Sixty Years Ago: Brown v. Board of Education

Sixty years ago tomorrow the United States Supreme Court handed down its decision in the case of Brown v. Board of Education. What was America then like?

Donald Sterling would have been mainstream.

At the heart of the court case was Linda Brown, an eight-year-old Negro. (You were lucky to be called a “Negro” sixty years ago. In 1954 the “N word” was usually “nigger.”)

What was the question before the court? Could Miss Brown attend school with white children? Most Americans forget today: but this case was brought against the school board of Topeka, Kansas. This wasn’t about the virulent racism of the Deep South. This was the habitual kind, as American as apple pie during that era.

Linda was too young to understand how the 9-0 decision of the high court would change the nation.

Linda Brown (foreground).
Segregated schools were then common even in places like Loveland, Ohio
where I long worked.

But it wouldn’t be easy. Four years earlier the University of Oklahoma lost a long-drawn legal battle. The school was ordered to admit G. W. McLaurin to its graduate program. McLaurin was a Negro. So university officials had to be creative. McLaurin was allowed to enroll but still segregated in classrooms, lunchroom and library.

“RESERVED FOR COLORED” signs helped him decide where to sit.

How bad was it in those days? Many doors to employment were barred to Negro workers. In 1950 they earned 52¢ for every $1 white workers made.

How bad? South Carolina voters sent Strom Thurmond to the U. S. Senate in 1954. Segregation was the foundation of his career. Thurmond once assured an audience:

“I want to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that there are not enough troops in the army to force the Southern people to break down segregation and admit the Nigra race into our theaters, into our swimming pools, into our homes, and into our churches.”

For some reason he failed to mention that Negroes had already “invaded” his bedroom. Three decades earlier, Thurmond had fathered a child by the black maid in his family.

Housing discrimination was then commonly accepted. From Los Angeles to Levittown, New York home buyers routinely signed racial covenants. This was a promise never to rent or sell to Negroes.

Fred Morrow was a special assistant in the White House under President Eisenhower. As a Negro, he had trouble finding an apartment in Washington. One landlord agreed to rent to Morrow. But he must agree never to linger in the main lobby. And would he mind riding the freight elevator?

Morrow passed on this offer.

Racists everywhere defended the “color line” with fervor. You could never be too careful about this “race-mixing” idea. So: blood banks stored white and black and blood separately.

The University of Kentucky was a basketball powerhouse in the 50s. But the school wanted no part of minority players. Big Blue teams remained lily-white for another decade.

How bad? Alabama outlawed interracial checker playing in public.

How bad? How ridiculously bad? In Richmond, Virginia a high school tennis player named Arthur Ashe was unable to schedule matches against white opponents. When a judge ordered integration of city parks Ashe showed up ready to play. Park officials turned him away. Then, to ensure good order, they cut down the nets to put an end to this foolishness.

Even Southern libraries were segregated. One Negro was arrested—for disorderly reading, possibly. Entering a segregated library he had the nerve to ask to check out a biography of Robert E. Lee.

How bad? There were no Negro head coaches in the NFL. And, of course, there were no Negro quarterbacks. Most whites, even rabid football fans, assumed blacks weren’t smart enough to be leaders.

The Washington Redskins (o, irony!) were the last NFL team to integrate. George Marshall, the team owner, held out eight years longer.

No major U. S. city had ever elected a black mayor in those days. 

No black had ever served on the U. S. Supreme Court. (Today we’re stuck with Clarence Thomas.)

Thomas was five years old in 1954. His marriage to a white woman years later would have been illegal in Georgia at the time. A number of states, including Virginia, banned interracial marriage. Alabama banned it between a white and anyone with Negro blood down to the third generation.

Many states avidly suppressed Negro voting. The poll tax was still legal. (At Fox News they refer to this era fondly as “The Good Old Days.”) Literacy test were enforced selectively. Negroes never passed. If Negroes insisted on registering and voting gunfire and bombings often followed.

It wasn’t just bad. It was terrible.

Panola County, Mississippi had one Negro registered in 1954. This: out of 7,250 old enough to be eligible. (At least sixteen majority-black counties in the South had no registered Negro voters.)

With almost no black voters there were almost no black jurors. The first great trial of the civil rights era revolved around the murder of Emmett Till in 1955. Till, only 14, had come South from Chicago to visit relatives. Unfortunately, the young man made the mistake of whistling at a white Mississippi woman.

He was grabbed by two white men, beaten savagely, and shot in the head. His mangled remains ended up in the Tallahatchie River.

How bad was it for Negroes? Sickeningly bad. Sheriff Clarence Strider was in charge of the “investigation.” Strider’s sentiments in the matter could not have been clearer. He was furious when Northern reporters—including Negroes—showed up to cover the trial. “There ain’t going to be no niggers in my courthouse,” he told listeners.

(Courtrooms in Mississippi and all across the South still had separate seating areas for “Whites” and “Coloreds.”)

Was a fair trial then even possible? The prosecutor insisted that the two suspects in the case had simply gone too far. “The most [Till] needed was a whipping if he and done anything wrong,” he explained to the all-white jury. The defense lawyer was blunt about the key legal issue to be decided. “Your ancestors will turn over in their graves if [these defendants] are found guilty,” he warned jurors. “And I’m sure every last Anglo-Saxon one of you has the courage to free these men in the face of that [Northern] pressure.”

The jury quickly returned a “not guilty” verdict. It took sixty-seven minutes, including time for a pop break.

In Montgomery, Alabama blacks were still sitting in the back of the bus, as the law required. If the “Whites Only” section filled the driver could order black passengers to give up their seats. If the “Colored” section filled and seats in the “White” section remained Negroes could not fill them.

On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks, a 42-year-old seamstress, was arrested. After a long day at work she refused to relinquish her seat. Martin Luther King Jr. soon decided to help organize a bus boycott. His father begged him not to get involved. The whites would kill him. “It’s better to be a live dog than a dead lion,” he argued. When Martin Jr. could not be dissuaded the elder King wept.

