Prize Winner of Newark, New Jersey

That rather precious title of this post refers to me, as the leader of one of the 25 teacher teams in Newark who won grants from the Teacher Innovation Fund from the Foundation for Newark's Future. (Reportedly there were several hundred applications.) FNF was created to administer what is popularly referred to as "the Facebook money," the large grant of Facebook stock gifted by Mark Zuckerberg to the city of Newark to invest in and improve its schools. In addition to the honor itself, we attended a nice reception on Thursday night, February 23rd, attended by Superintendent Cami Anderson and Mayor Cory Booker, both of whom I got to meet and speak to. So bully for me.

Even more exciting for me is the project itself, which is something I have been nurturing in my mind for nearly six months, since the possibility of working at History High first arose. Very simply, teachers will mentor students in conducting original historical research, which we will edit into a dramatic form and produce as a play. Such a play is part of a relatively new but fairly well-established genre with roots back into the early 20th century, with the work of Erwin Piscator and the Living Newspapers of the Federal Theater.

The form got a reboot in the mid-1980s with Emily Mann's play Execution of Justice, about the trial of Dan White for the murder of San Francisco mayor George Moscone and councilman Harvey Milk (an event popularly remembered for White's "Twinkie defense"). Unlike the tradition of historical drama represented by pieces such as Inherit the Wind and Sunrise at Campobello, Execution used multimedia and, most importantly, the actual words of participants and interviewees. It was the spiritual parent to The Laramie Project about the gay-biased murder of Mathew Shepherd and produced in literally hundreds of high schools across America; of the solo work of Ann Deveare Smith, most notably Twilight: Los Angeles and Fires in the Mirror some of them developed under Emily Mann's guidance; and The Exonerated, by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen, who have popularized the term "verbatim theater" by which is meant that only documented words are used, without embellishment or comment by the playwrights.

Laramie and Exonerated are works of advocacy. Anna Deavere Smith and The Vagina Monologues are a sort of elevated journalism (the way that In Cold Blood is both journalism and art). This seems to us to be the proper approach for a school project. We have no business taking a point of view, not for a group project, nor do we feel entitled to draw a conclusion. In the manner of Piscator and Brecht, we will trust the audience to hear what we have found it and process it for themselves according to their own lights.

We considered a number of turning points in the modern history of Newark. (We selected Newark history as a matter of connecting to our students, as a matter of chauvinism, and by what primary sources will be most readily available, given reasonable limits of time and money.) The team picked the 1970 election of Kenneth Gibson, the first black mayor not only of Newark, but of any major northeastern city. It was the first major turn of events after the crisis of the 1967 riots which were both precipitated by, accelerated and crystallized the problem of white flight and the ensuing crumbling of the public and private infrastructure of the city. In the wake of these events, a Black Nationalist movement grew in strength, lead by, among others, the playwright and poet Amiri Baraka (formerly Leroi Jones, author of Dutchman). Baraka led the effort to focus this energy into putting Gibson in office, driving out the exceptionally cynical and corrupt administration of Hugh Addonizio.

So Gibson's election has a resonance and symbolism far beyond electoral politics; it goes to the heart of African-American power and self-determination in the course of American history.

As I write this, the plan is to begin research as soon as possible and to have the bulk completed by the end of the school year, to begin composition before the end of the year with the summer hiatus to gather our thoughts and to complete the script and produce the play in the fall semester, preferably before the winter holiday break. Naturally, the material will lead us, so the plans are subject to change.

What I am really looking forward to is to see what effect the students will have on the project and, hopefully, the project will have on them. I don't mind saying that if this is successful, I would like to see it became a tradition and a hallmark of History High.

But first, we begin.

First impressions of the first week

I am gratified to have received so many messages of support for me in my new position (mostly upright) at American History High in Newark, and so many inquiries about my first week. These Interwebs can really reinforce one's sense of community. (Or, for some people, their illusion of community, but this is not the time or the place.)

So a few scattered observations about Week One, partly to satisfy the curiosity of friends, but mostly to amuse myself when I reread it at the end of the year.

First, the students have been enthusiastic and welcoming, and judging from the comments reported by my principal and colleagues, hopeful for and supportive of me. They in turn seem to be ready and willing to do what is required for success and to effect change in their lives and perhaps the lives of their families. When I talk about ramping up the workload, where I would have received loud protests in my old suburban district, here I get a few murmurs and demurrals, with a general understanding that the expectations must be high in order for them to reach their goals. The students seem to know and accept that the results they want can only come from hard work, even if they have the natural resistance of the young to the prospect of hard work (although usually not the work itself).

The faculty is definitely on-board as well. The school is only five years old, and yet has already had a change of principals and some upheavals in faculty, some caused by the madness of our politics around school funding. [If you ask me, and you didn't, school funding should be in a lockbox as untouchable as that for Social Security, buffeted from changing political winds. It is part of the sacred compact between us and the Americans who preceded us and between us and those who will follow. To suggest crippling changes is to recommend treason to the very idea of America. Sure, we can argue about how to spend the money, and see if we can't do it more efficiently, but savings should be plowed BACK INTO OUR CHILDREN, not any other little projects people have up their sleeves. End of hysterical screed.]

As anyone who knows me would expect, I have far more doubts about myself than about my students, who are still young and flexible. Will I be able to maintain the pace and the standards? Will I find the words to say and things to do to coax and coach my students to performing at a collegiate level? Virtually all of my classes are with seniors (I have a handful of juniors in Creative Writing), and as far as we at AHHS are concerned, they are all college bound; therefore, the biggest part of my job is to make sure that freshman English contains few, if any, shocks or surprises.

