During my first week of teaching, I was in the hall between classes. We were instructed to be there in order to monitor the passing of classes. There was terrific unrest in the country and in the school. The great civil rights movement was at a fever pitch and the residual anger over slavery, subjugation and segregation was palpable within the students. They were always on the verge. Fights broke out in the streets, the halls, the cafeteria, the stadiums, the classrooms … a slight jostle during the passing of classes was sufficient to cause a huge fight involving scores of kids. As I stood there, I watch a boy set off a fire alarm. Of course, I challenged him. By the time he was finished telling me that I did not see him do it, I wasn’t so sure that he had. We both walked away. That was the first and the last time that happened to me. Never again would I allow anyone to tell me what I saw … what I knew to be true. The lessons learned in those early days have lasted a lifetime.