Liberries … and those who grow them

Liberries … and those who grow them

While never a Librarian myself, it was my absolute joy to supervise 32 Library Media Specialists. Among them were just two African-American women. One of the dear ladies took gravely ill and it fell to me to notify the other 31 of her passing. The call had come into my office and I called each of them with the sad news. Shortly after that, a second call came in of the Oops variety. She was still quite alive. While she did die within a day or two, I was devastated by my prematurate pronouncement to staff. The second LMS had a more amusing tale attached to her. Lorraine, now also passed, was a very elegant woman. Always dressed to the nines, she was what White folks like to refer to as “articulate” … i.e., she was fluent in white English and never heard to utter dialect or to mispronounce any word. Of a day, she said, “Kathleen, you must speak to my principal. She gets on the intercom and says, “Grade Five, report to the liberry. The Liberian is waiting for you.” Once I stopped laughing, I told that dear soul that once a person gets into the 50s that it is near impossible to change bizarre pronunciations. While that was winging it, I knew that my half black, white-looking self was not going to wander down that highway. However, being the tasteless juvenile that so endears me to teenage boys, I had me a new name for the LMS division. From that day forward, regardless of ethnicity, they were MY LIBERIANS!!! They were always kind enough to humour me.

The Delight of Anonymity

The Delight of Anonymity

I did not teach anyone named Kardashian, Lohan, Spears, Sheen, or Gibson … I had a ton of kids named Willie, Latisha, Jones, Kearse, Torrence and not a one of them shamed themself or me. I had Kings, Queenies, Princes, Princesses and a whole bunch of White, Hispanic & Black kids that, to this day, make me proud to have been Big Mama to them. These famous folk are sad … be anonymous and wonderful my beautiful babies.

On School Shootings

On School Shootings

During the time of Columbine, I was the Principal of an Alternative to Expulsion for Weapons Possession School. We believed it to be the only such school in the country. Syracuse is at the crossroads of New York State … as such, it drew scores of drug traffickers. The very dangerous gangs … the Bloods and the Crips … had infiltrated the community and created a confluence of violence and more violence. I got the kids (Grades 6-12) via a Superintendent’s Hearing. It was deemed best to keep them in school rather than suspending them to the streets. We moved about 200 students through each year. Many of these misguided babies were labeled as Special Needs … they were the children most easily manipulated by the gangs … many were kids fearful for their own safety as they traversed the streets … many were angry, aggressive, emboldened by weaponry. I learned that each and every one of my students had a different motive for arming him/herself. As today’s tragedy gets sorted out, we will learn about the shooter … much of it will be speculation. In truth, we will never understand what motivated such devastation. All we can really do is to pray for those lost and those left to mourn them. Pray, too, for those who are in such turmoil of mental, physical, spiritual and moral despair that they see no other way to escape their pain than to cause as much carnage as they can before dying by their own hand or that of another.

The Dashiki

The Dashiki

As a young teacher, in the early 70’s, I had a very colourful dashiki that I wore of a day. My car was in the shop & my parents picked me up after school. As I neared the car, Miss Addie asked me why my top was inside out. I had no clue. So, the next day, I quiz my babies (Grades 10-12) as to why they failed to mention it. To a class, they said, “Mrs. Niles, we didn’t want to embarrass you.” Don’t EVER tell me that urban kids aren’t kind, sensitive, caring and loving. Mine certainly were. That is the kind of memory that truly warms my heart as I look back over 45 years.

The Bi-Teacher

The Bi-Teacher

Just remembering a darling Spanish/French teacher who worked for me years ago. We were doing Arena Scheduling and the cafeteria was filled with students going from department to department trying to fill their schedules for the semester. From across the room came Ms. L crying out to me (very loudly) “Mrs. Niles, Mrs. Niles … You have to get me another bi-sexual teacher!!!” With all eyes upon us, I explained that I could get her another bi-lingual teacher but anything beyond that was up to her. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry but the kids were hysterical. There were great times to be had even in the stress of scheduling. Thanks SCSD for the times of my life!

