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〈 Wadleigh, The Death School
〈 Dr. Caleb Gattegno, Expert
〈 Intimidation
〈 Hector Of The Feeble-Mind
〈 Hector Isn't The Problem
〈 One Lawyer Equals 3,000 Reams of Paper
〈 The Great Transformation
〈 Education As A Helix Sport
〈 I'm Outta Here!
The master's face goes white, then red. His mouth tightens and opens
and spit flies everywhere....
What will I do, boys?
Flog the boy, sir.
Till?
Till the blood spurts, sir.
– Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes.
Writing of Ireland's schools as
they were in the 1940s.
Wadleigh, The Death School
One day after spending nearly my entire life inside a school building as student and teacher, I quit. But not before I
saw some things you ought to know. McCourt is right, spit flies everywhere in the classroom and school, children
mock us because of it. The smell of saliva. I had forgotten until I returned as a teacher. Put the cosmic aspect aside
e back again into school with me. See it from the inside with grownup eyes.
On my first day back to school I was hired to substitute in a horrible place, Wadleigh Junior High School,
nicknamed "the death school" by regulars at the West End Tavern near Columbia. Jean Stapleton (Archie Bunker's
wife, Edith) had gone there as a young girl; so had Anäis Nin, celebrated diarist and writer of erotica. Some palace
revolution long before I got there had altered the nature of this school from an earnest, respectable Victorian
lock-up to something indescribable. During my teaching debut at Wadleigh, I was attacked by a student
determined to bash my brains out with a chair.
Wadleigh was located three blocks from that notorious 110th Street corner in Harlem made famous by a bestseller
Easy PDF Copyright © 1998,2003 Visage Software
This document was created with FREE version of Easy visit more deta