The year was 1968 and it was our fourth summer working at Upward Bound. The program had now moved to the Greensboro campus of The University of North Carolina Agricultural & Technical College, an institution primarily designed for people of color not pursuing a traditional college education. (Negro colleges themselves were unique institutions with their own set of challenges to be later discussed.)
That summer was hot in terms well beyond the thermostat. There was no air-conditioning and the darkroom we used in the basement of one of the buildings was usually over ninety-five degrees, adding a new chemical to the stop baths for film and prints, our own sweat. During the last few weeks of the program, Greensboro had begun to experience an increase in violence from whites and blacks. A brick was thrown through the window in the faculty apartment where we were staying and landed a few feet from the crib where Neville, just a year old, was sleeping. It was the event that allowed me to see that there was a dramatic difference between putting myself at risk and putting my young family in harms way.
These four summers and the exchange program preceding it, gave me a series of ideas about some documentary films that I felt needed to be created. CBS was the only producer of hard hitting documentary films at that time, so we headed north toward 51West 52nd Street, the corporate home of CBS. PBS was not created until 1970. Edward R. Murrow had already produced Harvest of Shame, about the devastating condition of migrant workers in this country. As we drove north, I began to title and outline a few of the films I had in mind.
Separate and Unequal, a candid look at segregated public schools in America
The Face of Poverty, a profile of the parents of our Upward Bound students who wanted nothing more than an opportunity for their children.
Why People of Color Don’t Swim, if you can’t get into the pool or the bathing area, it is pretty tough to learn how to swim.
The Face of Prejudice, a description of the Winston Salem Symphony audience, that when presented with an integrated audience section, had to be quieted before the conductor would continue.
Meals for Some, the condition of segregated restaurants in the south and the north. (Denny’s restaurant was desegregated in 1994, after a $54 million judgment against them, as a result of four FBI agents being refused service. Imagine what it was like in 1964.)
Bathrooms Aren’t for Everyone, you wait four hours to urinate on a long trip and see how you feel.
Two Drinking Fountains, an exploration of justice, starting with the two fountains in the courthouse in Greensboro. Mr. Boothby wanted us to understand the implication of that condition on justice. It is where we first learned that calling the local authorities was not a good idea.
No More Patience, the increase in violence and its connection to words rather than actions.
Three Strikes and You are Out, the impact of the deaths of Jack Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King on everything.
As I walked into the lobby of CBS, I was given an application, told to fill it out and that I was number 1743 and they would call me in April or May, depending on how many of the 1742 were hired. Not the outcome I had in mind. At a lobby phone, I found out who the head of documentary film was and called his office. I told his administrative assistant that I was Number 1743 and in the lobby and had the outlines for eleven documentary films I thought CBS might want to consider. “Thanks, and we’ll get back to you.”
Even then, I was pretty sure I would never hear from them and we headed to Maine to deliver some wood to Pike Stuart, (Father of a dear friend), head of Industrial Arts for the Cape Elizabeth Public Schools. The Stuarts were really gracious and Pike and I started talking about schools and possibilities. He suggested I go see a wonderful woman, Margaret Arber, in the state capital of Augusta who handled school placements for the entire state. Once Ms. Arber found out about my teaching in the past summers and Upward Bound, she asked where I would like to teach. She knew I would be paid as a beginning teacher and I wouldn’t be completely green, due to teaching English as part of the Upward Bound experience. I had always loved Camden in summers as a child and interviewed with a truly inspired superintendent whose name was Casper Ciaravino. We talked for a couple of hours about the Upward Bound experience and Casper’s vision for public schools. Pending positive references and the appropriate college transcript, I left Maine with an offer to teach 7th grade English starting at the end of August. The salary was $3,800 a year and we found a little two-bedroom house to rent that afternoon for $80 a month up on Mountain Street.
Upon return to New York City, I was told that CBS had called. I was stunned. An appointment with Jerry Kamm, temporary Head of Documentary Film was set up for that week. I went to the appointment, outlines in hand. He told me the reason I was there was those outlines. I had come with something to offer, not just to see what CBS could do for me. We met at 10:00 a.m., talked through lunch and I left at about 3:00 p.m. with an offer to work at CBS. If I survived an internship, head gofer position (as in, go for this, go for that, do what you are told), I would be hired as a newbie in the documentary film department in a year. The salary was $5,000.
Did I want to raise Neville and perhaps other children in or near New York City? One could not expect to work in or near the city on that kind of money. Did we really want to be in that much debt? As I think now about how much debt I have created and climbed out of over the years, the concern seems amusing in hindsight.
