a Louisville slugger!” Horton whipped back.
B.D. and I backed off. We agreed with her, but neither of us thought we’d look cute in prison stripes, sharing a cell with ‘Bubba’.
Sara Getty went on to discuss how much effort it took to train new teachers. I enjoyed that part the best, because she was the reason that new teachers rarely ever stayed more than a year at Wilson High, and she didn’t seem to have a clue. It was perversely pleasurable to sit back and watch her rant about how the beatings would continue until morale improved.
Does she really think that she can act like this, with no repercussions? How delusional is she? I wondered to myself, not for the last time.
“Well, can’t she? What’s to stop her?” B.D. shrugged. As I wandered through these ruminations, Sara, as if right on cue picked up her rant about lowering the bar so that minority boys would pass. She obviously didn’t expect them to succeed.
“Jesus! Not again!” B.D. was dying.
Somewhere during these meanderings, I must have fallen asleep. I know that I do recall waking up enough to hear Sara go on and on about how running the school was a team effort, and that everyone had to work together. However, no team goals were ever mentioned. The school board was pressuring Sara Getty, and she was now rolling it all down on us. These minority boys were going to be our goals, but my personal goal was to avoid Sara Getty as much as possible. As I drifted back to sleep, Sara was making it clear to us that we were to get the school board and State Board of Education off her back, by getting the minority students (those thoughtless bastards) over the bar any way we could. Including changing a grade if necessary. The State Board of Education was pressing the school board, who in turn was pressuring Sara Getty, because of the unusually high failure and drop out rate.
B.D, as usual, hit the nail right on the head. “Yep!” He chipped in. “Those inconsiderate black boys are at it again!”
Horton couldn’t help but ask. “What about the white boys? What about the girls? Don’t they matter? What about the Hispanic kids? This is Texas, isn’t it?”
As I tried drifting back to naptime, B.D. was making it plain to Horton. “Don’t you listen, you idiot? Sara is making her point crystal clear. Our collaborative efforts are an inconvenience. Our suggestions and observations aren’t welcome!”
Horton ignored him, as usual. “But she can spout all of the teamwork buzzwords and jargon with the best of ’em, can’t she?”
B.D. alertly pointed out that… “Getting the school board off of her back is our team goal, that’s plain enough.”
How typical… I thought to myself.
“How racist!” Horton sneered. “Here we sit, a bunch of white teachers, and she wants us to pass these minority kids so that we don’t appear to be a bunch of racists! “What happens when they apply to college and can’t get in?” She asked.
B.D. supplied an answer. “I’m guessing they are going to end up being telemarketers. Anyway, she doesn’t care, as long as they graduate, that’s all that matters to her, the school board, or the state.”
Suddenly I realized that I had been talking to Horton and B.D. for a long time. Hoping that I hadn’t been talking aloud, I glanced around. No one was looking at me. I was Ok.
Sara’s voice was changing; she was smiling her ferrety smile. Obviously, the Entmoot was ending. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 7:00 A.M. Silent looks were exchanged with my colleagues. We rose and left.
Walking through the doors to the courtyard, I turned right and headed for the Gym. It was Wednesday and I had duty for the next twenty minutes. Every teacher had to spend one morning each week, or one afternoon after school, being visible in an area of the school where students congregated. The teacher’s manual stated that we were to monitor inappropriate student behavior, such as public displays of affection, drug or alcohol use, smoking, or whatever else we didn’t want to put up with. The teacher’s manual also stated clearly that we were to seek help from an administrator in case of “an altercation” between students. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that since the gymnasium was about five minutes from the Administration building, someone would end up dead before any help was forthcoming. However, the district had covered its ass by putting a teacher nearby. If anything major happened, they could blame one of us for not breaking it up.
I was standing watching the students, of which there were approximately three hundred in my vicinity. Glancing at my watch, I had only two minutes to go, when suddenly my worst nightmare burst into full, sickening flower. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a boy who was about my size, begin to back away from a very large boy, about twice my size and weight, who shucked off his backpack and advanced rapidly on him. His hands were in fists. I had just enough light to see that neither of them had a knife or a weapon. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I thought about running for the administration office. Looking at the two boys again, I saw that the smaller boy had quit backing off. He was cornered against a building, trapped. The other students instantly knew what was happening, and formed a circle to watch, like wolves they watched the large student connect his fist to the smaller students nose, slamming his head into the wall with bone crunching force. The smaller student lashed out, trying to find a way out of the corner, but the big student was blocking his way. The big student then grabbed him by the hair and with his right fist, began pulverizing his face as the blood began to fly onto the audience, who were beginning to drop backpacks too. Clearly the fight was escalating into a full-blown rumble in the time it took for me to decide what I should do.
