I had hoped and planned to teach English in high school. But at the school my daughters went to, I found the students smug and privileged. Their interest in learning began and ended with whatever it took to get into Cal or Stanford. Grades, not learning.  It’s easy to find the faculty lot—it’s the one filled with Honda Civics. The one with the Lamborghinis is the student lot.

Plus, after three decades a journalist, I expected to be able to teach writing to high school students. My master teacher said to me, “You can write. Can you teach it?”

I taught middle school social studies (U.S. history) for a decade. I finally figured out why it was so difficult. I only taught half time, so I only had 90 new names to memorize each year. On the other hand, there are 30 pairs of eyes each period, trained on you at all times, expectantly. You needed to pay constant attention. I know of few other white collar jobs that require that much complete situational awareness.

Teaching is hereditary. My mom taught what the faculty at the time called "dummy English." She loved it because, a decade earlier, that was her. "Helps to have empathy," she said. She gave me several warnings/pieces of advice.

• Don't teach English, too many papers to grade.
• Take one day off each weekend.
• The principal makes the weather; never stay with a bad principal. I knew mine was good when he said to me, on my first day, that I was “teaching in Educational Disneyland,” in a suburban district where the median home price was $170,000.
• Whatever you do, on the first day, do not listen to the warnings issued in the faculty lounge about troublesome students (not kids; kids are goats). Once or twice in a decade of teaching, I dropped by. And discovered almost all the “troublemakers” were boys. And that almost none of them made trouble for me. Was it because I was one of the 10% of the faculty that was male? Who knows?

It’s easier to remember music than a lecture. It goes back to early days of human speech. I don’t remember anything else I was taught in 5th grade, but I remember all the words to the songs in Oliver and Music Man because of Miss Wilson, a brilliant music teacher who taught them.

I’m not the first teacher to notice this; a principal in Arkansas wrote The Battle Of New Orleans, selected as the No. 1 country and western single in the first 50 years of the Billboard Hot 100 chart. And, a great pocket history of the battle.

Here are two of mine. There was a third, to the tune of the Beatles’ Michelle, but I never finished it because my students, born in the 1990s, didn’t know the tune.

Aztec, Inca and Maya

(To the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic)

Hear an unknown teaching colleague of mine singing it professionally.

Aztec, Inca and Maya

The Aztec lived in Mexico: TEN-och-tit-lan Lake.
Religion told them they could steal the crops that they could take.
The guns and bugs of Cortez were much more than they could take,
In 1532.

Aztec, Inca and Maya,
 you can learn them if you try-a
Don’t just heave a great big sigh-a,
Just learn to sing this song

The Maya built their pyramids, they’re quite a sight to see.
In Central America they ruled from sea to sea.
We don’t know just what happened,
it remains a mystery
from 900 A.D.

Did the slaves and farmers riot?
Poor soil could not support their diet?
We know it just got really quiet
when the Mayans disappeared

The Inca lived down south
In the mountains by the sea.
They did terraces for farming
 and built stone-paved roads you see.
At Machu Picchu Incans felt religion come to be.
And Pizzaro killed them all

Aztec, Inca and Maya,
 you can learn them if you try-a
Don’t just heave a great big sigh-a,
Just learn to sing this song

The Mayans did a calendar based on astronomy.
Incans ran the biggest empire known to you and me.
The Maya and the Aztec they did things religiously
And that just ends this song.

The Three Branch Song

(to the tune of a different part of The Battle Hymn)
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the legislative crew
The house and senate pass the laws that govern me and you
The congress raises taxes cause they know just what to do
The legislative branch

Legislative makes the rules, yeah
Judicial knows what they mean, yeah
Execs enforce the rules on me, yeah
Our three-branch government

Executive’s the branch that’s headed by the President
He enforces all the laws as soon as to him they are sent
If he doesn’t like them, he can veto them instead
The branch executive

The branch that makes the rulings on the rights or wrongs of it
Is known as the judiciary and the name seems fit
It is filled up with the judges, on their benches they do sit
They’re the judicial branch

Reposting the link Kevin Sullivan on Teaching last week led to several favorable comments, and reminded me that I haven’t written much about the afterglow of my decade teaching 8^th grade U.S. History.

My previous musings are here: Paul's Tales of Teaching

I fulfilled my promise to myself: “retire before you start phoning it in.” I could see the phone looming, so I put down my PowerPoint clicker in June 2014 after 11 years. I taught a little more than 1,000 students, the last of whom will graduate college with the class of 2022.

People tend to stick around in this corner of suburbia, so I frequently run into former students. My curse―no memory for names―means I smile and ask for help remembering their name before I inquire about how their life has gone. It has been a pleasant surprise how many of them utter variations on the theme, “You were the best teacher I ever had.” Beats the hell out of the alternative.

I was eccentric. I kept the room cold and dim. There were pedagogical reasons: cold kept my students awake, dim, in my experience, resulted in better behavior. Also, I operate better when properly chilled. It was my observation that bright lights riled students up. Students certainly remember my classroom as a standout experience.

