Probably the best historian ever. THE BEST JAZZ HISTORIAN.
11 October, 2008
09 October, 2008
The 20,000 Teacher: New York's Greatest Bargain
Where in NY can you hire someone with 16 years of experience and solid performance in their field for 20,000? The New York City Department of Education, that's where.
Principals all over NY are now looking for ATR's to hire -- as ATR's. They want to hire a full-time substitute to be a full-time subsitute, not as a member of their faculty. Then, they take the substitute and give the teacher a full program of classes and assignments, AS IF THEY WERE ON FACULTY. The kids don't know the difference and the parents think that the school has a seasoned teacher on its staff!
You see, to actually hire an ATR as a FACULTY MEMBER you have to pay his/her full salary using your budget. But, YOU CAN GET THE SAME PERSON FOR 75 percent off if you don't hire him/her and then request him/her as an ATR! In this case, RENTING IS CHEAPER THAN BUYING. The rest of the money is paid by the Department of Education. The school only pays that 20,000. And they don't have to take responsibility for this person, either. They don't have to hire him/her back as an ATR for even the next term. So, while the parents think there's seasoned faculty who are PART OF THE SCHOOL, this person is just a rental. And the person knows it. So, he or she can try to be part of the team and some principals and schools will treat the ATR's as such but the odds are good, he or she won't be taken all that seriously as...well...you know, they're just here for a few months or so. There's no reason for a principal to take you seriously. Mine does, but I'm lucky. Most of my colleagues are not so lucky at all, and one retired because of inhumane treatement... Respect and humane treatment shouldn't depend on luck, though. When you're an ATR the school can always trade you in for another. People actually INTERVIEW for ATR positions, that's how much they want to work.
Who ARE the principals responsible for? Those younger teachers who may be full of energy and ideas or who may not know how to handle a class at all. They have no track records. They were hired BECAUSE THEY WERE CHEAP AND MALLEABLE. Sure, they have good grades and great training. I'm sure you'd feel comfortable knowing your insurance plan decided not to retain experienced, proven doctors but hired young kids just out of their residency. As you go under, just think: he got really good grades and wrote killer papers. "Killer" metaphorically speaking. So, of course, you feel really good knowing that the principal of your school goes around hiring "A" students to teach your kids and only rents experienced teachers. After all, with those grades he/she is bound to be a quick study -- unless, of course, you realize that the teacher will be teaching and not writing papers and sitting in class and being graded her/himself. I was a terrific student in graduate school, but I don't walk into my classes with little note cards and fifteen books with me to give my presentations like I did in my seminars.
Plus, these young kids are in the most VULNERABLE positions a teacher can be in. They have no tenure -- no job security. So, they are at the principal's veritable mercy. In case you were hoping of asking one of them to get behind the PTA's drive to cut class size or change any kind of policy, think again. What you have in front of you is someone who has NO POWER to speak up if he/she sees something wrong. And he/she knows that, too.
So, your schools are now staffed by inexpensive young people and veterans rented periodically. All of these people have no real say in how the school is run. That's up to the principal. And this is how the Chancellor and the Mayor want it and they have the ultimate control. They have the ultimate say over what your kids get or don't get. Your teachers will find ways to explain why there are no computers or sports or arts at the school because they have to. They literally don't have a choice. So, you want something changed, you are going to have to fight City Hall. Literally.
Still think the 20,000 teacher is a great bargain?
Principals all over NY are now looking for ATR's to hire -- as ATR's. They want to hire a full-time substitute to be a full-time subsitute, not as a member of their faculty. Then, they take the substitute and give the teacher a full program of classes and assignments, AS IF THEY WERE ON FACULTY. The kids don't know the difference and the parents think that the school has a seasoned teacher on its staff!