At a mass meeting a few days later, the 26-year-old King delivered the first great speech of his career. The church where he spoke was packed to overflowing with listeners. “As you know, my friends, there comes a time,” he told them, “when people get tired of being trampled over by the iron feet of oppression.”

The battle for equality was about to begin.

The battle would not be easy.
It would take federal marshalls and troops in some cases to integrate schools.

Standardized Testing: So Far, We Might as Well Dump the Money in the Ocean

Teachers, imagine you had $1.7 billion to spend this year to buy good books and hand them out to students. Do you think average reading scores might rise because you put millions of books in eager young hands?

Of course you do. You’re teachers. You have faith in children.

Unfortunately, you don’t have that money because states are busy paying for all the standardized tests.

Do you think profits for testing companies are rising? And do you believe campaign contributions to politicians (by testing companies) are increasing? Yes. Yes, you do.

How much has Pearson Education, the leader in standardized testing spent on lobbying in recent years?

Well, with all this lobbying and testing how are students doing now? According to one study, students spend between 60 and 110 hours each year in grades where standardized tests are given—preparing for those tests. As a result, the National Assessment of Educational Progress reports reading scores for America’s seniors are soaring!

No, no, I’m just messing with you.

We’ve wasted a decade and we’ve been marching in place, if not backward. NAEP scores for seniors, since 1992:

How about scores in mathematics for seniors? This time there’s joy in Mudville! Now we’re talking progress!!!!

I’m being sarcastic. Scores are up three points since 2005, with no gain since 2009:

Even worse, huge racial gaps remain. The school reformers promised one virtue of No Child Left Behind would be closure of this racial gap. Now they have nothing to show for all their talk and all their meddling.

Curtailing teacher tenure? Didn’t help. More charter schools? No. Opening up new paths to teacher certification? Nope. More Teach for America geniuses in the classroom? Nope, you dopes. That didn’t help. How about more paperwork for teachers to fill out to prove they’re actually teaching? Oh, hell, nope.

None of this helped.

The white-black gap in math remained unchanged:

 

In reading it got worse:

Oddly enough, Asian-American/Pacific Islander kids continued to do better. Sitting in the same classes, listening to the same teachers, drinking from the same water fountains, they continued to score higher than their lighter and darker-skinned peers.

Not three points higher either.

Way higher.

(If you didn’t know better you might think factors beyond the control of teachers had a potent impact on learning. You know: factors like poverty concentrated among certain ethnic groups. Or cultural attitudes.)

Only twelve states chose to release their data. Nevertheless, we see that some states do better than others when educating children.

I suppose this means Massachusetts teachers are way better than those poor dolts teaching in West Virginia. (Sarcasm intended.) Therefore, I am calling on my favorite school reformers, Secretary of Education Arne Duncan and Wendy Kopp, to send a convoy of Teach for America stars to the Mountain State to save all the children! In both math and reading, West Virginia students finished last:

Of course, when all is said and done, simplistic “comparisons” mask a host of complex social issues. But we do know this. We’ve spent twenty billion dollars or so on standardized testing since 2002—and the end result when kids graduate is a giant pile of nothing. 

We might as well take next year’s $1.7 billion out to the middle of the Pacific Ocean and dump it. I can think of a few school reformers I'd like to dump in the ocean, too.

*

FOR AN UPDATE SEE: THE SCORES ARE IN: SCHOOL REFORMERS GET AN "F," ALSO ON THIS BLOG.

If you agree with my premise you might also like my book: Two Legs Suffice: Lessons Learned by Teaching. It is based on my 33 years in a classroom; and makes the best case I can against standardized testing as a measure of true learning.

Now available on Amazon.

Do Schools Fail or Do Homes Fail?

As a veteran teacher (now retired), I’ve long been interested in the role parents play in American education.

I spent 33 years in a classroom. 

So I understand that teachers matter.

What bothers me, particularly in recent years, is the laser-like focus in school reform on those who stand at the front of every class. Our “leaders” in education, various and sundry fools like Arne Duncan, insist that the key to improvement is holding teachers accountable for everything, even inclement weather. These leaders claim that we nust now measure everything teachers do, from respiration to defecation, to raise academic standards. They believe if we create enough charter schools and hand out enough vouchers then critical problems in education will magically fade away.

Call me a skeptic.

I was flipping through the pages of my personal diary last week when I came across a brief mention (in the fall of 1980) of a young New Jersey couple who offered to trade in their 14-month-old son for a used Corvette.

The dealer wanted $8,800 but…hey…these lousy parents had an extra child they didn’t want. How about a swamp: flesh for metal?

I don’t think in this young boy’s life that teachers were going to be the problem. 

In 1998, after spending an evening calling parents at home to inform them their sons or daughters were behind on their work in my class, I again jotted down a few thoughts in my diary (only the names have been changed below):

Spent 1 ½ hours on phone tonight with five parents. Bill Hawley’s mom has him in AA three nights a week and says he’s rated chemically dependent. (Carol [his sister] is also in the program on a limited basis.) Bill’s dad started him drinking at six—Bill got into his father’s cocaine.

Sure. Teachers matter. But parents play a fundamental role in education—shaping their children from the moment they’re born.

In my experience, most parents did a good job—just as did most teachers. But where children were badly warped by life in the home my colleagues and I could only mitigate the harm already inflicted.

My wife (also a retired educator) and I were watching an old CNN documentary about education recently, narrated by Morgan Spurlock. Spurlock, you might not remember, first became famous when he tried to live on McDonald’s food for a month. So his take on education was interesting. First, he visited a school in Finland—because Finland is now supposed to be a leader in education. (I think that’s a bit of a myth; but leave that issue aside.) Spurlock was trying to be fair and even did a little teaching, admitting later it was much harder than expected. Then he returned to visit Williamsburg Collegiate Charter School, a successful charter operation in Brooklyn.

I know there are good charter schools out there and based on Spurlock’s story, I think most of us would be happy to send our children to Williamsburg. I visited Discovery Academy in March, myself. This Toledo charter school is run by one of my former students, Mr. Noah Campbell. As expected his school was well-run and I came away impressed. I also talked to his faculty and again came away impressed. Most of his teachers we’re first-year educators but all were clearly serious about their crucial work with children. Good administrators and teachers always make schools better. But even dedicated individuals like those on staff at Discovery Academy can’t do everything.