So off to Maine we went idealism in hand. Many of the aspects of those documentaries were done by CBS and I felt great about having contributed. It never crossed my mind that those ideas were worth money.
The first time I met the building principal was about a week before school started. After a cordial greeting, he proceeded to hand me a stack of folders and said, “study these and find out which kids are going to work hard and which ones are going to create problems.” I asked if there were any medical emergency cases in my classroom. “No,” he said, “and I want you to look at these files.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Fines (a pseudonym), I look to discover the capacity of my students without regard to their previous achievement.” “Have it your way,” he added and went back down the hall, muttering. During the first six weeks of the Ford Foundation Project in 1964, the IQ scores of our participants rose an average of seventeen points. “Unheard of,” said the college board. “Verified,” said the examiners. Most of what is tested is what has been assimilated to date, not capacity, as an IQ test is intended to measure.
The first day of school, I asked the class to write me a one-page paper on any topic they wanted as long as there was a “purpose” to what they wrote. It was obvious that the achievement levels in the class were dramatically different. A few wrote, clear, focused, well-organized, properly spelled essays on everything from the Beatles to nuclear war concerns. Others did not know what a “paper” was. Some did not recognize the paragraph as anything significant. A few could barely spell.
The best con-artist in the class had for years never admitted he could do anything beyond a third grade level. When his assignments started to come in applied mechanics magazines and boating books, amazingly enough, he could not only read, but read well.
Everyone had an individual grammar plan, each working on the areas of greatest need. Their topics were often self created or open ended, such as, over the weekend, discover a “found object (small piece of trash),” create a story about how it got to where you found it. Some picked from the road, others were bright enough to head straight to the ocean. Stories were read and discussed with the chairs in a circle. There were twenty-eight students in the class, only one person spoke at a time.
The other aspect of my teaching responsibilities included “social studies.” A model of the town was created and discussions were held regarding why each of the businesses and social institutions existed and whether where they were located and their mission was still appropriate in current times. Why was an institution significant and how did it sustain itself? What needs in the community were not being met effectively? What should be expanded? What would it cost and how would it be paid for?
Things progressed brilliantly for the first three months. Students wrote, spoke their minds and created brilliantly. I never sent a youngster out of class. They even began to understand self-evaluation with twenty-five percent of their grades for certain projects being determined by grades that compared their goals with their results. The only issue seemed to be that some faculty didn’t think a teacher should be in the building talking to students until 5:00 p.m.
And then there was a phone call to the Principal’s office asking why I was allowing kids to play poker for money and grade themselves. The English period was two hours long and we broke it with a ten minute free period in which students could do anything they wanted, as long as it disturbed no one else. A couple of students did indeed play poker, there was no money involved. Many read. Some worked on homework or asked for assistance. The self-evaluation was as described about.
Every step along the way, I had discussed the techniques I was using with the Principal and it seems that I didn’t make sure he really understood. He didn’t like the chairs in a circle, wanted grammar to be taught by rote, the civics project dismantled and he wanted me to tell the students I had made a mistake. I might have been willing to make all of the other changes and just suck it up and I was not going to tell these students that I had made a mistake. There was no mistake. They were thriving. Writing more than I could sometimes read in a weekend, participating and being terrific about classroom manners. The Principal reminded me that probationary teachers (which all first year teachers are) had no rights. I either did what he requested or I was through.
That evening I discussed the choices with my wife and wrote a brief letter of resignation. The next day, I went down to the Superintendent’s office to tell Casper what had happened. He was furious. We had been talking about creating some courses for the district about creativity in teaching. It became an unbelievably political situation almost overnight. School Committee members with kids in my class wanted the resignation rescinded. The Principal was adamant. Apparently, the issue about too much time in school had made me no allies with the faculty, except a high school teacher, who had a child in my class. After two weeks of controversy and a bitter School Committee meeting to which I was not invited, Casper accepted my resignation. With the recommendation, the superintendent wrote I had a job in a nearby school district within the week. I was very fortunate.
I discovered that being fortunate was wonderful and a few other things.
That being right meant nothing.
That putting yourself in danger is your right, endangering others is not.
That fear and insecurity sometimes make people do desperate things.
That taking no for an answer is a decision.
That money or the lack of it is a relative condition.
That creativity makes some people nervous.
That the truth and politics are two separate issues.
That children generally know the truth.
With all my love and every blessing!
Namaste!
Bill
