PMA Resurrection: A Happy Half-day as “Herr Conger”

Two weeks ago, I learned in convivial conversation with the fine person who called to ask me to guest teach, that my temporary banishment from a prominent high school in 2007 had not been reinstated. The action (a combined slap on the wrist and checking account) was taken because I had sent too many female students to the office for disruptive classroom behavior. Had I known the consequences for my action or the unspoken limit, I would have gladly consented to the ongoing classroom chaos they created and eaten better for the rest of that year. When I talked with the sub line recently, I learned my name had not been removed from the “do not call the impatient old goat” list, and I asked that it be reinstated. WIth one or two exceptions, every experience at that school has been positive. And, with one or two exceptions, every school in Springfield School District 186 has rewarded my sincere efforts with positive outcomes and warm memories at days’ ends. Happily, the authorities put me back on the “call the impatient old goat list,” and earlier this week, the call came.

“Mr. Conger, can you guest teach a half-day of German class at a (prominent highj school in the east and south quadrant of our fair city) starting in an hour and a half?”

“JAWOHL” I said, and gladly rushed into clean-up mode for the occasion.

I had not been in the school for almost two years, and my re-immersion into the”halls of motley zoomers to the rooms of trifle glee” as I headed for the main office made me wonder if claustrophobia is a common malady among sardines. The environment seemed strangely unfamiliar to me (like walking without crutches for the first time in weeks), but I was glad to be there. The guest-teacher coordinator in the office (one of my favorites) recognized me immediately and asked me where I had been so long. I told her the truth, and she was amazed. She had heard nothing of my brash intransigence; reassured me I was one of the favorites there.

The positive start got better when I arrived at the classroom. The quiet and order caught me by surprise. I had to look twice to be sure there were living students present. There were. The teacher, Mrs. Inadlo (not her real name exactly) was discussing a class project, and I simply sat back and drank it in after writing my name “Herr Conger” on the blackboard. She rewarded my arrival by giving me the last of the Eurobar candy bars her classes had sold for fund raisers. Later I ate it for dessert after cafeteria lunch of pizza slice and stewed apple slices washed down by Lipton White Tea. It was all ambrosia. And I kept the candy bar wrapper as a mimento, no bleeping kidding.

Thanks to Mrs. Inadlo’s fine blackboard instructions and the incredible maturity and focus of almost every student in the three remaining classes I guided, the day was a spring breeze of Positive Mental Attitude replenishment. Despite the generally positive outcomes this spring, my PMA tank was running close to empty, so the privilege of meeting these students and their excellent teacher could not have been better timed.

It would be too easy and premature to deduce that behind my elation was a Butternut White Bread complexion of the student populace in the German classes, but that was not the case. But minorities were in the minority for the two 1st year German and one 2nd year German classes I met. With perhaps two exceptions among the probably 70 students I met, all focused attentively and positively; not begrudgingly as though resentful of “da MAN” at the front of da room. Not one visibly resented me, and not one challenged me or giggled in the four restorative hours I spent at that fine school. The experience was similar to what I enjoyed guest teaching Latin class at a prominent central city high school earlier this year. I ALMOST wrote Mrs. Inadlo that I would sub teach her class for free any time she wanted a break, if I could only find a way to pay my real estate tax that way. But you know something? I don’t think she ever wanted a break from these students. Only a migraine headache she had suffered for two days running and the urging of the school office staff that she go home for the rest of the day precipitated her departure. I bet she looks forward to returning to these students . . . . . . probably just as much as I do.

At the end of each visit to a school, guest teachers complete a “green sheet” that tells management about each assignment and leave it in the office when we pick up our time card. We are asked if adequate lesson plans, class seating charts, etc. were provided, and there’s space for comments. Under comments I wrote words to the effect that in eight years of guest teaching, I had enjoyed no half day any more than the half day with Mrs. Inadlo’s German students. In my separate note to her I told her I half-felt I had missed my destiny: to teach German in high school. She may have thought I was just flattering her, but in truth I was saying something I believe today. If I had been a German teacher since college graduation, I’d be married today, probably with a few kids and grandkids and more than likely, not writing Honey & Quinine. Instead I’m a failed journalist, poet and folkslinger/songwrither.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Live long . . . . . . and proper.