The Nose Job

The Nose Job

Some years ago, maybe 30, I had a wonderful 3D artist who worked for me. He did some beautiful work and today does all the tiles for the NY subway system. He is Bob Shenfeld. Well, to make a short story monotonous, when they closed Syracuse Central High School, I liberated a couple of busts so they were not destroyed by the students who played catch with them … I had them on the mantle in my home. I came in one day to find that Shakespeare was fine but that Lord Byron was in pieces … thanks to the resident furries. I boxed Byron up and took him to Bobby asking that he restore him. Some time later, he called my office and asked me to come to his room. I looked at the restored Byron and Bobby said, “That was Tennyson, right?” I said, “Byron.” Well, the long and short of it is that today I have a wonderful bust of Lord Byron with Tennyson’s nose. Amen.

The Minor Transgression

The Minor Transgression

When one is the Principal of an Alternative School, one often gets the teachers no one opts for or the baby teachers who are just starting their careers. My green babies turned out to be very good. Then, there were the others. My school was an alternative to expulsion for weapons possession. All my 6-12 grade babies were caught with a weapon in their respective school and sent to me via Supt. Hearing. I had one teacher who was to the manor born … monied and certainly not urban school material. This brings me to a story that the Principal isn’t terribly proud to relate. The teacher appeared before my desk of a late morning to insist that I “must suspend Willie because he used a cuss word in class.” My anger was swift. I said, “Are you f**king crazy? Willie, the weapon carrier, swore in your class and you want me to put him on the street because he said a naughty word? Go back to your class now!” We never had that issue come up again.

The Hangup

The Hangup

Ever want to hang up on someone but you cannot because it would be unseemly and lead to other problems more difficult than just hearing it out? Try this. Once I had an irate parent on the phone who was carrying on like a banshee. She was really pissed because I had unintentionally called her by her name in Polish … the end of names was once done with an a for a female … for example, Mr. Wolinski and Mrs. Wolinska. She informed me that I was treating her “like a DP” and she went on half in English, half in Polish. After the third or fourth go-round of the same crappola, after my abject apology for treating her “like a Displaced Person,” I needed to move on. So, I began speaking in an animated fashion and hung up on myself. She had no idea what happened to the connection and would never consider that a person would hang up in the middle of their own diatribe. When she called back, my secretary picked up and said that I was out of the office. Fini.

Folder or Crumpler

Folder or Crumpler

During a time of racial crisis, we went to an abbreviated day with no study halls nor lunch. In the En Dept., we taught Quarter Courses. This meant that for five classes, we potentially taught twenty courses in a year. English skills were taught within the context of a theme. My own background and interest led to classes in Black poetry & Lit as well as Sociology & Psychology. Since my dear friend, the Guidance Counselor Sara Walker, thought all Black kids should be with me, I had, one year, one White kid out of 150. If you don’t know this, let me tell you that African-American kids are VERBAL!!!! So, just know that our classes were a tad loud and very enthusiastic. we had a blast and we learned!!! I tried to do a daily survey in the psych & soc classes … they gave insight into ourselves and each other. One day, in teaching a little about OCD and how there are things we really don’t notice, my survey was “Folder or Crumpler” … be kind and don’t inquire where I was when I remembered this. It had to do with toilet paper!!! Well, the kids fell out. We always laughed a lot but this was hysterical. Everyone was checking on the hands raised for each … and my hand raised as well. We followed with a much more serious discussion but it was the wonderful laughter and friendship I remember best. How I love my babies … even if they are in their fourties & fifties today!!!

Mistaken for Youth

Mistaken for Youth

The time I went to the office at Syracuse Central Tech HS (my alma mater) and requested a ream of paper … The secretary said, “Who sent you?” With much indignation, I replied, “I sent me!!!” I was 25 and a young English teacher. She thought I was a student without a note and a pass. Oh, how I would love someone to mistake me for a kid just one more time!!! We don’t have a clue when we are young, do we?