Near the end of Spurlock’s documentary, he makes a bold and erroneous statement. He says every parent wants their child to succeed in school. 

That’s not true. 

Or: in too many cases, it’s only true to this degree sense. All of us who want to lose weight care about losing weight. We just don’t care enough to take real action.

The grim truth is that not all parents are equal—and truly bad parents cripple their children in ways educators find incredibly difficult and sometimes nearly impossible to overcome. All too often this crippling effect begins in the womb, with one in ten American mothers abusing drugs or alcohol during pregnancy. You can’t cure that kind of problem by grading schools as many of our school reform “leaders” insist.

You might as well grade hospitals.

To say all parents really care is absurd. Suppose your dad is Travis Henry, former NFL running back with the Denver Broncos. Dad has trouble finding time to help with your homework because…well…Dad has nine children by nine different women. Dad would like to pay child support, too, but Dad can’t do it, despite millions of dollars earned during his career, because he’s been busted several times for drug possession and finally for cocaine trafficking.

Bad parents come in all colors and can be seen at the top of the economic heap just as often as at the bottom. I taught in an affluent suburban district near Cincinnati and almost all my students were white and from well-to-do families. That didn’t stop one father from repeatedly molesting his seventh grade daughter—and stalling off teachers when we began to home in on root causes of the girl’s depression. I called that son-of-bitch several times and invited him in twice for meetings and he always assured us his daughter was happy at home. She just didn’t like school.

Every teacher comes to understand what Spurlock and all the reformers miss—that every imaginable type of human being can become a parent. You don’t even need to be sane to produce sperm or egg. Remember Ariel Castro, the sociopath who chained up three women in the basement of his home for more than a decade? He had a daughter by one of his victims.

Who in their right mind would argue that the biggest problems a child like that would face in life would be the quality of her elementary teachers?

How about Fred Phelps, who died this April? Phelps headed the Westboro Baptist Church, a hateful religious operation famous for picketing the funerals of American service people.. According to Time magazine one of his sons claimed dad kept all his offspring in line with fists and a club. Nate Phelps spoke of a life “filled with anger, fear and violence.” On one occasion his father used the handle of a mattock to beat his children into good behavior.

If all parents wanted their children to succeed in school or even lead a decent existence stories like that of Megan Huntsman wouldn’t make lurid headlines. The bodies of seven dead newborns, apparently born to Huntsman over the last decade, were found swaddled in rags in cardboard boxes in her garage. Where was her former husband, father of the couple’s three surviving daughters? Oh yes. In 2005 he was sentenced to nine years in prison on drug charges.

You can look at the problem on a case-by-case basis or consider it societally. It’s simple true. Not all parents are equal. Not even close. In 2013 it was reported that 2.7 million U. S. children had one or both parents locked up behind bars.

Most teachers I’ve ever met care deeply about helping every child—but when they can’t save them all, blaming them only makes their job, already hard, much harder. And it does nothing to help the children who most need help. I’m retired. Technically, I don’t have to worry. But if we really cared about every child we’d do far more to help every child. 

Think all parents care? Don’t be so naive. In 2009, for example, CBS reported that one fourth of all mothers and fathers who owed child support paid nothing. Zip. If we’re going to grade schools, as many of our reformers say we must, what do these deadbeat parents earn for a grade?

A ZERO in the gradebook seems appropriate.

In fact, even our greatest school reformers haven’t been able to fix broken families. Arne Duncan couldn’t fix the problem of youths in gangs in the Chicago Public Schools. Mayor Michael Bloomberg had three terms in office to improve schools in New York City? That didn’t help the rising tide of homeless children—22,000 of them. And remember Michelle Rhee? The Broom Queen was going to fix the Washington, D. C. public schools by sweeping out all the bad teachers. According to an article in the Washington Post last week it turns out teachers weren’t the biggest problem where thousands of D. C. students were concerned. Nout unless we’re going to fault teachers for lack of telepathic powers.

Even after all of Rhee’s sweeping, it turns out that one in five D. C. children piled up at least twenty days of unexcused absences last year; and that doesn’t factor in any excused absences. To put it simply: 20% of parents in D. C. allowed children to miss school 20% of the time. Even grading such moms and dads on a curve, they’d earn no better than a D- for ineffective parenting.

I have a good friend, a conservative fan of Fox News, and if you ask him he believes most public school teachers spend their days having sex with children and running to union representatives for protection. We know, of course, that scum bags do occasionally find employment in the classroom—and the faster we get rid of them the better. But one teacher having sex with a student garners more attention than 10,000 parents sexually abusing their children. There are, after all, an estimated three millions cases of child abuse and neglect in this country annually, involving six million children.

On average, four or five youngsters die every twenty-four hours.

Every good teacher and every good administrator I’ve ever known could have told you pretty much the same. These people devote their lives to trying to help the kinds of students who badly need help in school because they get no help (and often harm) at home. But our leaders continue to miss this dilemma. They talk about education as if only teachers factor into results. How would they help a homeless child and that homeless child’s teacher? Grade the school if the child can’t read at grade level. What about that seventh grader who was being molested by her father? How do our leaders help me, if I’m still teaching, help this poor young woman? 

Oh, hell, here’s their bold idea; Let’s have the girl take more and more and more standardized tests.

I’m retired. Maybe I’m just old and crotchety. But, if you ask me, I don’t believe our education “leaders” have any clue what they’re doing.



POSTSCRIPT:  Let me note very clearly that I am not bashing parents. Most of the parents I dealt with over the years were doing a fine job, just as I did with my children, just as most parents across the nation do every day.

In my experience, however, the kids who most needed saving usually came from homes where parents had failed badly. If we want to save ALL children we need to focus on that reality and do more to help teachers.

Teaching About Slavery

I’ve been trying to write a book about teaching and decided there wasn’t room for this chapter about slavery. Perhaps it will give other educators a worthwhile idea or two. I used to write my own materials, since textbooks tend to be so dull.

