• Pragerisms

    For a more comprehensive list of Pragerisms visit
    Dennis Prager Wisdom.

    • "The left is far more interested in gaining power than in creating wealth."
    • "Without wisdom, goodness is worthless."
    • "I prefer clarity to agreement."
    • "First tell the truth, then state your opinion."
    • "Being on the Left means never having to say you're sorry."
    • "If you don't fight evil, you fight gobal warming."
    • "There are things that are so dumb, you have to learn them."
  • Liberalism’s Seven Deadly Sins

    • Sexism
    • Intolerance
    • Xenophobia
    • Racism
    • Islamophobia
    • Bigotry
    • Homophobia

    A liberal need only accuse you of one of the above in order to end all discussion and excuse himself from further elucidation of his position.

  • Glenn’s Reading List for Die-Hard Pragerites

    • Bolton, John - Surrender is not an Option
    • Bruce, Tammy - The Thought Police; The New American Revolution; The Death of Right and Wrong
    • Charen, Mona - DoGooders:How Liberals Hurt Those They Claim to Help
    • Coulter, Ann - If Democrats Had Any Brains, They'd Be Republicans; Slander
    • Dalrymple, Theodore - In Praise of Prejudice; Our Culture, What's Left of It
    • Doyle, William - Inside the Oval Office
    • Elder, Larry - Stupid Black Men: How to Play the Race Card--and Lose
    • Frankl, Victor - Man's Search for Meaning
    • Flynn, Daniel - Intellectual Morons
    • Fund, John - Stealing Elections
    • Friedman, George - America's Secret War
    • Goldberg, Bernard - Bias; Arrogance
    • Goldberg, Jonah - Liberal Fascism
    • Herson, James - Tales from the Left Coast
    • Horowitz, David - Left Illusions; The Professors
    • Klein, Edward - The Truth about Hillary
    • Mnookin, Seth - Hard News: Twenty-one Brutal Months at The New York Times and How They Changed the American Media
    • Morris, Dick - Because He Could; Rewriting History
    • O'Beirne, Kate - Women Who Make the World Worse
    • Olson, Barbara - The Final Days: The Last, Desperate Abuses of Power by the Clinton White House
    • O'Neill, John - Unfit For Command
    • Piereson, James - Camelot and the Cultural Revolution: How the Assassination of John F. Kennedy Shattered American Liberalism
    • Prager, Dennis - Think A Second Time
    • Sharansky, Natan - The Case for Democracy
    • Stein, Ben - Can America Survive? The Rage of the Left, the Truth, and What to Do About It
    • Steyn, Mark - America Alone
    • Stephanopolous, George - All Too Human
    • Thomas, Clarence - My Grandfather's Son
    • Timmerman, Kenneth - Shadow Warriors
    • Williams, Juan - Enough: The Phony Leaders, Dead-End Movements, and Culture of Failure That Are Undermining Black America--and What We Can Do About It
    • Wright, Lawrence - The Looming Tower

My Death as a Public School Teacher, Part II Thomas A. Edison Senior High School

When I signed up to  teach at Minneapolis  Edison Senior High School in 1964, I expected to succeed as a teacher, and if I liked the  community, both within and outside of school, I expected to spend my entire professional life there…..as a teacher.   I admit that I had a degree or two of contempt for school administrators.   Nearly all were ‘yes’ men, pleasant guys, many of them had coached a major sport or taught manual trades.   Becoming a  school assistant principal was a first step to receiving higher school pay for ones work.   Greater prestige in the community went with higher pay.   

However,  teaching is an art form upon which a society’s cultural health  depends.   In the ideal it’s an art for the human soul as inspiringly  powerful as the art of Michelangelo is to the eye and mind.   Teachers shouldn’t  arrive ‘two for a penny’ at the doors of the American public school.    Every professional school administrator or classroom instructor,  directly involved with the school’s upgrade of knowledge should be required to exercise teaching that knowledge in a  classroom every year of their professional teaching lives.   

My first three years at this Nordeast school was  probation time.   My future was in the hands of a Mr. V, a  proud, bright, determined, no nonsense guy who saw things crisply and agreed or disagreed crisply but with  temper and revenge against those with whom he strongly disagreed.    He deeply believed in administrative authority.   He had no time for humor.   This man was  often arrogant, but tried hard  to control his negatives.   He was devoted to people who agreed with him and was certain that his very presence  would do the trick to get everyone on his side.   Women teachers adored him.

Mr. V was elevated to the School Administration’s Central Office my last year on probation.   He soon became an assistant superintendent of schools.    He had visited my classes, endured some rough edges I had caused him which, in my view, damaged him as an administrator despite his strengths, and I told him so.   Most of my complaints, all valid, had to do with my coaching the boys’ tennis team, a responsibility he gave me my very first year at the school.

I took that challenge seriously, too.     Our tennis budget was $90 for the entire  ten week season.    The team  had to buy their own tennis rackets, nets,  balls, pay for their own travel to and from whereever they competed.   From the administrations’ view, I was supposed to (for $100)  be a chaperone for an hour and a half after the school day  during tennis playing sesason.   Edison was a worker’s neighborhood.   No one played tennis at Edison, even though an acquaintance of mine, a future tennis mentor at the University of Minnesota,  a few years before I arrived at the school,  had coached the Edison boys to their first and only city championship in tennis up to that time in school’s fifty years or so of  history.  