You see, to actually hire an ATR as a FACULTY MEMBER you have to pay his/her full salary using your budget. But, YOU CAN GET THE SAME PERSON FOR 75 percent off if you don't hire him/her and then request him/her as an ATR! In this case, RENTING IS CHEAPER THAN BUYING. The rest of the money is paid by the Department of Education. The school only pays that 20,000. And they don't have to take responsibility for this person, either. They don't have to hire him/her back as an ATR for even the next term. So, while the parents think there's seasoned faculty who are PART OF THE SCHOOL, this person is just a rental. And the person knows it. So, he or she can try to be part of the team and some principals and schools will treat the ATR's as such but the odds are good, he or she won't be taken all that seriously as...well...you know, they're just here for a few months or so. There's no reason for a principal to take you seriously. Mine does, but I'm lucky. Most of my colleagues are not so lucky at all, and one retired because of inhumane treatement... Respect and humane treatment shouldn't depend on luck, though. When you're an ATR the school can always trade you in for another. People actually INTERVIEW for ATR positions, that's how much they want to work.
Who ARE the principals responsible for? Those younger teachers who may be full of energy and ideas or who may not know how to handle a class at all. They have no track records. They were hired BECAUSE THEY WERE CHEAP AND MALLEABLE. Sure, they have good grades and great training. I'm sure you'd feel comfortable knowing your insurance plan decided not to retain experienced, proven doctors but hired young kids just out of their residency. As you go under, just think: he got really good grades and wrote killer papers. "Killer" metaphorically speaking. So, of course, you feel really good knowing that the principal of your school goes around hiring "A" students to teach your kids and only rents experienced teachers. After all, with those grades he/she is bound to be a quick study -- unless, of course, you realize that the teacher will be teaching and not writing papers and sitting in class and being graded her/himself. I was a terrific student in graduate school, but I don't walk into my classes with little note cards and fifteen books with me to give my presentations like I did in my seminars.
Plus, these young kids are in the most VULNERABLE positions a teacher can be in. They have no tenure -- no job security. So, they are at the principal's veritable mercy. In case you were hoping of asking one of them to get behind the PTA's drive to cut class size or change any kind of policy, think again. What you have in front of you is someone who has NO POWER to speak up if he/she sees something wrong. And he/she knows that, too.
So, your schools are now staffed by inexpensive young people and veterans rented periodically. All of these people have no real say in how the school is run. That's up to the principal. And this is how the Chancellor and the Mayor want it and they have the ultimate control. They have the ultimate say over what your kids get or don't get. Your teachers will find ways to explain why there are no computers or sports or arts at the school because they have to. They literally don't have a choice. So, you want something changed, you are going to have to fight City Hall. Literally.
Still think the 20,000 teacher is a great bargain?
05 October, 2008
Comments, comments
First, an explanation. I got a nasty, nasty comment on my blog after I made a comment about Randi Weingarten's being "grateful the Mayor stepped up" to run again.
I don't like conflict, I don't need conflict. Maybe there's no connection and it was a coincidence. But there are people who go around attacking teachers regularly on behalf of party lines. We've all read their anonymous emails or their emails under the names of various dead philosophers. Still, no matter why the person wrote it, I want to be clear about two things: I still find Randi Weingarten's personal opinion about the Mayor running again disatisfying. And I will not waste my time on people who write anonymous nasty comments on my blog. No more opportunities for such cowardice will be given. I have a life to lead, a job to protect. I am entirely self-supporting -- I don't want to be begging relatives for help at 40 years old. Ask me why I don't have more savings and I'll show you the receipts for all the things I've bought for school over the years. Just the copying alone has eaten my money away.
1) Personal opinion or not: How Randi Weingarten as someone who leads the UFT CAN WANT BLOOMBERG TO RUN FOR MAYOR AGAIN IS BEYOND ME and IT SHOWS A DISCONNECT BETWEEN HER AND HER UFT MEMBERS. If she PERSONALLY had any feelings for us as UFT Members, SHE COULD NOT HAVE WELCOMED THE MAYOR'S DECISION. But, since her statement is qualified with the word, "personal" I can't technically fault her for speaking on my behalf. So, NOW I AM MAKING CLEAR. WHAT SHE SAID ON HER OWN BEHALF WAS OFFENSIVE TO ME. UNFORTUNATELY, A LOT OF COMFORTABLE WHITE PEOPLE THINK LIKE HER AND I'M RELATED TO SOME OF THEM. SO, I've grown accustomed to people who say they care about my position then voting to put a gun to my head, metaphorically speaking. And yes, Bloomberg in a third term is like a metaphorical gun to my head and you would think that my UFT President would know how much agony and pain this man caused me and other teachers like me. You would think that PERSONALLY and PROFESSIONALLY she would be horrified by his running for a third term. But, she's not. And that no longer surprises me, since she basically fed my school and my job to the Mayor and forced a contract down people's throats which I didn't vote for. Maybe, as a friend said, she is just a bad chess player and didn't see it coming. However, all the qualifiers aside, my students are out of a school and a very good educational team because of Bloomberg. So, no, I don't want him "stepping up". I wish she didn't.