Excerpts follow:

Chapter Sixteen: Slavery: How Bad?

“…the absence of control. Here one lived knowing that at any time, anybody might do anything.”

Toni Morrison

...I began by creating two readings that looked the same and all examples came from the same sources. I simply divided them. Anything that made slavery sound good (or at least mild in nature) I put in one reading. Everything bad ended up in the other...

Each tale had the same title: HOW BAD WAS SLAVERY????? And the opening statement was the same:

The answer to the question, “How bad was slavery?” may surprise you. For now leave it at that. Remember that slavery began at Jamestown in 1619 and did not end till 1865. You should also know that in 1860 there were 4,000,000 slaves owned by 400,000 masters and mistresses.

The question, then, has a complex answer. The slave owners were ordinary people. So were the slaves.

After that the text was completely different and equally “true” or equally “untrue.” Or was truth complicated?

On one side I placed examples like these:

It may surprise you to know that not all owners were white. The Cherokee Indians practiced slavery. Marie Metoyer, a black woman, owned fifty-eight slaves. Cyprian Ricard, another free Negro, had ninety-one. Dilsey Pope owned her husband. After a terrible argument she sold him in anger. Later she cooled down and tried to buy him back.

His new owner refused.

I liked that one because I could imagine Dilsey pitching a fit, like any normal wife, and could imagine her regretting it.

The next section (about slave diet) ended with this:

…At Christmas one owner gave his slaves cheese, coffee and candy. The house servants of a Tuscaloosa, Alabama master gave a party for their friends at which cake and ice cream were served. Another slave reported that her owner gave her anything she asked for. Often she got up early, went “down in the kitchen and got my coffee and cream before the white folks got theirs.” “Yes,” she added, “my white folks was good to me.”

And then there was this:

Derry Coburn met Daniel Boone in the winter of 1800-01. For the rest of Dan’s life Coburn, a slave, was his “regular companion in the woods and probably his closest friend.” Once Boone got his hand mashed and stuck in a heavy trap and had to drag it back to camp. Coburn never thought about trying to escape. Instead, he removed the trap, bandaged his “master” up and went back to his cooking.

Another perfect setup was a quote by Solomon Northrup. Solomon was a free man living in Maryland until two con-artists promised a job with the circus, got him drunk, and carried him to Virginia where he was sold into servitude. (His story recently became the movie Twelve Years a Slave.) Even Northrup, however, had this to say about one master:

He described Miss Mary McCoy, owner of a hundred slaves, this way: “A lovely girl, some twenty years of age...she is beloved by all her slaves, and good reason indeed have they to be thankful that they have fallen into such gentle hands.”

She was “an angel of kindness.”

The pro-slavery reading ended with this:

Finally, we have the case of William Wells Brown. It is true—that he ran away from his owner. Then he was caught and thrown in jail. At the time he heard his master was ill.

You may wonder what slavery was like. But take note of what Brown had to say: “I prayed fervently [with intense feeling] for him.”

I assigned the “good” handout for homework and started class the following day by asking simply: “Were any of you surprised by what you read?” It soon turned out, that by writing carefully I had duped even the best students. (I taught seventh and eighth grades; I would hope older kids would not be so easilyt fooled.) And keep this in mind—there were good masters because there are good people in this world.[1]

“Who has something to say?” I wondered.

“I didn’t know there were black slave owners,” replied one of my students.

“One slave owner gave his slaves ice cream and cake,” offered another.

I took comments and added a few supportive ideas, stringing the fraud out as far as I could. Sometimes a student would object. “I read a book about slavery once, and it didn’t sound anything like this.”

“Was it a novel?” I asked. “You know, if you want to sell books, they have to be exciting. So it’s more interesting to have a daring escape than to write about shoeing horses or chopping cotton.”


Finally, when I felt I had played the string out as far as I could I asked someone to find the example of Solomon Northrup. What did he say about Miss Mary McCoy and what did it prove?”

I had a volunteer read the quote (mentioned above) then asked, “So what does this example prove?”

The student who had just read now agreed that slavery wasn’t as bad as she thought. One of the boys said there were a lot of good owners.

Read the paragraph again, I said. What does it really show?

Finally, someone would say: “Mr. Viall, it says they had reason to be thankful to have fallen into such gentle hands…Doesn’t that mean there were owners who were worse?”

“Ah…correct.”

I was surprised every year how few students saw through my subterfuge. Take the example of the owner who gave his slaves cake and ice cream. I waited in vain for someone to protest, “Mr. Viall, this was only one owner!”

I also liked to cite Jefferson Davis—who let slave set up courts, with slave judge and juries. Only once did he overturn a punishment—and that was to lower it. So who was in control, I asked every year? Again and again, students said—well—the slaves.

No, no.

“What word in the sentence shows Davis was in control?”

The answer dawned slowly. The key word, students would finally realize, was “let.” He let slaves have limited freedom.

Davis was still in charge.


At this point it was time to pass out the bad side of the story. I explained that everything in the first handout was true, as much as any limited view of reality is true. But was it the full story? If good people owned slaves, psychos did also. There were 400,000 slave owners. Some had to be evil.

“Finally, what happens when words are taken out of context?” I asked. “What did William Wells Brown say when he found out his owner was sick?” Not everyone was willing to take time to look for the quote. I added, “I’ll give you half my Twix bar if you find the answer first.” (I often ate candy during class and skipped lunch to help students later. And I knew almost all middle school students would perform for food—and kept a ready stash of candy bars in a bottom desk drawer.) Wendy raised her hand and claimed the treasure.

She read: “I prayed fervently [with intense feeling] for him.”

“All I did was saw the quotation in half. That is what he said, but not all of it. Wendy, you get the whole candy bar if you can guess the rest.”

“He prayed for him…to die?” she ventured.

“Correct! You are the Candy Bar Queen!”

