Chapter 3 — Massive Learning Experience

The first hours of school were confusing both to Billy and to Gus, but by 11 o’clock in the morning, the old timers had settled into the patterns of former years, and even to the new boys, it seemed as if school had been under way for a month. Gus’s classes went smoothly enough although that ninth grade did seem a little restless and talkative. Billy actually enjoyed an English class with Mr. Floyd; just managed to cope with a beginning algebra class; was completely overwhelmed by a French class in which no word of English was spoken, and in Gus’s history class was utterly bored by a summary of Indo-European migrations and their effects on the language, culture, and religion of the Greeks of Homer’s time. He sat next to Johnny, and while looking studiously at his notebook, contrived a game of tic-tac-toe with him and then one of Battleship. Johnny had a rubber band, and he used it with practiced accuracy on the neck of Henry Phillips in the row ahead. Billy tried, missed, and nearly got caught; but the air of injured innocence, which had worked so well at home, scored another success. “Who, me? Oh, no, sir.” The afternoon was a little frightening. He was required to strip to be weighed and measured. Then he was given a red school T-shirt, a pair of short pants, and a sweatshirt. Jimmy, the man who passed out the equipment, dangled a strange-looking piece of clothing in front of him and asked, “You want a jock?” Billy didn’t know what it was and shook his head. “Never mind. You ain’t got nothin’ to put in it yet. You’ll come to it.” Billy left, mystified, was assigned a locker; required to put on the new clothes and hustled on to the field to join the ill-assorted XY soccer team. Gus showed them how to kick the ball with the top and side of the foot, not the toe, but Billy just kicked it like most of the rest of them. It didn’t last too long. Supper was good – great; but it seemed to be the custom to growl about it. Johnny declared that last year he had bitten down on a horseshoe nail in the stew, and it was a well-known fact that the milk was liberally dosed with saltpeter. Study hall started off like Fun Night until the bell rang. Then Mr. Johnson, known to Billy only as “Coach,” his universal nickname, glared fiercely at two who were slow to stop talking. On a tour of the room he snatched a comic book from behind an atlas and established such an attitude of silent terror that Billy really tried to do his algebra for a while. But he soon gave it up to read Of Mice And Men, which had been assigned in English. He read way ahead, letting the consequent feeling of excessive virtue eclipse his failure even to think about algebra, history, science, or French. When they got back to Chelsea House though, Billy found that Johnny had been thinking about

history.

“You watch. Tomorrow old Gus is goin’ to get it.” But he refused to elaborate. That evening, after the dormitory had quieted down, Gus dropped in to Peter’s study to discuss his first experiences as a teacher. Peter seemed to take it calmly, relaxed now at the end of the day in his shirtsleeves, but Gus was still excited and became stimulated all over again in telling the story. “I was really full of butterflies when those ninth graders came in for the first class. They were OK though and sat down more or less attentively as if I were a real teacher. I asked their names, checked them off on the list, and passed out the books just as you said. There was a good deal of chatter while that was going on, but I couldn’t see that that was doing any harm. Then the rest of the period I set up the background for fifth century Greek civilization. You know those Greeks came from central Asia and pushed out the original inhabitants so lots of their language is like that of the modern Germans. Take the word for

winter, for instance. Also their beliefs and customs are different, more like European than Mediterranean people. And Greece is a land of valleys and steep mountains. The valleys all run to the south and the winds blow from the north so communication is much easier by sea than it is by climbing over those jagged mountains. That’s why the Greeks became a maritime nation while the Egyptians, with almost no harbors and, plastered up against an inhospitable coast by the northerly winds, became agricultural – I guess I get all worked up about it. I don’t have to tell you this.” “How did the kids respond?” asked Peter. “Pretty well. But I don’t think they paid as much attention as they should. One kid, Phillips I think his name is, seemed quite interested and asked if Greek ships could sail to windward. Edwards was taking notes all the time, but once out of the corner of my eye I saw something sail through the air. It seemed to come from Edwards, but I guess he wasn’t the one and I didn’t know who it was so I let it go. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.” “You could have asked Edwards a question to involve him in the subject and to see whether he knew what was going on instead of his just sitting there transferring your notes to his notebook – if he was taking notes. We sometimes get overly suspicious. It is an occupational affliction. How did the afternoon go?” “All right. Those XY soccer kids have two left feet and don’t seem to be real excited about the game. I tried to show them how to kick a soccer ball properly, but they just booted it around. And I had to get behind and push them to get them to run their laps. They don’t know how important conditioning is.” “No, they don’t,” agreed Peter, “and it may be hard to convince them.” “The first game is in three weeks. That’ll show ’em.” “I trust so.” Was there just a hint of dry amusement in Peter’s attitude? “Well, you seem to have made it all right for a start. Remember,” said Peter as he held the door open, “that learning is said to take place in inverse proportion to the volume of words spoken by the teacher. Good night, Gus, and press forward.” The next day’s history class started inauspiciously. Gus began with the idea of leading his students into the concept of the Athenian city-state by a more Socratic method than he had used in the first day’s runaway lecture. The class was slow to settle down. Gus had to raise his voice over the undertone of noise to ask his first question. “Who knows what democracy means?” “It means the dirty Democrats are in Washington,” answered Johnny to the accompaniment of a general laugh. “Not at all. Regardless of your politics, Mr. Cluett, we have a representative government, not a true democracy. Democracy with a small “d” means rule by the people. You see it comes from the Greek words “demos” meaning people and “kratein” meaning to rule.” He turned to write the words on the blackboard in Greek characters. “And the concept like the word comes from ancient Greece.” “Who dat man?” The words seemed to come from the left of the class. Gus turned from the board to try to identify the speaker and looked into seven pairs of expressionless eyes. Hadn’t they even heard it? Had they? He went on. “Our Town meetings in New England are in the truly democratic tradition, much like the….” “Who dat say who dat?” This time from the right. Again a half dozen expressionless faces. “C’mon, gentlemen, cut that out. Now back to Greece.” “Does Greece have anything to do with the sausage balls we had for breakfast?” asked Melton. General laughter, perhaps louder and more prolonged than necessary. “Who dat man?” From the left again. Gus whipped left in time to hear, “Who dat say who dat?” from the right. This time the merriment was poorly concealed. “Thayer, did you say that?” “Say what, sir?”