Second, some evil, evil human put a comment on my blog tonight which showed a very close awareness of my family history. This person put that comment there anonymously, but wanted me to know that he or she knows me. This happened coincidentally after I put my comment up about Randi. So, I pulled back out of fear. I can't afford to and can't handle being tortured any more than the circumstances which I am in cause me to be. To be perfectly honest, my personal opinion is that no one WILL HEAR the word, "personally" in the sound bite or read it in the email. Her opinion is seen as UFT opinion. But, she did say the word, so I have to give her credit for it.
I have been working on this post for hours. Here are the facts:
I am entitled to my opinion about my UFT President's opinion.
She is entitled to her personal opinion, though I think giving it to the press is a grey area -- if it's only personal, why say it? Still, she has a right to see things what I think is the wrong way. She does not have the right to misrepresent me or my interests.
I can't help feeling that, however it was said, welcoming Mike back for term three didn't represent my interests.
At the same time, I am afraid that now that I've gone so far as to say something public, I will face difficulties with my union which is just great because I am a stone's throw from losing my job, as are all ATR's.
Mike Bloomberg holds that stone. It's Randi's job to catch it, no matter what her personal opinion is. I would think she'd be sick of the game by now, but that's not my personal business.
My personal business is I want peace of mind.
BOTTOM LINE: I hope a good PRO-SCHOOL candidate "Steps up" and our union does everything we can to get him/her elected.
As an old enemy used to say, quoting The Godfather, "This isn't personal. It's business." It's her business to take care that I don't lose my job, whatever her personal feelings are about the Mayor.
I hope Randi gets that.
I don't like conflict, I don't need conflict. Maybe there's no connection and it was a coincidence. But there are people who go around attacking teachers regularly on behalf of party lines. We've all read their anonymous emails or their emails under the names of various dead philosophers. Still, no matter why the person wrote it, I want to be clear about two things: I still find Randi Weingarten's personal opinion about the Mayor running again disatisfying. And I will not waste my time on people who write anonymous nasty comments on my blog. No more opportunities for such cowardice will be given. I have a life to lead, a job to protect. I am entirely self-supporting -- I don't want to be begging relatives for help at 40 years old. Ask me why I don't have more savings and I'll show you the receipts for all the things I've bought for school over the years. Just the copying alone has eaten my money away.
1) Personal opinion or not: How Randi Weingarten as someone who leads the UFT CAN WANT BLOOMBERG TO RUN FOR MAYOR AGAIN IS BEYOND ME and IT SHOWS A DISCONNECT BETWEEN HER AND HER UFT MEMBERS. If she PERSONALLY had any feelings for us as UFT Members, SHE COULD NOT HAVE WELCOMED THE MAYOR'S DECISION. But, since her statement is qualified with the word, "personal" I can't technically fault her for speaking on my behalf. So, NOW I AM MAKING CLEAR. WHAT SHE SAID ON HER OWN BEHALF WAS OFFENSIVE TO ME. UNFORTUNATELY, A LOT OF COMFORTABLE WHITE PEOPLE THINK LIKE HER AND I'M RELATED TO SOME OF THEM. SO, I've grown accustomed to people who say they care about my position then voting to put a gun to my head, metaphorically speaking. And yes, Bloomberg in a third term is like a metaphorical gun to my head and you would think that my UFT President would know how much agony and pain this man caused me and other teachers like me. You would think that PERSONALLY and PROFESSIONALLY she would be horrified by his running for a third term. But, she's not. And that no longer surprises me, since she basically fed my school and my job to the Mayor and forced a contract down people's throats which I didn't vote for. Maybe, as a friend said, she is just a bad chess player and didn't see it coming. However, all the qualifiers aside, my students are out of a school and a very good educational team because of Bloomberg. So, no, I don't want him "stepping up". I wish she didn't.