I often said, “If you can come back and tell me these four things 10 years from now, I’ll give you $20.” Since I, too, have forgotten what they were, I’d pay off any sincere attempt. So far, what I get is, “Damn, I wish I could remember those four things…”

My later mother told me there'd be days
like this. She taught high school and was accosted, in a good way, by
former students until her dying day. In any case, I just received an
email  that went something like this:

"Dear Paul – You were an inspiring teacher for my son, at a time when
he wasn't paying too much attention to school. He is now 22, a very
thoughtful adult, and studying at Cal State.  So first of all
– Thank you! You showed him the world outside Moraga – which intriqued,
comforted, and inspired him. You were a BIG part of why he made it
through those tough years. Thanks for ALL you do!"

This
must be why I'm in it; it certainly isn't for the money; I took a 75%
pay cut when I left journalism for teaching. And I've never (well,
hardly ever) regretted it. For more than a minute or two

I've just completed my sixth year of teaching 8th grade U.S. history at a middle school. This is, as most of you will recall, my second career, after 30 years in journalism. I was just listening to the CBS Weekend Roundup Podcast (which I recommend). The author of the book "You Majored In What?" was repeating something I observed during my career transition: you go from being an expert in your work to being an amateur in your work, and that can be depressing. It was hard for me. In fact, readers of Tales of Teaching (see the link in the right-hand column) will know I came close to quitting in November of the year I student taught because of my frustration at what a poor teacher I was.

If you live in California, and you're thinking of making the switch to teaching, you can dip in your toe by signing up to take the CBEST test, a general knowledge test required of all teachers. Once you have passed that, you can sign up to be a substitute teacher and put some time in at the classroom level of your choice to see if you like it (you'll need classroom hours for your teaching certificate anyway).

If you do want to teach, you face the daunting task of earning your credential. You can do it slow and cheap at a Cal State campus, or fast and very expensive at any of a number of private colleges; I earned my credential at the Concord campus of Chapman University.

You'll have many chances to wash out–during student teaching, or during the three years it takes to earn tenure. And if you have an honorable bone in your body, you'll get out if you find you're not doing a good job. It isn't always easy to see, but I've vowed that if I was observed by the administration doing a bad job, I'd leave teaching. We have enough mediocre teachers; I only want to each if I'm a good teacher.

A few words about the school year just past. All six of the years I have taught consisted of 180 classroom days. The first one lasted 20 years. The most recent one lasted 20 weeks. It is breathtaking how fast it went by. During my first year, I woke in a flop sweat every day at 3:30 in the morning. I panicked in class. I panicked during planning. I panicked while correcting papers. Now, I am relaxed, and can finally begin enjoying the jobs.

The odds of this being read by any of my students or fellow teachers are somewhere near zero. Still, I will exercise discretion but will say a few things that must be obvious; I enjoyed some students more than others, but only found a small handful of my 87 pupils to be totally beyond the pale in behavior terms. That number has gone down every year. One possible reason is that students are getting better every year. Another possible reason is that I am getting better at what I do. I am lucky to enjoy the company of the small handful of fellow faculty with whom I interact on a regular basis (I don't get out much). And, my mother was right–the weather at your school is made by your principal. My first principal was a god, my second principal was a principal, and my current principal has achieved beatification, if not sainthood.

Alas, my district lost some teachers through layoffs, some good teachers through retirement, and at least one teacher who wasn't invited back after their first year. There's a teacher shortage coming, mark my words, even in this economy.

Now, it's eight weeks off to recharge the batteries before I slip into the harness again (to mix my metaphors…)

As NBC used to say, if you haven’t seen it yet, it’s new to you. I’m sure there are teachers who have had their students applaud themselves. But at an in-service day held recently at the middle school where I teach 8th grade U.S. History, we had an outside consultant who taught us a whole bunch of new research-based strategies. Among them are: applaud. It brings oxygen to the brain and releases glucose that assists in memory activities. Also, eight hands up. No one gets to answer until there are least eight hands raised. Pause every few minutes and have an activity in which students consolidate what they’ve learned. These things probably seem simple, but they are good ideas I am struggling to implement.

Also, I’ve decided to try to offer a carrot as well as a stick for behavior. There’s a lottery for the students who never once arrive late or unprepared, who never speak out in class. I’ll give all of them brownies and the lottery winner gets a gift certificate.

I student taught at Miramonte H.S. and “J” during the 2002-2003 school year. In May of 2003, I completed my teaching credential courses at Chapman University in Concord, Calif., and applied for my credential. That summer, I taught Social Studies in the summer school at Las Lomas High (I have a dual credential by examination in English and Social Studies), and was chatting with the long-time and incredibly cool principal, Pat Lickiss, about maybe coming to work there in the fall. I had also applied for a few jobs I didn’t get.

Meanwhile, a teacher at J made a decision, a week before school, that she could not teach because of a serious health problem. Into the breach stepped I, and if you think a week is enough time to get ready to teach a subject you’ve never taught by yourself before, you’ve clearly never taught. That first year was scary and difficult. It was also full time. Since then, I have taught three classes instead of the full-time load of six, and been quite happy about it.

Thus it is that, on Tuesday, I begin my 6th year of teaching, after 30 years in journalism. I was sure I would miss my old career, but I haven’t really looked back since I was laid off in October 2001, and, in fact, have not written a word for pay since then. I do still hope to write another book some day (my first was Aspirin Therapy: Reducing Your Risk of Heart Disease, Walker and Co., New York, 1979), but that will have to wait, for a subject, time, inspiration and an agent.

I had a very relaxing summer, which means, by my definition, that I haven’t spent more than two consecutive minutes thinking about school since last June 13. But we’re all headed for the starting line, and I need to repeat my mantra; this is a marathon, not a sprint. As mentioned here last week, I didn’t accomplish everything I had hoped this summer, but where there is life there is hope, and I expect there to be life within me for some time to come.

Regular readers will recognize the name Larry King, a friend of mine who is an expat journalist in London; or rather, he was. He has left the field. Here’s his report:

My response:

I remember all the Southerners who said in the late 60s and early 70s, “I didn’t leave the Democratic Party, the Democratic Party left me.” I feel the same way about journalism.

Yes, I was laid off, but in part because I said I was willing to be laid off to save a bunch of lower-paid employees. I said this because I was ready to leave. I did not consider another journalism job or freelancing. Not for an instant.

Journalism was changing in ways I could not tolerate, in ways that are really similar to the ones you witnessed. The Internet is not the culprit. I spent my last five years working on the Internet, doing podcasts before there were iPods on which to listen to them. The problem is journalism management and Wall Street. Even in flush times, all journalism management always beats the reporters and puts them away wet. Most journalism outfits I have worked for were understaffed, with insufficient resources.

I hear there was a golden era at the LA Times and the NY Times and the three television networks when you had enough people and money to do the job. No more. And Wall Street, greedy Wall Street (God, I wish John Edwards had a chance), says the double-digit profit margins of journalism companies are not sufficient (many times the profit margins of most businesses). So it hammers their stocks until they are forced into ill-advised mergers, which further weaken the basic product in a massive wave of layoffs.

Thank you, Larry, It is always heartwarming to have one’s own feelings reconfirmed independently.

And by the way, while I do not expect it to be any consolation, teaching is going to the dogs as well. No Child Left Behind is a farce; increasingly, we are all teaching to the test, and forgetting about the rest. This country has been the world leader in innovation because of our free-form educational system. With it’s “if it isn’t broken, let’s break it,” approach, the Bush administration is striving to reduce our school system to the level of Japan or Britain. They have more engineers and mathematicians, true, but do they innovate at the rate we do? No, they do not, and in a few years, we won’t be innovating at that rate either. Just let this over-tested under-taught generation grow up and the consequences will be there for all to see. Of course, the architects of this disaster will be long gone by then, and since we don’t have the time and freedom to properly educate our students, many of them will not be aware that cause and effect are rarely proximate in time. Heck, they won’t know the meaning of the word proximate.

[Note to readers: Please don’t write and tell me accountability is needed, and poor students are being undertaught, and No Child Left Standing is the solution.You’re absolutely right about the problem, and could not be more wrong about the solution.]

Larry concluded:

I showed this exchange to a thoughtful friend of mine who’s still in journalism. I have found his vision of the future to be clear and accurate for three decades.

My mother, who was a high school teacher, told me to judge a school by its leadership and the way the teachers felt about the principal and vice principals. It’s the reason I’m at the school where I teach. I subbed  there first and noticed how beloved and respected the management was. I student taught at this school, and found the principal approachable; in addition, when he observed me, his comments were trenchant, and above all, useful.

We had a new principal last year, but before I could develop an opinion of her, she resigned for health reasons.

And now we have a new principal. I can’t give his name, because I don’t write about people in this column without their permission. But let me say a couple of things. First of all, he’s a good listener and communicator (incipient teachers: look for both of these things!). Secondly, I can pay him the compliment we used to pay the very best editors at CMP Publishing: "He can really move the paper off his desk."

Now this may sound like damning with faint praise, but let me tell you something: if you’ve ever worked for someone who doesn’t move the paper off their desk, you will know that this is high praise indeed. Your memos, emails, phone calls, purchase orders, and requests for equipment and permission are your top priority. Some managers do not make these their top priority. There is a name for this kind of management: bad.

Thirdly, the new principal gets around. He visits classes, he patrols the yard. Since he’s in his first year at our school, I can’t make a firm judgment, but so far I like what I see.

And, you first-year teachers who Googled your way here: my mother was right. Judge a school by its leadership, because everything else comes and goes but leaders (usually) stick around, and while bad ones sometimes get better, good ones rarely get worse (and if they’re asked to get worse, they usually leave).