CHAPTER 5: LIFE, DEATH and TRUST IN THE CLASSROOM. SEVEN SHORT STORIES (in progress)

How old are we when first we dream?

"I'd dreamed  of a life of purpose."

--tnm

Life and death are normal part of the job for heart surgeons, firemen, morticians and the military. For teachers, not so much.  Actually never... almost never.  

One of the things I loved most about teaching was engaging in bold and spirited  discussions. I'd take a question like: "Toby, do you believe in evolution?"

Great question! So let me start with the word, believe. In church, we are asked if we believe in God.  Before I completed my response...

"Toby, do you believe in God?" 

Interesting question.  I've been thinking about this question since I was in the 5th grade. 

Then the phone would ring. This happened twice one day so I went to the office to give them a script: Mr. Manzanares is teaching at the moment, may I take a message?" So it's uncomplicated  to appreciate that Toby loathed any interruption to those animated student discussions, barring one exception

FINISH #2

1. DANNY.  “He said he’d talk to only you.”

I barely tolerated telephone interruptions while teaching, but there was one I remember. Our school secretary was on the line telling me a substitute was about to arrive. The police had called. I was to leave immediately, "Write down this address."

Who do you trust? How do you know who you can trust? I learned that high school kids had no metric for this arena of ... TRUST.  So I put together a Trust Building Program for my students.

She had just been handed a call form Danny who was locked inside his home threatening suicide, he was alone and had a kitchen knife. Police were on the scene talking to him through the locked front door. He said he'd come out if I was with him. It was a curt call. I wrote down the address.

Adrenaline is a powerful chemical and a useful tool. When preset, you can feel it coursing through your body. I managed to push it down by the time I neared Danny's address. That's when I saw a flock of police cars. That usually means trouble but this time it meant lots of help.

I stopped, put the stick shift in reverse and parked between two police cars. Slow and deliberate.  I surveyed the scene, several police cars for one suicidal kid.  I approached the closest officer and said: “I’m Danny’s teacher.” Like I do this every day. He pointed to an officer across the street who gave me the same details as my secretary, but first hand, then added. “He said he’d talk to only you.”

“If you let me, I can talk him out.” He turned and pointed to the door.

I knocked softly. “Hey Danny, it’s Toby. How you doing?”

I can’t remember his words exactly, but after a pause, I said: “Do you want to talk?” 

Time slipped into slow motion.

And so we talked at the door for a few moments until I heard a softness in his voice, I said: “You ready to let me in?” I heard the bolt unlatch.  I turned to the officers: “I’m going in.  This is gonna take a while.” 

It took awhile, my eyes adjusting. Then we talked quietly forgetting the outside. 

I was almost exclusively focused on his nonverbal language, less on his narration. Along the way, his stiffness began slowly bleeding away.  

Fifteen years ago now, I remember only elements of Danny’s story, he was writing the book of his life.  I do remember these phrases:  a former girl friend, a telephone call, her abusive boyfriend, a knife.

I could feel his desperation, I understood the narrow logic of his perspective. Teenagers feel deeply but don’t have enough years to be able to see all the options.  being older, only a decade away from retirement, I could see his many options. Soon he began to see them too, the future was no quite so bleak.

I felt he was ready so I described how the rest of the day would unfold.

The lead officer outside had called in a possible suicide. He couldn’t just let Danny go to school. 

He was lucky, I told Danny that a 72 hour suicide watch was about to be triggered so he would have three days to talk to someone who could truly help. More stiffness seeped away. 

He was ready so I described that I’d go to the door to tell the officers he was ready to go.  He nodded. 

I went back inside, closed the door, and sat next to Danny.

“The officers outside don’t know you like I do trust you like I do. They have a safety protocol. They’re going to hand cuff you, walk you to a patrol car, and drive you to the closest expert who will help.” 

“You’re not in any danger but there might be a scary moment or two.  Tell me when you’re ready, there’s no rush.”

In a short time, he was ready. 

I’ll go to the door, tell the officers you’re ready to come outside. Then I’ll come in and walk you out.”  He nodded, and we did.

I realize now that Danny called for me because he had learned how to trust, how to take small trust building steps. How to determine if someone really does what he says he will do. Danny had learned to trust me. He had someone to call when the deck was stacked against him.  He called my school secretary knowing I'd come.