Second, some evil, evil human put a comment on my blog tonight which showed a very close awareness of my family history. This person put that comment there anonymously, but wanted me to know that he or she knows me. This happened coincidentally after I put my comment up about Randi. So, I pulled back out of fear. I can't afford to and can't handle being tortured any more than the circumstances which I am in cause me to be. To be perfectly honest, my personal opinion is that no one WILL HEAR the word, "personally" in the sound bite or read it in the email. Her opinion is seen as UFT opinion. But, she did say the word, so I have to give her credit for it.
I have been working on this post for hours. Here are the facts:
I am entitled to my opinion about my UFT President's opinion.
She is entitled to her personal opinion, though I think giving it to the press is a grey area -- if it's only personal, why say it? Still, she has a right to see things what I think is the wrong way. She does not have the right to misrepresent me or my interests.
I can't help feeling that, however it was said, welcoming Mike back for term three didn't represent my interests.
At the same time, I am afraid that now that I've gone so far as to say something public, I will face difficulties with my union which is just great because I am a stone's throw from losing my job, as are all ATR's.
Mike Bloomberg holds that stone. It's Randi's job to catch it, no matter what her personal opinion is. I would think she'd be sick of the game by now, but that's not my personal business.
My personal business is I want peace of mind.
BOTTOM LINE: I hope a good PRO-SCHOOL candidate "Steps up" and our union does everything we can to get him/her elected.
As an old enemy used to say, quoting The Godfather, "This isn't personal. It's business." It's her business to take care that I don't lose my job, whatever her personal feelings are about the Mayor.
I hope Randi gets that.
WHITE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.
I hate to be blunt, but listen.
The schools in my neighborhood are much the same as the were before Bloomberg, before Giuliani, before Koch. It's a neighborhood which attracts hungry European and now Asian immigrants. They come, they pool their funds, they kick their kids into school and make them fear getting "B's" let alone failing, and they do well. My cat Larry could be teaching English. Those kids are going to find a way to understand the work and their parents will pay tutors with their last dime to do it. I know. I was one of those kids in a neighborhood which is its twin on the other side of Brooklyn.
My students, who are predominantly African-American and Hispanic do not reside in this sheltered world. And sheltered it is. My mother didn't tell me anything about the relationship of college to getting a job. That wasn't the point. You went to college because that's what snobby intellectuals did. Being a snobby intellectual was the apex of existence. Distinguishing between good music, literature, politics and food was what I was told a person lived to do. Mine, like many of the families in my neighborhood, was a family which LIED to itself every day about the hardships of life so that they could find joy within them. Going to the opera by subway and eating cold spaghetti when we got home was a glory -- the music was worth the trouble and the growling stomach.
It's easy for me to imagine how my students feel because I feel the same way. Despite those trips to hear Verdi at The Metropolitan Opera House, I no longer feel the need to even leave my house outside of going to work. The duckets matter: 40 or so dollars to sit in the Family Circle where I will see nothing although I will hear well, and then take the long subway ride home is just not a bargain to me. I can listen at home, read the review, imagine. The bottom line for me and money is always about staples and what I do with my money is about how I will survive. Every time I listen to music, I long to go back to school and get a Ph.D., but I will never do it. No jobs in it.
As Joe Biden hinted in the Vice Presidential debate, fewer people in the US can cloister themselves in the feeling that they will achieve the American Dream. My immigrant neighbors band together in groups larger than ten to buy houses or shares of businesses hoping someday to each have space of their own. They are aging more and more on my street and few people move out. I've noticed beer cans in EVERYONE's garbage these days. They're hard to overlook as the elderly Chinese immigrants in my neighborhood often go from pail to pail, looking for a misplaced can that they can add to their enormous plastic bags. For them, the rewards will not be on earth, but they imagine they will be so for their children who imagine it will be so for their children. At some point, they will tire, too. It's inevitable.