I turned the kids lose and let them read on their own the remainder of the period. Now they heard Theophilus Conneau, captain of a slave ship, admit:

…Most vessels carried tools to pry slave’s mouths open if they refused to eat. There were nets to keep individuals from jumping overboard, a common form of suicide. On one voyage Conneau set sail with a “cargo of 108 boys and girls. The oldest was not 15 years of age.” Another time he packed his slaves between decks only 22 inches high.

If different owners shipped slaves on the same vessel it was necessary to brand their “property” to keep them from getting mixed up. An adult was marked on the upper arm. A child was branded on the buttocks. Conneau admitted this was a “disgusting duty.” Still, the idea of branding human beings seemed not to bother him that much. “This ... [is] done as lightly as possible,” he claimed, “and just enough for the mark to remain only six months.”

Or they read this—from American Slavery As It Is, an abolitionist account drawn from southern sources and published in 1837:

Under a system where one person might own another anything was possible. In 1834 Madame LaLurie of New Orleans was found to have kept seven slaves chained in her attic. Newspaper accounts indicate one boy was imprisoned five months. Fed only a handful of corn meal each day, he was subjected to “the most cruel treatment” every morning. According to witnesses an older black man had been beaten till his head was broken:

The worms were actually to be seen making a feast of his brain! Another woman had her back literally cooked (if the expression can be used) with the lash [whip]. The very bones might be seen projecting through the skin.

Or:

When an owner was “creative” punishment could take many forms. House servants could be demoted and sent to the fields. Saturday night dances could be canceled. Slaves might be required to work on Sunday—normally a day of rest. If a maid showed an attitude she might be denied a pass to visit her husband on another plantation. One owner made slave men dress in ladies’ clothes and do “women’s work.”

Another used a pair of scissors to punish a disobedient female slave. She had, said one witness, “real long hair and they cut one side of her hair off and left the other side long.”

Or:

Linda Brent was witness to similar abuse when a cook fed her master’s dog too much cornmeal mush. The dog vomited in its bowl and died shortly after. This brought the owner storming into the kitchen. “He said the mush had not been well cooked, and that was the reason the animal would not eat it. He sent for the cook,” Brent remembered sadly, “and compelled [forced] her to eat it.”

Later we also read the story of Frederick Douglass in his own words. One evocative detail, I thought: Frederick’s mother lived on a different plantation and visited him when she could, when her owner allowed. One day she brought him a sweet cake shaped like a heart, a detail I thought perfectly captured the humanity of all those millions of unfortunate human chattels. 

We heard from Booker T. Washington, in the same way, who described his boyhood as a slave up until the age of nine.

In days to follow I asked students to write a 500-word essay about “their” lives as slaves. Then we did a skit (in the form of a panel discussion, involving five masters and slaves), meant to last a full period. My students were great in these kinds of skits, what were essentially set up to be like “plays without dialogue.”

These are ideas I brought to class—not standardized knowledge—and the great work my students did in those skits, and on that story—none of that was standardized either.

Reading done by one run-of-the-mill history teacher in order to put together his own unit on slavery:

American Slavery As It Is by Theodore Weld (published in 1837); yep, I actually read that.

Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell; the book is written beautifully but filled with subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle racism—as when Mitchell talks about what a good master Scarlett’s father was. (He only whipped one slave, for not taking care of his race horse!)

Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe; there are some great scenes, including one where an overseer causes a fainting slave in the cotton fields to revive by sinking a pin into her thigh. 

A Slaver’s Log Book by Theophilus Conneau; the captain’s ability to make excuses for almost any action, including many that would have to be classified as horrible crimes, is quite amazing. 

Up from Slavery by Booker T. Washington (1901); Washington has some great comments about the import of education for the freed slaves later.

The Autobiography of Frederick Douglass (three versions)

Puttin’ On Ole Master, which included the story of Solomon Northrup, which became the Academy Award winning Best Picture, 12 Years a Slave.

Great Slave Narratives, also including stories by former slaves.

WPA interviews with old slaves, conducted in the 1930s; on file at the Public Library of Hamilton County.

And, of course, numerous other sources…

I used to tell students the history of slavery was written on this man's back.

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[1] I know some might disagree with that kind of statement. I’ll add this example, if it might help. Suppose you are convicted of a murder you did not commit and sentenced to life in prison. Your jailor turns out to be a good person and treats you with human decency. That doesn’t make the fact you’re innocent and serving out a life sentence palatable.

Wisdom on the Walls

I remember attending an in-service day and listening to a gentleman say that we should do more to decorate the walls of our classrooms.

He suggested that we hang up family pictures and diplomas and I could see his point immediately. I have always enjoyed a good quote and started printing them out on little posters and sticking them up all around.

My favorite, and the touchstone of my entire history class was this:

Some quotes I included for the humor—since humor never hurts when dealing with teens. One came from Shakespeare: “You are not worth the dust the rude wind blows in your face.” I liked the comedy of the insult and added it to my collection. One day, I was walking through the lunch room when Josh Parton, one of my funniest students, called out from the distance:

“Mr. Viall! You are not worth the dust the rude wind blows in your face.” We both had a good laugh and I was glad a little of the Bard’s wisdom resonated with at least one student.

Here are a sampling, a few of my favorite quotes out of several hundred, turned into posters for a history classroom:

Humor.

A reminder for teachers and students:

Character Education:

Understanding others:

Understanding ourselves:

A plug for reading:

We all understand this:

The Tao of Forest Gump:

Something for everyone to remember when arguing:

Attitudes are a key to success in any endeavor:

Positve reinforcement is probably overused:

How teen peer groups form:  

Useful when discussing any war:

This one is for teachers:

Why do we study history?

The people in the past are like us.

I used to be a lazy student myself:

Never trust anyone who wants to make you hate:

Not that students will ever lie to get out of trouble!

The saddest question:

Lincoln explains his philosphy in a few words:

Truman explains his philosophy in even fewer:

A classic political put-down:

For World History, a warning about tyranny:

We did a great deal of writing in my class. I tried to impress this idea on students:

Not bad advice for living:

Send me an email if you are interested in seeing more of these.

vilejjv@yahoo.com 

The Class of 2000

As many of my friends (and my long-suffering wife) realize, I’ve been working for a long time on a book about teaching. If I had earned minimum wage for all the hours spent tapping at the keyboard I’d already have $50,000 in my pocket.

