ENGLISH CLASS

As he entered the classroom for the last period on the first day of his freshman year in high school, Carl was really dragging his butt. He had suffered through the day meeting new teachers, getting new text books and learning about the daunting tasks that faced him this year. He was a good student. Last year he had made the honor roll every single marking period. But this high school stuff was serious.

This morning when he left home he had been eager and full of nervous but hopeful anticipation. With his new schedule taped to the inside of his notebook he had found his way to his first class; Algebra I, room 204. The shriveled little woman standing in front of the room didn’t smile. She spoke in a barely audible monotone. After a perfunctory roll call books were passed out. Then for the next forty minutes the teacher wrote incomprehensible formulas on the blackboard and droned on in the very foreign language of higher mathematics. It was torture.

After finally being released from the gulag of Algebra I, Carl rushed to his second class. He liked history and hoped that this period would give a lift to the day. The history teacher, Mr. Harris, seemed like a nice enough guy as he introduced himself, took roll and passed out the thick, new smelling “Introduction to World History” book. Then he passed out seven mimeographed work sheets, sat down and unfolded a newspaper.

“Work on these pages.” Mr. Harris said. “The answers are in chapter one of your text. Hand them in tomorrow. Work quietly or I’ll throw you out of class.”

Then he buried his face in the newspaper and didn’t say another word for the rest of the class.

Third period was an elective class. Carl had never had an elective and he felt he had attained some new level of maturity when he chose “Art Appreciation for Americans” during his session with the guidance counselor at the end of eighth grade. The counselor called the schedule-making sessions “Life Planning” and made it seem like a very serious business.

She told Carl “It’s really important to take the core courses and electives that will best prepare you for your chosen career.”

Carl replied “But I’m only in eighth grade. I don’t have any idea what I want to do with my life yet. How can I know what to pick?”

“Well, just kind of make an informed guess” Miss Dixon said earnestly. She said most everything either earnestly or sometimes even passionately.

“Carl said “Okey-dokey” and picked the art course and for the second semester, “Introduction to Woodworking”.

“Art Appreciation for Americans” looked promising as Carl found a seat at one of the round tables in the classroom. The teacher looked very young and very pretty. She introduced herself as Mrs. Butler and then had the twenty or so students each introduce themselves and say a little something about their interest in art.

When it was his turn Carl mumbled “I’m Carl. A couple years ago I went to an art gallery and it was cool. They had mostly pictures of A-bomb explosions. So that’s why I signed up for this class.”

The little introductions took most of the class so Carl couldn’t really tell how it would play out in the long run of a whole semester. The bell rang and it was time to find his way to Biology, in room 237. Finding the class involved pushing through crowds of students, quickly climbing up two flights of stairs and rushing down a long hallway. When he reached room 237 he was out of breath and just barely on time.

Mr. Wright, the teacher was checking off names as Carl entered, directing each student to an assigned desk with a textbook already in place. When everyone had been settled Mr. Wright began a lecture about being organized and orderly. He told the class that, in science, orderliness was a key component of learning and discovery.

“In our laboratory work we will always be organized, orderly and methodical. Lab sessions are going to take place during fifth period three days a week. You must follow instructions exactly. Safety will be a top priority. If you disrupt the class with disorderly conduct or poor organization I will make life very difficult for you.” Mr. Wright preached.

Carl was amused at how stiff and formal the teacher appeared. He reminded Carl of a Presbyterian minister that preached at a church the family attended until the minister had a full blown nervous breakdown during a Sunday service. The minister, a major control nut, completely lost it when he discovered that the bookmarks in his Bible were mixed up, the hymn numbers on the sign board were transposed and all the flower arrangements had been shifted to the left about a foot each. Two male members of the children’s choir had been questioned after they were observed laughing hysterically as the minister fell to pieces, but they denied any responsibility even offering to swear on a Bible to avow their innocence. Carl’s family had switched to the more relaxed Unitarian congregation after that incident.

Biology class ended as Carl’s daydream faded. Lunch was next on the schedule followed by Biology Lab in room 238. Carl headed for the cafeteria hoping that high school lunch would prove to be better than junior high. He was once again disappointed. He shoveled a serving of some mysterious meat and mashed potatoes covered by gelatinous brown gravy with a side order of gravel like peas into his mouth out of desperate hunger. Even the dessert, tepid orange Jell-O with chunks of pineapple, was barely edible. Carl followed the tray depositing procedure and headed up to his Biology Lab.

Lab turned out to be an only slightly more interesting class than Mr. Wright’s earlier session. The first “experiment” in the workbook involved looking at and identifying the parts of a plant. Carl was assigned a lab partner, a sophomore girl named Edna, to share the supplies and microscope at their table. Edna was a pretty girl and extremely shy with a vocabulary limited to “yes”, “no” and “ewww”. But Carl liked her and if Mr. Wright hadn’t been marching around the room like some goose-stepping Nazi the class wouldn’t have been half-bad.

Physical Education was next on Carl’s schedule. He got to the gym where he was instructed to sit on the floor with thirty other ninth grade boys. Coach Talbot, a stooped over, chain smoking man with a voice like a meat grinder gave the same lecture he had been giving for nearly thirty-six years.

“You must dress for Physical Education in the proper clothing. Proper clothing is regulation shorts, white t-shirt, athletic socks, sneakers and athletic supporter. You will shower after every gym class even if you ain’t broke a sweat. You can bring your own towel or rent towels from the school. Everyone participates. I’ll be looking at you guys for new members of all the high school sports teams. No grab-ass in the locker rooms or shower. That’s it. Study or somethin’. Next class be prepared to participate.”

Carl thought that the coach had a simple philosophy and it wouldn’t too hard to survive the class; wear the right stuff, stay clean and, above all, participate.

Carl was feeling drained. The first day of high school had been filled with disappointments and challenges that he hadn’t anticipated. His final class of the day was coming and it was a subject he had always hated. Carl liked to read. He even liked writing a little bit. But all the other parts of English classes were despised drudgery. Grammar, sentence diagramming and spelling drills gave him a headache. In seventh and eighth grade English class seemed to be all about those boring chores. As he worked his way to the far end of the school for the final class of the day he was filled with an exhausted dread. English I in room 250 was waiting there to devour his now withered brain.

When he got to the classroom there was no teacher in view. The other twenty five or so students were finding seats and chattering the way barely adolescent kids will. Suddenly a short, thin man with a crew cut and wearing a rumpled brown suit and a bright yellow bow tie burst through the door. His energy was almost visible. He circled the entire room one time walking like a demented Groucho Marx and then stopped at the blackboard and scrawled ENGLISH I – MR. WARREN in huge letters, scraping the chalk on the boards surface, creating the sound that raises the hair on the backs of most everyone’s neck. He turned to face the class. Then from a standing position he leapt up onto the teacher’s desk and bellowed.

“I LOVE ENGLISH!”

“You will love English too, by the end of this school year!”

Mr. Warren went on to proclaim the virtues of the language and its literature. He quoted Mark Twain, William Shakespeare, James Dickey and Dr. Seuss. Reading and writing would be the focus of the class, he said. Mr. Warren insisted that the class would be fun, “SO HELP ME GOD!” All of this was delivered from the desk top with histrionics and theatrical gestures. When the teacher jumped down from the desk everyone applauded wildly.

Carl sat thoughtfully and said to himself “maybe high school will be alright after all”. The bell rang and the first day was over.