Meanwhile White People don't see what is going on. They continue to stretch their credit and push for that lucky break. It has to be there. Things look the same except that there are fewer and fewer jobs and the economy is shot. They know that, but they don't know what it means in terms of schools and education.
My students see the everyone stretched to their limit and they don't lie to themselves. Sure, they listen to pop and spend away on ridiculous trends in clothing. That's partially what's left of a dream of someday being successful and partially the result of a sense of "might as well, NOW." They know they won't be able to afford the 45 dollar hat when they get older. And a 45 dollar hat lasts forever as far as they can tell. It provides status, pleasure and it looks like what successful people wear. It's the same theory that pushed my JAPPY friends and I to buy Ralph Lauren and Lacoste in the 80's. We wanted to look like the proud and successful second and third generation Jewish immigrants we hoped to be. Now all of those clothes are in a suitcase somewhere. I can't fit into them as I have gained weight and they are very old, anyway. But, it was a way then to keep me in my dreamworld and that illusion kept me in school. It doesn't for my students because many of their heroes didn't finish school and many of their family members did and are suffering economically.
How many times did you hear of a millionaire with a "C" average or who quit school early? You blocked it out because you thought it was a fluke, or like me, you knew you had no business sense so school was your only hope. Imagine that more of the successes you know of fit that category than people in school.
I have always said that had I gone to the general public schools as they are, I would've dropped out of school and become a car thief. I have fast hands and am good at navigating through the dark. There is no comfort in the current public high school. No one even tries to sell the idea of study for its own sake, or of success based on anything but SKILLS. When I was growing up, I never heard that word. I searched for knowledge. Skills, I expected, I would gain in life, afterwards and I would apply what I knew to my work which would somehow make me better. It has been a career of problem solving, much of which I learned in school. A skill.
I no longer write on cover letters that my experience or education will be of use. I talk about my "varied skill sets".
Generally, I don't leave the house or buy anything which does not have to do with the aforementioned "sets".
If I were a student now, I'd be planning to be a nurse. I'd get an A.S. I'd try to get the B.S.N. later, but the priority would be on learning what I could do in all kinds of situations.
My students, I guess, see themselves as constantly facing challenges ahead -- handling things. When I was their age, I wanted to discover ideas, to write precisely and with authority. Sometimes I accomplish those things, but the email would be just as useful if I wrote it without punctuation and shipped it off ASAP.
All self-deprecation aside, though, I have enjoyed my education and all of my work. And the jury is still out on what will be remembered and what I will focus the bulk of my life on. I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I've spent in the theater and I haven't worked on a project yet which wasn't well respected. And, yes, it made a difference that I got that FANTASTIC education -- the quality of my life and work has been enriched by it. I've done some amazing artistic work and I have taught some terrific classes. I've ALWAYS given my students a good education and a few laughs. My students defied the odds. I get calls all the time from kids who are in college who weren't expected to graduate high school. WHO COULD REGRET THAT?
It's NOT FAIR that I got to have this kind of enriching experience very much because I am WHITE. Being WHITE made it easier to balance theater and education because I was given much more leeway than a person of color. I'm white and well-spoken and I am accorded INSTANT RESPECT because of it and THAT'S NOT FAIR. Furthermore, I got that fabulous education largely because I was fortunate enough to have a parent who could afford to send me (on scholarship, but still) to Hebrew School, which got me into Stuyvesant, which got me into Barnard and then to Stony Brook -- both of which came with scholarships. Children don't choose their parents, and those first years of education mean everything. And my Hebrew School existed for MY COMMUNITY -- white, lower-middle class Jews struggling to get ahead. Again, I got shelter and chances to enjoy things my students don't necessarily have time for because of my SKIN COLOR. And that's not fair. I COULDN'T BELIEVE how badly the public schools treat my students when I started my career and I still can't-- it is NOTHING like the way I was treated in Hebrew School or at Stuyvesant. Frankly, I was given MORE CHANCES TO FAIL. It was assumed that eventually I would get it right...because I'm a bright, nice Jewish girl. And I know that.