I tell my wife that when they make my story into a movie, Brad Pitt will be tapped to play me. For some reason she scoffs.

I’m a decent writer, I tell myself. (And let me assure former students, who will remember my writing rule, that the words “things” and “stuff” do NOT appear in my book.)

I loved teaching and loved working with kids. I wish I could explain to readers what those kids were like, by the hundreds, by the thousands.

I felt lucky. I felt like I was part of a noble profession.

Still, no one should imagine that teaching is easy. Teachers face all kinds of problems and deal with serious issues every day. At the middle school level I saw kids wasted by drugs, kids who were bullied, girls who turned up pregnant, and one poor young lady who, it turned out later, was being sexually abused by her father. One year I had a young man in my sixth bell class who had the longest juvenile criminal record of anyone in Hamilton County.

In other words, some kids were hard to teach or reach or help.

In one early version of my book I tried to pick one class, the kids I had during the 1999-2000 school year, and use them to explain what it was like to be an educator. I wanted to see if I could say something positive about every kid I had that year. As I suspected, it was, with perhaps exception. I decided the section didn’t quite work for my book; but here’s what I wrote about a fairly typical group of middle school students in Loveland, Ohio:

Class of 2000

(They would have graduated from high school in 2005.)

Had I known I would try to write a book about teaching someday, I would have kept better notes. Today I recall hard times in a classroom like a combat soldier recalls traumatic events. The good moments, the good days, the good students number in the thousands but don’t always stand out to the same stark degree.

Had I kept notes I could have filled volumes with stories about wonderful kids: but they often blended together, like a series of beautiful spring days. I can mention stars in the class of 2000, however, because I did take a few brief notes during that year.

I started to anyway; but like any good teacher, I never had enough time.

I wish I could say more about all these young people—about all the kids I had other years, too—but this will have to do for a sampling. Chris had failed the seventh grade the year before and got off to a poor start in my class. I finally convinced him to stop making excuses and start working. And once I realized he had a good sense of humor we hit it off fine. I found with Chris (and many others who had failed over the years) that he had a little extra maturity in how he thought. I encouraged him to speak up in class and he turned out to be a leader in discussion. I loved his effort in his second time around in seventh grade. He was still only a “C” student but his attitude was excellent.

Robert (pseudonym’s used where examples might embarrass) was an interesting young man, filled with good ideas and a desire to please. Unfortunately, he had a knack for going too far when he spoke his mind and often antagonized peers. He would stick it to them, verbally, and they would stick it to him back, and I would have to cut off the insults as quickly as I could. Often it was Robert against the world. So I spent time trying to convince him to ease off and did what I could to protect him from attack if he forgot. I liked Robert and hated to see him get bullied. 

I can’t highlight every student I had that year; but I can give you a quick idea of how much potential there was. My Class of 2000 included Michelle, who spoke up for justice in every discussion we ever held.

There was James, who worked hard like his father, who had been seated in one of my chairs a generation earlier. James could do a perfect imitation of a cricket, something none of his teachers had ever heard before and I suspect have never heard since.

Ellie had the same smile her mother brought to my history class two decades before. When I met her mom at Open House she was—of course—smiling as she always had before.

Most of these kids made my life easy. There was Laura, talented, positive and mature. One evening I attended a school musical and had trouble imagining a better voice coming from a young lady her age. (And let me note:  that Loveland had an excellent choir and drama teacher at the time, Mr. Shawn Miller, and a band instructor, Mr. Bruce Maegly, without peer.)

Mitul and Zac are forever paired in my mind. Top students, they worked together on a history project and built a Nazi death camp to scale. (Zac is now an architect.)

Joe had grades that were…um...somewhat lower. Still, he was one of the funniest kids I ever taught. He reminded me of me at the same age. I told him so and think he took it as a compliment.

In one year I had Becky, a brilliant young lady, and Greg, who excelled at skits. Becky went on to Ohio State and Greg called years later to thank me for all I had done. (I meant to call him back but erased his message by mistake.) Elizabeth looked like the studious young woman she was and had the ability to go on to be a college professor if that was what she desired. Kelly was talented and vivacious. My wife and I used her to babysit our two youngest daughters. In my notes, I said Kelly was “argumentative;” but by that I meant she was always ready in class to express opinions and knew how to think. Kristina, a sweet young lady, wanted to be an actress. Kelly #2 was an avid reader. Kelly #3 was one of my absolute favorites. I described Lindsay as “my HARDEST worker.”

That’s the highest praise I can give.

Then my notes fizzled out. I probably got busy on one of a thousand tasks that every teacher juggles. I did jot down a few words about every member of the class, however. Jessica was tall and a dependable hard worker. Brad did wonderful projects, combining historical themes and modern tunes, including Brittney Spears songs. Lura was smarter than me and if I remember rightly she did an art project, a series of water colors on the Holocaust. One showed a hand clawing out from under a pile of dirt, as a stream of blood ran to the corner of the picture.

One year of teaching—and so much potential. There was Neilo, enthusiastic and brimming with ideas. Her parents fled from Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation, and came here to make a better life. She lit up a classroom with her enthusiasm. Jillian was daughter of one of our high school teachers, a basketball star, and rock solid in her efforts. Brad #2 was from a Mormon family, with the good values we tended to see in almost every Mormon kid.

Allan (pseudonym) had glasses and often wore a sad look on his face. He told me he was getting bullied. So, I talked to him about how to avoid getting picked on by peers. He had a tendency to fly off the handle when teased, even in cases where others meant no harm. Other times he blew up and cried when the jerks targeted him in the hall or cafeteria. 

I taught him the virtues of the “poker face,” how to ignore barbs, which took away the jerks’ fun. I was proud of how he responded and never once found him to be anything but a kind-hearted young gentleman.

I would have been happy to have an entire class filled with kids just like him.