So the question is, can I get my assessments out of the trap of worksheet-type short answers on the one hand, but steer clear of assignments that aim so high they become vague and poorly defined? Can I tune the tone of my students' written voices so that they have the detachment of the academic voice without losing passion and personality. (I always think of E.B. White as the perfect essayist - calm, rational and observational while also being warm, human and SPECIFIC.) Will I get these courses to hang together and make sense in the brain as we move from project to project, from one literary work to another? Will I properly differentiate among students and among classes? Will I figure out a bright-line distinction between CP English and Honors English? Will I challenge my AP class without wearing them (and me) out? Will Creative Writing get its focus and not devolve into throwing things against the wall to see what will stick?

I've volunteered to advise National Honor Society, which is a first for me, but seems appropriate for a teacher of seniors. I have only a slight idea of what and how much that entails, so that is terra incognito. I will not even discuss my other extracurricular plans, insofar as they are only in the proposal stage now, but suffice it to say that should they move forward, a huge amount of trenchwork will be required, as there is no pre-existing infrastructure to support such activities, as there was in my last school.

All this to say, I really hope I am up to this. That said, my supervisors are investing a lot of confidence in me, and if I succeed, it will be done more to justify their faith in me than because of my innate belief in my abilities. I know I have taste, energy, seven years of classroom experience and an ability to communicate. I feel the lack of formal training in teaching, especially in literature. This is where I feel most acutely that we should change our titles from teacher to coach. I know how to coach -- that's how we teach music and drama. It's an apprenticeship, trial and error method. There is no map, and that is what I am used to. But real literature teachers have maps, and I will learn to make and use them. And being a mere child of 55, I am just as resistant to doing something new as my 17- and 18-year-old students.

We all know that we have to stop thinking about schools like factories. But are we ready to think of them as laboratories, as loci for, in FDR's words, "bold, persistent experimentation?" To do so is to accept that some experiments will fail. This doesn't trouble me. The default position for young brains is to learn. They will learn, willy nilly, like it or not. Often, the best thing you can do as a teacher is not to impede the education that is going on, with or without your own agency. The question is exactly what and how students will learn. Stephen Sondheim got it right (as he so often does) about our responsibility as parents and teachers.

Guide them but step away,
Children will glisten.
Tamper with what is true
And children will turn,
If just to be free.
Careful before you say,
"Listen to me."
Children will listen...

Also, I really need to get more sleep.

Good luck or bad luck - you never know

I am very pleased to announce that I will begin teaching senior and AP English classes at American History High School in Newark on Monday, September 19th. Both the classes I have been assigned and my students are elite. AHHS is a selective magnet high school, rated 6th in its category in New Jersey by the Newark Star-Ledger, with a 100% graduation rate and 97% continuing their education.

It's easy to guess that it will be a privilege to work in such a place. What is less intuitive is that, for me, that only became possible because of all the jobs that seemed wonderful to me that I didn't get. Over and over I would have an interview which seemed reasonably pleasant, but which bore no fruit, and over and over I would curse my bad luck at not being offered such a plum position. Little did I know that the real plum would have been unreachable for me if I had been under contract as of the first day of school. It is one of those weird concantenations of circumstance that makes one realize that while it's pretty easy to know when your luck is good, it's hard to know when your luck is bad.

All through my middle and high school years, I was a devoted fan of the humorist Jean Shepherd, who improvised 45 minutes of comic observation, jaundiced nostalgia, social comment and kazoo music every weeknight for almost 20 years on WOR. Shepherd later became famous as author and narrator of the film A Christmas Story, which weaves about a half-dozen of his written short stories. His first full-scale film project was The Phantom of the Open Hearth starring Matt Dillon as a teenage Ralph Parker taking a summer job in an Indiana steel mill. It was my brother who brought my attention to the film's chilling closing words: "Once you've stared into the enigmatic face of the Phantom of the Open Hearth, she will give you either good luck or bad luck -- no one knows which."

As Hal pointed out, this is an ambiguous conclusion (probably deliberately). It may simply mean that at the time the luck is conferred on a person, that person does not know in advance whether they will receive good or bad luck. Or -- and more significantly -- it could mean that one never knows, even at the very end of life, whether one's luck was good or bad. There are just too many imponderables.

Somerset Maugham's story "The Verger" is an old favorite of mine. It tells of a church sexton whose tiny world is shattered when he loses is humble but beloved job because he is illiterate. Distraught, on his way home, he seeks the solace of tobacco. But he cannot find a convenient tobacconist between the church and his house. Detecting a gap and an opportunity, the former verger scrapes together some savings and opens a tobacco store. And in time another, and another and another until he is the tycoon of a vast chain of stores. A bank manager dumbfounded by the huge deposit being made by this illiterate titan of retail, asks:

Good God, man, what would you be now if you had been able to [read and write]?"

"I can tell you that sir," said Mr. Foreman, a little smile on his still
aristocratic features. "I'd be verger of St. Peter's, Neville Square."

I do expect this new position to be a harbinger of good fortune, success and happiness. But I arrived there by dint of a lot of what I thought at the time was bad luck. And after all, I am the son of a woman who, while virtually on her deathbed, wrote an article for a church magazine called "The Blessings of Cancer." You just can't rely on bad luck to stay bad.