I don't know how to make WHITE PEOPLE get it until they have lived it. I'm one white lady who knows that our economy has drained our schools not just of their resources, but of their relevance. The crudeness of our greed has made listening to a beautiful voice not a pleasure, but an obstacle. We must now fight the distraction of art and all sentiment to see the bottom line. Keats said famously that "Truth is beauty." Then we no longer seek truth, but the answer of the moment, which is often, ugly indeed
The schools in my neighborhood are much the same as the were before Bloomberg, before Giuliani, before Koch. It's a neighborhood which attracts hungry European and now Asian immigrants. They come, they pool their funds, they kick their kids into school and make them fear getting "B's" let alone failing, and they do well. My cat Larry could be teaching English. Those kids are going to find a way to understand the work and their parents will pay tutors with their last dime to do it. I know. I was one of those kids in a neighborhood which is its twin on the other side of Brooklyn.
My students, who are predominantly African-American and Hispanic do not reside in this sheltered world. And sheltered it is. My mother didn't tell me anything about the relationship of college to getting a job. That wasn't the point. You went to college because that's what snobby intellectuals did. Being a snobby intellectual was the apex of existence. Distinguishing between good music, literature, politics and food was what I was told a person lived to do. Mine, like many of the families in my neighborhood, was a family which LIED to itself every day about the hardships of life so that they could find joy within them. Going to the opera by subway and eating cold spaghetti when we got home was a glory -- the music was worth the trouble and the growling stomach.
It's easy for me to imagine how my students feel because I feel the same way. Despite those trips to hear Verdi at The Metropolitan Opera House, I no longer feel the need to even leave my house outside of going to work. The duckets matter: 40 or so dollars to sit in the Family Circle where I will see nothing although I will hear well, and then take the long subway ride home is just not a bargain to me. I can listen at home, read the review, imagine. The bottom line for me and money is always about staples and what I do with my money is about how I will survive. Every time I listen to music, I long to go back to school and get a Ph.D., but I will never do it. No jobs in it.
As Joe Biden hinted in the Vice Presidential debate, fewer people in the US can cloister themselves in the feeling that they will achieve the American Dream. My immigrant neighbors band together in groups larger than ten to buy houses or shares of businesses hoping someday to each have space of their own. They are aging more and more on my street and few people move out. I've noticed beer cans in EVERYONE's garbage these days. They're hard to overlook as the elderly Chinese immigrants in my neighborhood often go from pail to pail, looking for a misplaced can that they can add to their enormous plastic bags. For them, the rewards will not be on earth, but they imagine they will be so for their children who imagine it will be so for their children. At some point, they will tire, too. It's inevitable.
Meanwhile White People don't see what is going on. They continue to stretch their credit and push for that lucky break. It has to be there. Things look the same except that there are fewer and fewer jobs and the economy is shot. They know that, but they don't know what it means in terms of schools and education.
My students see the everyone stretched to their limit and they don't lie to themselves. Sure, they listen to pop and spend away on ridiculous trends in clothing. That's partially what's left of a dream of someday being successful and partially the result of a sense of "might as well, NOW." They know they won't be able to afford the 45 dollar hat when they get older. And a 45 dollar hat lasts forever as far as they can tell. It provides status, pleasure and it looks like what successful people wear. It's the same theory that pushed my JAPPY friends and I to buy Ralph Lauren and Lacoste in the 80's. We wanted to look like the proud and successful second and third generation Jewish immigrants we hoped to be. Now all of those clothes are in a suitcase somewhere. I can't fit into them as I have gained weight and they are very old, anyway. But, it was a way then to keep me in my dreamworld and that illusion kept me in school. It doesn't for my students because many of their heroes didn't finish school and many of their family members did and are suffering economically.
How many times did you hear of a millionaire with a "C" average or who quit school early? You blocked it out because you thought it was a fluke, or like me, you knew you had no business sense so school was your only hope. Imagine that more of the successes you know of fit that category than people in school.