I can offer only a taste of what this banquet was like. You probably have to be a teacher to fully appreciate Patrick—not to mention his love for Duke basketball and all things Duke. I think he probably owned Duke underwear. He never made it to his dream college on a basketball scholarship but did go on to play soccer and basketball at the Division III level. Tom was another star and later enlisted in the Marines. And there was Katie, who convinced me to allow seven students to take part in the same skit about women in the 1800’s. (Skits in my class were designed to last the entire period if students were doing them right.) I told her that with seven, someone was almost sure to be squeezed out and not get enough chance to talk. She had a plan—and it worked just as she promised. I remember the girls sat around, as if at a sewing circle, but I’m sorry to say I don’t recall who the other six participants were. I do know that within minutes I was sure all seven were going to earn A’s.

Although Kimball came to Loveland in the middle of the year, I somehow managed to take notes on what he did. His handwriting was “almost impossible to decipher” and he lived in California before coming to Ohio. That spring, Becky (already mentioned), came to me with a fantastic idea: Why not do a skit on the three branches of government? I told her I could have scratched my head a thousand years and not come up with that idea, but I could see the possibilities a soon as she broached the subject. The next day we put her idea out for every class to consider.

In seventh bell, Kimball immediately volunteered. When I called him back to my desk to discuss the idea he asked if he and three friends could be involved. My first question was how he intended to use four people in a skit about three branches. He explained: he would be Executive Man, Evan would be Legislative Man, and a third friend would be Judicial Man. The fourth would be People Man, representative of the citizens of this great land.

I could see how his plan would work and gave approval with a laugh. What I could not predict was the brilliant fashion in which the group put the skit together. The day they were set to perform they wore capes and t-shirts with appropriate letters, a huge P for People Man, an E for Executive Man, and so forth. I remember one of the boys had on gym shorts over a pair of red tights. Evan played Legislative Man as a schizophrenic. If he answered for the Senate he turned one way, and turned back to speak for the House, alternately arguing or explaining ways the two houses worked (or didn’t work) together to pass bills into laws.

I’m sorry I don’t remember who the other two in the skit were. All I can say is that we were working from a list of 150 questions which would be on the next unit test. Not one of the four young men messed up a single fact during their performance. 

It bothered me that I could not recall who the other two boys were. So I pulled out an old class roster and tried to figure it out. I think Jason (who went on to play baseball at Michigan) was one. Or it might have been any of these gentlemen: Dave, Charlie, Charles or Dmitry. All had talents of one kind or another and all were fun to have in class.

(Charles recently spoke to students at Loveland Middle School about his combat experiences with the U. S. Army in Iraq. He did a wonderful job, too.)

I scanned the roster for seventh bell and noticed Mandy’s name. She was a star in my class, like her brother two years before. I see in my grade book that she had a 93 on the first test of the year, a 90 on the second test (her friend Sarah, another star, scored even higher) and a 96 on the Samuel Sewall story.

Seventh bell—one class—one year. You had Kelsey, a bubbling fountain of enthusiasm. You had Jessica, who never missed an assignment and Amanda, who never ceased smiling. Chris #2 was brilliant as a Pilgrim “granny” in one skit. Stephanie scored a 60 on one test, retook it (because, as my students remember, I always made those who failed retake tests), and raised her score to 100. I thought the second grade was in keeping with her true potential.

Finally, you had Karlie (pseudonym). Karlie was a solid writer and excellent in skits. Still, her grades were poor and she had already failed once. One day, I took her and three classmates out in the hall and read them the Riot Act. I warned that they might not graduate if they didn’t turn it around in school. I’m afraid I made her mad when I said that. Regardless, she proved me wrong. Or, perhaps she proved me right. One way or the other she got herself going in the right direction. Five years later she stopped by room to hand me an invitation to her high school graduation.

***

That’s as far as I got on this post a year ago. Then, by chance, I was working on this same post yesterday when I received a Facebook “friend request” from Matt, a member of this same Loveland class. He mentioned my writing rule about “things” and “stuff” and seemed to hint that he tried to follow it.

So I checked a database I keep to remind me about who all my former students were and what they were like in class.

According to what I had recorded Matt was “very bright” and “I liked him.” Not a bad way to start. I decided to check out every other member of this group and here’s what I said about other students, all in one year:

Matt #2 had a fine attitude and was a wizard with computers.

Sara was “a hard worker” in my class and when the stock market took a dive she told me her mother, a broker, suggested I buy P & G stock. (I should have listened!)

Sara #2:  “very funny; big smile and always helpful.”

Sarah (already mentioned above):  “first class worker; great in skits; could act.”

Danielle had a “dry wit” and was “talented” without doubt. She was from England and I describe her as “a fine kid to have” in class.

Mike was always funny and did some great work when prepared. Brad #3 was a nice young man—and I think liked basketball.

Geoff was always pleasant and polite in my class—sort of what you expected from all members of his family.

Molly was very smart and did great work in skits. Theresa was a great worker and a favorite student of mine.

Jessica #2 was “highly creative” and wrote some fine poetry for a history project.

Jessica #3 followed her own drummer—never easy for a teenager to do.

Dan was witty and for a project “interviewed” famous Americans in heaven.

Adam had a great Southern accent and was very serious about his religion. I’m not religious myself but I respected his viewpoint.

Zac (girl version) was sweet and smart, too.

Misty was a fine student and I use the word “perky” to describe her in my database. I’m sure my former students will remember how perky I was, too!

Ha, ha. No.

Brendan was a big kid with curly hair and learned how to handle teasing from his peers. You could see him mature. I liked seeing that.

Justin:  “very nice; quiet but good worker.”

Stefanie could be extremely funny; when we were talking about a Native American culture that flattened babies’ heads for beauty she said, well that wasn’t any dumber than women in our culture who pay for “fake boobs.” That comment made her class erupt in laughter. I did too.

Jeremy was “a good artist.”

Christina:  “artistic and nice.” Laura #2:  “smart” and “nice.” Tony had red hair and I found him to be a good thinker.

Alex:  I’m going to say he reminded me of myself in seventh grade and I liked him a lot.

Alex #2: “talented.”

Alex (the female version) was very creative and I think liked my class. (Hard to believe but not everyone did. Ha, ha, former students, my great jokes are as funny as ever.)