“Say – you know.” More laughter. “Look, you guys,” Gus was shouting now to be heard over the laughter. “The next guy who talks without raising his hand gets thrown right out of here into Mr. Hanshaw’s office. Now behave!” The noise declined rapidly and Gus went on. “In the sixth century Athens had been ruled by a few powerful men with exceptional public spirit and vision. They weakened the power of the nobles and encouraged the less wealthy independent farmers and middle class merchants. The leader of these, Cleisthenes, led a rebellion against the tyrants, and as the fifth century began–” “Was the fifth century–” began Phillips, all seriousness. “Out!” shouted Gus. “Out! I said that the next guy who spoke without raising his hand would

leave.”

“But I was just going to ask–.” Gus knew he had caught the wrong man, but he had committed himself and felt that to back down would be a confession of weakness. “Sorry, Phillips. You heard what I said, and what I say, I mean. I kid you not.” He was distracted by what he heard himself say, couldn’t believe he had said it. The expression he associated with the despicable tyrant, Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny. But he pressed on loudly, “and if I say you go, you go.” Henry left with tears of outrage in his eyes, for he had been genuinely confused and could not comprehend such injustice. “Now, then–” Gus continued in a high, strained voice. “Who dat?” Gus stopped short. He seemed to be looking down through the ceiling at himself, a young man in a blue blazer yelling back at fourteen small boys who had him absolutely on the run. “They can’t do this to me!” he said to himself. “I know more than they do; it is my business to teach them and I won’t be fooled out of it by a bunch of fresh kids.” This was not really a consciously expressed thought in Gus’s mind – more of a feeling of rage and frustration. Acting entirely from this feeling and from a conditioned reflex that expressed frustration in physical activity, he dropped his voice to a fierce intensity. “Stand up! All of you!” Surprised by this sudden change of tone and the genuine anger in it, they obeyed hesitantly. “All of you! Out the door and take one fast lap around the drive. Run! And anyone I catch up with I’ll – I’ll beat his roof in! Cluett first. Go!” Johnny broke and ran for it, the rest pelting behind. Gus came last of all, after the first twenty yards, calmed and in control. Breathless and astonished, they came back into the room. “Now, gentlemen, no more nonsense. For tomorrow read pages 17-25 in your text and answer the questions at the end. Anyone who wants to know “Who dat” can ask me at the far end of the drive. That’s all for today.” Mercifully, the bell rang. Henry Phillips stood in front of Mr. Hanshaw, telling him of Mr. Cunningham’s unreasonable behavior in throwing him out of class when all he had done was try to ask whether the fifth century came after the sixth century and what years were in the fifth century. “Now that is a confusing business, Henry. I get twisted up in it myself. But perhaps you chose an inopportune time to ask that question.” Mr. Hanshaw had formed a pretty good idea of what had been going on in the class from Henry’s account. Suddenly, both looked out the window to see the class strung out around the drive like an army in retreat with Gus jogging behind. “Perhaps you are better off where you are, Henry, “suggested Mr. Hanshaw. “After lunch, and not before then, I want you to apologize to Mr. Cunningham for speaking out of turn and then ask your question. The period is almost over so I would not suggest that you return to class now.” “What was going on out on the drive in the first period?” asked Mr. Edgehill at coffee time in the

faculty room. “There was the whole Mafia strung out in a line with the new teacher herding them, a tergo.” “It was a massive learning experience,” replied Mr. Hanshaw. The boys were learning that they cannot take advantage of this particular new teacher, and something about discipline and good manners, while Cunningham was learning when to stop being nice and get mad. I don’t think the Mafia will raise its ugly head with him this year.”