Danny's family had no money for the therapy needed. After his 72 hour suicide watch he would be released. I took to the phone making over 30 calls to get him much needed continued counseling. I called one old friend working in LAUSD. She'd put together a "One Stop Center." for the whole family. I took a day to visit her operation,  There a student could get much needed counceling his siblings, dental care. His mother attention for her diabetes.

I was impressed. Maybe I could replicate her work in Montebello. After Danny's release he was back at school. We had a very busy psychologist at the district office so Danny had just a little more help. But Danny disappeared, he didn't finish the semester with us.  I wish I could claim success, but I was never able to find continuing free counseling for Danny. I should call my teaching partner Liz Cooley to see if she knows what Danny's up to nowadays.

2. RAMON was a constant at the very least, constantly excited, excited to be in class, excited when he asked questions, excited to be alive but his agency would skyrocket when intimidated outside of school. He didn't know how to back away, make a joke or remain quiet. He'd be dressed down by a neighborhood gang member twice his size which would trigger from him a verbal avalanche no one small in stature had any means of backing up.  Most kids know how to navigate gang territory on the way to school, go around. But not Ramon, he'd spontaneously blast straight through to get to class.

His mother called for a parent/teacher conference: she came in alone and told me that her son was in enormous danger because of his brassy replies to a certain gang bully now in possession of a concealed weapon. I saw Ramon by the end of the week, we talked.  I advised him to tone it down, walk away and gave him a script: "I might be a shrimp, but I've got a boat load of buoyancy, I'm leaving right now." I compelled him to repeat it three times until I sensed less defiance in his timbre.

I remained skeptical and urged him to commit and he agreed.

There's an unwritten code: "Never rat." By this time in my career I had a reputation that lightened the law.  My students knew that the term punitive was at the bottom of my list when kids had broken a law. My question was always: "How do we change this behavior?" Now when I heard from one of his friends that Ramon was in possession of a knife or a gun, all bets were off. Knowing his inability to deescalate, I feared for HIS life.  Within 24 hours, two campus security officers arrived to search my class. They'd heard that Ramon had hidden the weapon in my classroom.   continue here.

his mother's anguished call sounded urgent. 

On the phone, I probed: "If he has a weapon, tell him to dispose of it immediately. Do you have family out of state?"  She acknowledged a sister in Arizona.

I countered: "Call her, let's get Ramon out of the state tonight, the sooner the better, get him in a new school, don't let him come back for at least a year."  He was out of town before sundown, I could unwind.  It worked, no one knew where he'd gone. 

He'd matured over the year when he called saying he wanted to graduate with his class. It was dangerous to come back but I could see it working if he arrived an hour before graduation, and left for Arizona immediately after. Take a few after photos and get out of town. 

3. PAS second floor sitting on the window ledge.

4. LEO

5. DAVID

Bright faced, not his skin but an inner radiance. Once he came to me very sad. He'd choosen to intern at a nearby convalescent hospital.  

He perhaps alone did not smell the urine, but he did brighten the life of one lonely man.  David told me sadly that no one visited this man, so he, David, took him on as a friend. Bright faced and kind was David, and very sensitive. His deep sadness came when he found his friend's bed empty, he'd died overnight.  The loss of his old man weighed heavily upon David's spirit, so we walked and talked.

I told David the good news: That this old man, did not die alone. That when the end was near, David was there.

It would have been a terrible death without a friend. The old man was very lucky, how many visits did he have with you? I asked.  I don't remember his answer, but I did told him that each one of his visits made that man's life one day better. When he died, he died one friend richer. We should all be so lucky.

There it is:  Jimmy Ellaboudy at my retirement remembered what he'd learned from going on all our expeditions.  

Enter Jimmy Ellaboudy's clip from my retirement party.

 

"Leave the place a little better having been there."

 

6. BLAKE

Blake: Was like a wild bee fliting from blossom to colorful blossom, inhaling each floral perfume.  I remember him hanging out the car window as they passed me on a Mammoth ski trip. Such a happy young man, seeding smiles where ever he breezed.

MHS Groundskeeper:  I've only recently realized that I've always had a deep admiration for people who did their jobs well, like a perfect match between the man and his plow.

The Foothill High Custodian. Kindness and inclusion. At lunch time there were always two seniors spending their time with him, learning how to carve wooden horses, and meditate.

7. LUPE and CANCER