I have always said that had I gone to the general public schools as they are, I would've dropped out of school and become a car thief. I have fast hands and am good at navigating through the dark. There is no comfort in the current public high school. No one even tries to sell the idea of study for its own sake, or of success based on anything but SKILLS. When I was growing up, I never heard that word. I searched for knowledge. Skills, I expected, I would gain in life, afterwards and I would apply what I knew to my work which would somehow make me better. It has been a career of problem solving, much of which I learned in school. A skill.
I no longer write on cover letters that my experience or education will be of use. I talk about my "varied skill sets".
Generally, I don't leave the house or buy anything which does not have to do with the aforementioned "sets".
If I were a student now, I'd be planning to be a nurse. I'd get an A.S. I'd try to get the B.S.N. later, but the priority would be on learning what I could do in all kinds of situations.
My students, I guess, see themselves as constantly facing challenges ahead -- handling things. When I was their age, I wanted to discover ideas, to write precisely and with authority. Sometimes I accomplish those things, but the email would be just as useful if I wrote it without punctuation and shipped it off ASAP.
All self-deprecation aside, though, I have enjoyed my education and all of my work. And the jury is still out on what will be remembered and what I will focus the bulk of my life on. I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I've spent in the theater and I haven't worked on a project yet which wasn't well respected. And, yes, it made a difference that I got that FANTASTIC education -- the quality of my life and work has been enriched by it. I've done some amazing artistic work and I have taught some terrific classes. I've ALWAYS given my students a good education and a few laughs. My students defied the odds. I get calls all the time from kids who are in college who weren't expected to graduate high school. WHO COULD REGRET THAT?
It's NOT FAIR that I got to have this kind of enriching experience very much because I am WHITE. Being WHITE made it easier to balance theater and education because I was given much more leeway than a person of color. I'm white and well-spoken and I am accorded INSTANT RESPECT because of it and THAT'S NOT FAIR. Furthermore, I got that fabulous education largely because I was fortunate enough to have a parent who could afford to send me (on scholarship, but still) to Hebrew School, which got me into Stuyvesant, which got me into Barnard and then to Stony Brook -- both of which came with scholarships. Children don't choose their parents, and those first years of education mean everything. And my Hebrew School existed for MY COMMUNITY -- white, lower-middle class Jews struggling to get ahead. Again, I got shelter and chances to enjoy things my students don't necessarily have time for because of my SKIN COLOR. And that's not fair. I COULDN'T BELIEVE how badly the public schools treat my students when I started my career and I still can't-- it is NOTHING like the way I was treated in Hebrew School or at Stuyvesant. Frankly, I was given MORE CHANCES TO FAIL. It was assumed that eventually I would get it right...because I'm a bright, nice Jewish girl. And I know that.
I don't know how to make WHITE PEOPLE get it until they have lived it. I'm one white lady who knows that our economy has drained our schools not just of their resources, but of their relevance. The crudeness of our greed has made listening to a beautiful voice not a pleasure, but an obstacle. We must now fight the distraction of art and all sentiment to see the bottom line. Keats said famously that "Truth is beauty." Then we no longer seek truth, but the answer of the moment, which is often, ugly indeed
A question for Palin
She's so passionate about our school building efforts in Iraq. I'm wondering if she can NAME FIVE SCHOOLS WE'VE BUILT THERE.
04 October, 2008
Sekou Sundiata 1948-2007
This feels right for a lot of reasons. Not just about driving. About living. And not just skin color. Skin of teachers, students
02 October, 2008
Biden / Palin Debate Part 4 - Health Care
Ultimate bridge to Nowhere...She is no Jack Kennedy! Squish.
01 October, 2008
Can we "replay" the moment below tomorrow night, Joe B.?
I know it won't make that much of a difference in the election -- Bentsen's smash of Quayle (the Senator, not the bird) didn't help either.
I'd just like to see Sarah Palin put in her place the same way. Who wouldn't?
I'd just like to see Sarah Palin put in her place the same way. Who wouldn't?
30 September, 2008
Happy New Year
You don't have to be Jewish to decide to start your year over now, either.
But, does anyone belong to a synagogue which does not use a shofar made from an animal horn? I know it's not technically allowed to be done any other way, but that's a barbaric rule, in my opinion.