Mr. V didn’t know about it or care about it.    He named me to keep tennis out of his hair.  

Since funds for the team were a fraud, the guys at my request  decided to do Saturday clean up work around Nordeast and the team got a job at Sentyrz Food and Liquor Mart on Marshall Street, cleaning up its neighborhood empty lots.    We made enough money on weekends to buy team jackets, a little travel money for gas,  a dozen or two cans of tennis balls, our own team tennis net, and most of all enjoyed being together  working for a common cause.   

Complaints came to Mr. V’s office from the city’s dead-beat  and competitive coaches alike,  asking Mr. V, the principal  where he got the money and how dare his school have  such physcial and  psychological advantages from wearing a uniform jacket to matches and worse, playing with brand new tennis balls in warm ups to games.    Mr. V got complaints from the School District’s Athletic Director as well.    Mr. V called me into his office.  He was a very unhappy and angry man.

He asked where the team got the money to buy the jackets and equipment, seething all the way.  

I asked why he needed to know.  

That blew his mind….He gave me his ‘power read’  that he was the boss  man and could dump me if he wanted to.    I remember I became nervous and angry at the same time and to the same degree.   I told him we didn’t steal it…….hesitated before I confessed,  “The kids earned it  working a few Saturdays together.”   

Mr. V wouldn’t have dared to ask such questions of  the school’s  thirty-year head football coach of that day, Mr. G.   Mr. G might have hit him after ten or twenty curse words.   Mr. V fully understood Mr. G’s long established  presence at the school.    I hadn’t made my own mark yet and knew how vulnerable I was to his command.    He made me promise I would never ‘pull such a trick” again.   

I have forgotten whether or not I kept the promise, but no matter,   a couple of years later Mr. V was elevated to the School District head office.    He caused trouble for me later in my career, however.

Most of the women on the staff at Edison were mothers and still married.   They, as  I, were driven to teach.  Spanish, English, Chemistry,  General Algebra, Home Making.   They caused no trouble and expected menfolk to control the environment outside of their classrooms.

The men obliged.    On one occasion while I was sitting in the teachers’ lounge reading the morning newspaper, a commotion occurred in the classroom next door, room 114.   It was home grounds to a middle aged bachelor teacher, who was incestuously married to history, particularly the history of ancient Greece.    He was a son of Greek immigrants and carried his intellectual  passion with a loud, thick street-tough accent that added great strength to his solid brick build.    He didn’t really need the vocal adornment.    Even in quietude, Gino walked apishly as a warning to all whom he didn’t know,  to maintain a certain distance as he or they  approached.     Everyone liked him, probably even the fifteen year old victim of Ginowrath who  was the source of the tumult next door which startled me.

The door to room 114 was thrown open from the classroom side and this teenage male body flew out like a shot from a cannon slamming onto the student lockers immediately across the hall.   Not a word was spoken…..only a puff of exhale coming from the flying object as it hit the lockers could be heard.   

I have no idea what happened during that class session which caused such a scene.    I did see the boy peel himself off the hallway floor, gather his books which flew wildly with him. The boy rather sheepishly walked away carrying his pride with him.    I didn’t know his name, a rarity in my rules of teaching.   A few days later I gingerly mentioned the scene to Gino whose answer was:  “Oh, he’s a good kid.   He just said something he shouldn’t have.  He’s fine.”

Discipline at Edison  began at home, and, if needed at school,  almost always began and ended in the classroom.    Almost all of the teachers were there for a lifetime.   Their reputations were well known by all and added enormously to the cultural harmony within the school.    I am certain the boy who was the object of the room 114 disruption never said a word to his parents about the event.   He would have angered the father and embarrassed the mother.   And that would not do.   Such things ‘corporal’ at the school were rare then.    Guys  who hung around my classroom from time to time would describe a setting or two when they were ‘approached’ by a male teacher angered by  a miscue or another they or someone other boy had foolishly created.    They laughed loudly as they described the scenes even when they themselves were the so-called ‘victims’.

I didn’t find that they had much  wealth of knowledge, but they seemed to be  a very healthy, winsome  bunch. No one was drugged up, then.  I was so confident of our America’s future despite certain  rumblings in its streets.    I was sure  that they needed to go to college to amass knowledge as I had done……to become ‘enlightened’ learning the arts and sciences as I had.   I saw myself in these students, especially the boys with their future responsibilities in society, maintaining order, further examining the unknown,  uplifting the culture, leading the way to a better America, and so, a better world closer to God and an ideal nation.    After all, that is what I truly believed knowledge from school and university did for me.

However, I saw the teachers and administrators at Edison too comfortable, too pleased with, again my view, the mediocrity of the school’s education.   Yet, listening to their constant complaints, the weren’t pleased.    They complained about the school’s soft education constantly.    These teachers, almost every one of them were good human beings who wanted to make a positive difference in students’ lives.   Some were even well educated….especially the guys who taught math.   Nearly all had given up to the routines of everyday schooling.    Yet, the streets in other cities and communities  were starting to make noise….violent noise.   Human animals were being unleashed at universities to do animal things……Predators like John F. Kerry,  had found American flesh tasty.   The protein nurtured  their political ambititions and excited their lower depths of deceit and duplicity.    The American way was under attack, an attack for survival which continues to this day with Obamatime, January 2012 forty plus years later.

About these ads

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 314 other followers

%d bloggers like this: