Posted on March 8, 2022 by Glenn H. Ray | Edit
Posted on August 18, 2020 by Glenn H. Ray | Edit
MY DEATH AS A HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER!
For most of us human beings life is growth moving through a tunnel of woundings.
Not all of life’s wounds are equal.
Personally, I have been very foruntate regarding my woundings. Although life’s tunnel by the Law of Nature, keeps slicing at me every day of my existence, I have experienced only two that have made their way deep into my mind and body. A third might be visiting me shortly, but, as it is said, ‘time will tell.”
To feed my family, my imagination, and ‘end’ my formal intellectual training, I became an educator…..the teacher ‘kind’……..the real kind, a classroom instructor of knowledge. Despite many shortcomings cultural and personal, I was quite good at it and I thoroughly enjoyed what I was doing.
After several years of teaching in a Minneapolis public high school, trouble was brewing in the community where I taught; trouble coming from the ‘outside’ world beyond the walls and lives of the young at the high school where I was employed. I took battle to defend the students and their community against a powerful, often well meaning, city establishment, the Minneapolis School District, a bureaucracy causing and abetting wars against this very community.
At the time, although I was tenured, I lost the battle, my job, and eventually my career as a public school teacher. I was in some ways wounded for the rest of my life. Through time although initially painful, the deep wound eventually healed over leaving a scar as such wounds do. I thought my Crusade was the right thing to do based on my cultural and educational background.
I have never doubted that thought. I felt I was a teacher fulfilling my civic duties despite the costs of losing something. Yet, although I was chronologically an adult, a father with a wife and three children, I was still a teenage dreamer never thinking evil could overcome good.
The agony from my ‘rightousness’ was temporarily soothed when both the Court and the School Board admonished the Administration to allow me to be reinstated, but without tenure, back into the school system to teach if I agreed to do so.
I knew I would be on trial. I knew my teaching would be attacked, for I was transferred to a predominantly black school which was advertised as a “Magnet School”. Despite major efforts by the school district and by most of the teachers, both the standard and the lefty loonies, the environment was made a powder keg by the viscious in the black community both in and beyond school enrollment.
Half of the victims assaulted and threatened by these black hoodlums were black, the others white. Assaults, occuring almost daily included the sexual, a shooting, robberies and beatings of whites, setting fires to clothing in lockers usually to send ‘messages’, and daily intimidations by these hoodlums against white teachers. Car tires were flattened. Objects including spit, were aimed at white targets when these teachers walked from car lot to the school each morning through the boiler room for our safety.
The administration, of course, denied all of these truths. The city newspapers and politicians protected the school district. All hoped the schools would successfully retain a civilized educational tradition and termed any criticisms of this ideal at any of its schools in black neighborhoods as “WHITE RACISM”.
Black racism was endemic throughout the school system particularly in the ‘black’ high school to which I was transferred in the autumn of 1971. ‘ Hate whitey’ was at fever pitch. During the days before the opening of the school term for students, I got a phone call from a fellow teacher at the school. She was a white gal who taught English.
I had never met her in my life. She didn’t mention her name, but in the foulest language a female anywhere could produce, the crux of the message she passed on to me was ….”You f…ing, *****, racist pig. We’ll have you out of here by Christmas.”
She was so proud of her Crusade that she had informed some of her English class students of her noble deed calling me especially of the vocabulary she chose to use. She and some other white teachers were more enraged black racists, than any blacks. After all, some blacks were simply hoodlums who from no racial prejudice at all, picked on any victim closest by.
This English teacher sexually, was a married gal, so we should remember these were also the days of feminist insanity which competed with her racism in the flow of her vocabulary and swearing choices.
I lasted longer than Christmas. It was February 9th, 1972, as I remember, when I received notice in the middle of my last class of the day. The note read something like: “Please collect all of your belongings by the end of this day. Henceforth, you will report to Room xxx at the School District office for further assignment.”
One of the students in that class was Joey Lykken about 14 years old. He was the youngest among twenty others, almost all seniors about to graduate. A quiet, polite, articulate, confident kid who asked all the right questions a student would ask when seeking to expand ones knowledge, including mine. There were other choice students in other classes I taught at the school. “Choice” student in my thinking, was any student who sought to improve his or her understandings of the mysteries of life around them.
Joey, however, was exceptional. I knew nothing about him except for his youngness and behavior as a student of mine. I might have teased him about his Norwegian name. I did know of a ‘Lykken’ who was a teacher at a nearby public high school. I don’t think I mentioned it to Joey.
I also knew the Lykken name from the Minneapolis newspapers. This family’s home had been raided by the Minneapolis police about December of the previous year. They were seeking evidence that these “Lykkens” were subversives plotting something or another not particularly good for the Minneapolis community. I had read the article, but did not associate the name with Joey. Or, it is possible that the name was not mentioned in the article which I had read, but learned later the Lykkens of the newspaper were Joey’s parents.
I had taught Russian at previous schools and on three occasions my own world had been ‘visited upon’ by FBI agents checking out the degree of loyalty to my country. I admit I enjoyed the attention and the pleasure I imagined when the investigators would discover I was a model citizen…..which was reaffirmed each time both to me and the agency.
During the evening of the day of my exile from teaching I got a phone call from a Harriet Lykken. She introduced herself as Joey’s mother. She said some wonderful words about my teaching and how much her son had enjoyed my class. He was profoundly upset, she said.
In the afternoon of the day I received the firing notice, I was in the midst of teaching a class, Joey’s class. When handed to me, I read the firing notice directly to the students of that last class before my exile. The school principal’s secretary who personally had handed me the notice in front of the class, shouted at me that I had “no right” to read the notice to the students. I read it. Afterwards as I was cleaning out my desk, Joey approached and asked if I had been fired. “Yes” I replied.
And then he asked…..”Does that mean you won’t be back?” After I answered, he teared up and left the room. That was one of the most painful moments of my life….the ones you can never forget until the final moments of release.
Harriet asked if she could be direct with some questions. Joey was terribly upset. She wanted to know if there was anything behind the scenes I had done which instigated the firing. “Absolutely nothing. I have become an irritation to them, that is all.” We talked a bit and then she asked….”Would you mind if I did a little investigating into this business on my own.”
I was thrilled! “Please do! Search anywhere! Ask anyone anything! I have nothing to hide!”
“Is this person for real?” I asked myself.
About three weeks later she called back and asked if I could come over for dinner to meet her family. I did so about a week later. I met Harriet and her husband, David, and a son Jessie…..and I was introduced to Joey as a human being rather than a just another public school teacher.
Looking over my life, and my distance from them, they were the finest people I had and have ever met. They, like I, were liberals and NOT Liberals. They displayed all of my prejudices and values in practice and not just preachments.
I have always loved ‘people’ from the time I began to understand the human struggle. I think we are all heroic enduring our daily pain yet driven to know the unknown all the time knowing our future of ‘dusty death’….’signifying nothing’. These four, from all that I was to learn about them, were personifications of my American dream family.
Harriet and David asked all kinds of questions, many of them based on interviews Harriet had conducted with many who had worked with me, including some administrators. Outside of occasionally irritating people, (a talent I knew I had all of my older-than-teenage life and a weapon I often use in my style of teaching) my disorders were minor league.
Harriet summed up her investigation telling me that she was shocked at the school adminstration’s actions.
I had no legal recourse. The school board had voted 4-3 to fire me…..and had to do so to show their support for their Superintendent of Schools, John Davis and his assistant superintendents. (Outside of my personal case, I then, and in retrospect, have considered Superintendent Davis an outstanding person to occupy that office. He was caught in the same tsunami of racial politics as was I, a teacher. I was critical as a teacher of the anti-white racism associated with his administration> That brand of racism was a common tyranny of that day.
I had but one trump card left…..only a deuce perhaps…..but still a trump card over the administration actions against me. I asked Harriet if she could represent me at the administrative hearing which I, by state law, was entitled to.
She happily agreed to do so.
Immediately the District School Administration fought the idea. I could have an attorney to represent me. The District’s legal team had expected me to bring along the Federation of Teachers Union attorney, for I was a member of the teachers’ union. They opposed allowing Harriet, a leading citizen in the Minneapolis school community to speak.
This union was, in the early 1970s toothless in defending education and its needs. It had heroically battled an illegal teachers’ strike against the school district two years earlier, was exhausted, and was practicing obedience and kindness to the School Administration. I think it was also financially broke. Its leaders, both local and state, were outstanding guys and citizens who did what they could to push a cause and heal a pain.
The union had never shown much interest in anything beyond basic and usually inane labor issues. It was an old time union, an extension of Minnesota’s Democratic-FarmLabor Party in which I was sometimes active. On the issue of whom I asked for representing me at the administrative hearing, the union was tenacious. It was willing to pay for an attorney of my choice, offer the union’s attorney, or challenge the school administration if it denied me my choice, Harriet Lykken.
Who would have ever known that my hero in life turned out to be a woman! Not I. The School Administration was forced to back down and allow Harriet to represent this ousted teacher.
Note: Thank you, Dear Person, who sent the above article from yesteryear! I missed teaching school students thereafter….but always loved to share knowledge those old gals made to learn and share when I was in their schools, K-12….that is, when schools for me were between 1939 and 1952 in modest but MOTHERED, Godfearing, Civilized AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL!
Will your America ever recover from what your children have had to endure in public schools these days? YES, IF YOUR CHILDREN HAVE….OR WILL. OR ARE YOU TOO BUSY?
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