Sean:  “wry sense of humor; a lot of fun to have in class.”

Michelle #2 was quiet and shy but a very strong worker in my class. I’m willing to bet she went on to college.

Christy was “good for me.” Crystal was excellent in skits. Roger was a young man I liked.

Amy:  “always nice, did a good job for me; big smile.”

Angie “worked well for me.”

Amanda #2 was “quiet and nice.”

Amanda #3 had a “sweet personality” and was always “a good worker.”

Brian:  “great humor and creativity.”

Drew:  “very bright; creative thinker; wry humor.” 

Neil was never serious in class but I “liked him” and couldn’t entirely blame him if he spent time flirting with the ladies. We will not mention which ladies.

Eric was “bright” and from what I could tell several girls thought he was handsome. Eric #2 is listed as “a good worker” in class. You can never have enough of those.

Jake was funny—as so many kids are—and also a “star worker.”

Ashley was sometimes hard to motivate but clearly had “college potential.” She was nice, too.

Chris #3 had also failed the year before; but in my class he had a good attitude and I remember he torched the other side in a debate we held on some topic. He kept puncturing their arguments with funny comebacks and they never knew what hit them.

Chris #4: “always polite and pleasant.” He was quiet in class. 

Chris #5 did “great drawings” in history.

Chris #6:  was funny, quietly good in his work and fun to have in class.

Randall was very quiet but a “good worker.” A nice young lady at all times. She did twenty-five full-page color pictures for a project on the Iroquios people.

Dillon:  “great in participation; always fine attitude.”

Jenny liked to talk and my notes say she was “a good kid.”

Caroline did a Pilgrim skit and even faked an English accent to make it more fun.

Taylor, I noted, was “a great kid; very funny” in class. Bessie was just plain “bright.” Heather “did her best.” I was always happy to see that.

Joel:  “creative thinker; loved his attitude.” I said almost exactly the same about Andrew, but added “star student.”

Lauren was nice like every member of her family that came through my classroom door; she often scored A’s on assignments and tests if I made her do them over. 

Shannon: “always liked her; great effort.” Great effort was the real mark of a great student.

Melissa was “sweet” and a “hard worker.” I think she was serious about being a Girl Scout. (She probably sold me cookies since I’m kind of a pig.)

Buchi came to Loveland from Nigeria. I thought all year she kept improving in her work; that was always a pleasure to see.

Brian had a good attitude and I liked him a lot. Chelsea was a good athlete, smart, quiet and I liked her a lot, too. Kayla was fun to have in class and a good student, one who loved to talk. Ann was “super dependable” and a “nice girl at all times.”

Ashlie was a quiet young lady but a good student.

Mike had failed the year before but did a phenomenal turnaround—so much so that we moved him up to be with his regular grade at midyear. I was proud of that young man.

Devon wore glasses and did a “great job for me.” Evan #2:  I have him listed as a “super student” and also a “good basketball player.”

Maranda was present in our school only briefly that year. Jeremy was also present for only a part of the year.

John was a nice kid with a funny streak, too. Raymond was funny and creative and in my notes I say he was a “piano star.” (I must have seen him play with the school band.)

Gerri:  I thought she was wonderful to have in class; she was always lively and worked hard.

Melissa #2 was “a great kid” in my class. I remember when we read a packet about the Holocaust it made her cry.

Jessie was “a favorite” of mine, a personable young lady and a strong student.

Jessie #2 was a “nice writer” and I “liked her a lot.”

Jessie #3 was “a good B student” and a good soccer player, too.

Jessie #4: “Sweet and dependable; very lively.”

Jessie #5:  Okay, we had a lot of “Jessie’s” that year; this one was a good kid and liked to share ideas in discussion.

Kristin was another soccer player, a young lady with a sweet disposition, and a hard worker.

Jon was a “super talent, a creative writer, and a good athlete.”

Jon #2 was another funny kid and I liked having him in class.

Reid was “the funniest kid of the year.” Steve is also called “funny” in my notes; and I remember he liked to answer questions in class.

Kyle is described as “a good guy” in my brief notes. You can never have too many students like that.

Kyle #2 is described as “bright” and an “excellent student.” You can never have too many students like that, either.

Aaron: also described as “very funny; a favorite of mine.”

Erin was “sweet” and  “smart” and another favorite.

Josh was funny in class and very creative at all times.

Josh #2 sounds almost the same:  “about as funny as you can get; fine in skits.”

Josh #3 had some brains and started the year well; let’s just say he got in a bit of trouble later.

Tyler was a kid I liked. I tried to help him learn how to get along with peers.

Margaret was “absolutely wonderful, creative,” a thinker in my class and a star in school drama (and naturally in any skits).

Tim:  “funny” and “talented.”

Tim #2: did “great art projects; fine attitude.” All his siblings worked hard in my class over the years.

Graham:  “good worker; creative projects.”

Brent moved away early in the year. I didn’t get much chance to form an opinion. Kevin was “funny” but also moved away midyear.

Lindsay #2:  “diligent and dependable.” Loved having her in class.

Lindsay #3 I remember as “a great kid all around.”

Eric:  “a fine worker.” You have to be a teacher to realize what high praise that is.

Amy was “a good worker” just like her sister two years before.

Katelyn was another good student who moved to Ohio from Colorado midyear. A very polite young lady, as I recall.

Samantha was talkative and artistic and fun to tease in class. Samantha #2 was also fun to have and I could tell she was bright and had great potential. Samantha #3 had reddish hair. She was funny and a good student, both.

Andrea was very artistic and a very fine student.

Bryan had, I thought, more ability than he realized. I hope he’s doing well.

Elizabeth #2:  “great effort; cool to have” in class.

Carrie:  “fine artist, nice young lady.”

Katie was shy at first in class but a good worker. My notes indicate that a young man in her class (who shall not be named) was “in love with her.”

We did have one young lady expelled that year. So, I guess I’ll pass over her name.

And that, in an educational nutshell is what teaching is like. I made it a point to try to like every kid; and with rare exceptions during my career did.