I hit the big student in the back of his knees with my shoulder, running into him as fast as I could. This caused him to quickly buckle over and fall face down on top of the smaller student, who was no longer defending himself. He had gone limp. The big student’s head hit the wall too, and that stunned him just long enough for me to get his right arm into an arm-lock.
“I’M GONNA BREAK YER FUCKIN’ ARM IF YOU HIT HIM AGAIN!” I yelled into the back of his head, as he gathered his knees under him and began to rise up with me on his back.
“Awright muthafucka! I gonna kill you!” He replied with surprising calm.
I kicked his feet out from under him, and he went down on the little student again, bouncing both of their heads against the sidewalk again.
“Hey!” A black kid yelled nearby. “Thas’ my homeboy! You can’t do that to him! Les’ kill him!”
I didn’t know if he was talking about killing me, the big student, or the little student, who was now completely limp, as the big student began beating the crap out of him with only his left arm, as he lay on top of his unconscious form.
“BACK OFF! ALL OF YOU!” I yelled as loudly as I could, but that was like spitting in the ocean. I suddenly realized that I was surrounded by a sea of noise. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw at least three more fights erupting. I had no idea who was fighting who, but the big student who I had in an arm-lock had switched to slamming the little student’s head into the pavement. Blood and spit were beginning to fly onto the three of us.
I had no option but to keep my back to the larger fight behind me, and I kept waiting for a knife in my ribs, when suddenly Dimitrius appeared from nowhere, and sat right across the large student’s back.
“Mistakyle! You got to put an end to this!” With that, he grabbed the big student’s hair and slammed his face down into the pavement so hard I am certain that I saw stars myself. The big student went limp in my hands, as I jumped up and turned to see perhaps twenty boys and girls rolling on the ground, throwing punches and kicks. They were trying to kill each other, as the other students formed a wall and cheered them on. It was absolutely appalling.
I had just enough time to form this thought when several students in the outside ring suddenly flew forward, and two VERY large campus policemen slammed into the fighting students blowing their whistles and ripping students apart from each other.
I looked at Dimitrius. “You’d better stand behind me.”
Dimitrius did better than that. He took to his heels into the doorway behind us and sprinted off down the computer wing. I was still sitting on top of the large student, who had started it all, when the police finally realized I was there.
“You’d better get out of here!”
I patted the large student who was my cushion. “Ok, but this is the guy who started it all, if you want to know!”
“Yeah! OK! Now get the hell out of here!” He barked.
I pointed to the little student who was lying under him, almost hidden from view. “This guy needs an ambulance!”
That brought the policeman to a pause. In the background, his partner was separating the last of the fighters. The campus cop I had been talking to, walked over and pulled out his handcuffs. After putting them on the large student, he grabbed the student’s ankles and dragged him off the smaller boy. Taking his flashlight out, he pulled up the boy’s eyelid and hit the light into his pupil. He didn’t appear to like what he saw when he did that to his other eye.
Speaking into his radio microphone which was clipped to his epaulette, he barked into it. “Ambulance is needed at the gym disturbance!”
A sound of static replied to him, as he turned to me. “Are you still here?”
That was all I needed to walk away.
I’ll always remember that fight. After reflecting on it, I drew a great deal of pride from the fact that I had never felt an ounce of fear during the episode. I don’t know why this means so much, but it does. I was also very proud of the fact that I was instrumental in having the large student sent to jail for assault, and I may have saved that smaller boy’s life. This also gave me a great deal of pride.
It wasn’t until I was about 30 minutes into the first period that I began to get the shakes. As I began to relive the experience, I finally began to feel the fear for the first time. I realized how lucky I had been.
Dimitrius was sitting in his desk as cool as he could be. He glanced up at me with a smile. He knew I owed him one. I smiled back, because I knew I had at least one minority boy who was not going to fail English. We exchanged glances only once, and we never spoke of the incident again. We didn’t need to speak of it. It was just a mark of respect, man to man. I’ll never give a shit what his other teachers thought of Dimitrius. I was grateful to have him as a friend. The most disturbing thought I had for months, following this episode, was what might have happened if Dimetrius had been assigned to Rose Ann’s class next door, instead of my English class. You never know how events will transpire to benefit you.