But, does anyone belong to a synagogue which does not use a shofar made from an animal horn? I know it's not technically allowed to be done any other way, but that's a barbaric rule, in my opinion.
29 September, 2008
I made it through class today
Ironically, being an ATR has put me emotionally very much where I was when I began teaching 18 years ago. The energy/drive comes from getting to know the kids.
Today, I went to school -- arrived late. New discovery: after 7am, the B8 bus doesn't stop at where I pick it up if it is already full and two buses were.
Did my morning work as a Dean at Scanning. Then went up to teach my class with a lesson that was totally different from what I had spent the weekend planning because the printer I bought last night turned out to be defective. It went ok. I'm getting to know the kids a little better. The more I connect, the better I feel. (Understand, I've taught these kids three times because I was just handed the class recently.)
I had gotten beyond this stage -- this isn't necessarily the best place to teach from ultimately because sometimes you don't "connect" personally with a kid, but you reach him/her intellectually -- and the latter is your goal. Many lessons that reach kids intellectually are fairly mechanically logical, or game-like. That doesn't involve deep discussion.
For now, though, I'm reaching out and hoping they will reach back. Part of it is that I am teaching a course that involves music and poetry, two areas in which my tastes are radically different from theirs and I want them to trust me enough to take a look at things which are not what they usually listen to/read (Opera and Shakespeare, for one.) I want to have a reason to go see these people I care about. Again, that's not necessarily ultimately where you want to be. Sometimes, you might dislike your students passionately but you must teach them regardless (and according to one colleague, harder and with even more care, if you do know you hate them.) It will help me get to work and bypass some of the fear/focus on what will be the end of my career.
That is how it has always been: I focus on the fact that I am being helpful to the kids and even though I'm about to get my head cut off, it's all right. I think that's what everybody does.
So, I felt good leaving Tilden and then, there lurked in my mind the usual fears:
1) x didn't say hello to me: Am I now on her hit list?
2) Another dean told me that kids were cutting my class -- so I could call their parents. Is he documenting things somewhere? Am I being watched?
3) I got down to my post late again for 6th period because it takes me so long to pack up my music system. As it was, I left my power strip in the room. Is this being documented?
4) People were nice to me: Do they know something?
There are difficulties I have, too, just because I'm from such a different planet in so many ways. I mentioned to an incredibly nice and helpful teacher that the one place I knew of that consistently had an art program was Rikers Island and he was taken aback and insulted. He doesn't realize that, too me, that's an ordinary place. That I would work anywhere. That I actually had a good time teaching the students at Rikers.
I wasn't trying to insult him, but he's from a much more normal planet, where people believe that after years of experience they will go on to teach in warm and comfortable places. OR, one's closer to their choosing. I never expect to have a choice of where I work. I will work anywhere there are students. I really meant no harm. Will he understand that?
Each day the goal is to get through the day. That I am getting better at. The nights are still very hard.
Today, I went to school -- arrived late. New discovery: after 7am, the B8 bus doesn't stop at where I pick it up if it is already full and two buses were.
Did my morning work as a Dean at Scanning. Then went up to teach my class with a lesson that was totally different from what I had spent the weekend planning because the printer I bought last night turned out to be defective. It went ok. I'm getting to know the kids a little better. The more I connect, the better I feel. (Understand, I've taught these kids three times because I was just handed the class recently.)
I had gotten beyond this stage -- this isn't necessarily the best place to teach from ultimately because sometimes you don't "connect" personally with a kid, but you reach him/her intellectually -- and the latter is your goal. Many lessons that reach kids intellectually are fairly mechanically logical, or game-like. That doesn't involve deep discussion.
For now, though, I'm reaching out and hoping they will reach back. Part of it is that I am teaching a course that involves music and poetry, two areas in which my tastes are radically different from theirs and I want them to trust me enough to take a look at things which are not what they usually listen to/read (Opera and Shakespeare, for one.) I want to have a reason to go see these people I care about. Again, that's not necessarily ultimately where you want to be. Sometimes, you might dislike your students passionately but you must teach them regardless (and according to one colleague, harder and with even more care, if you do know you hate them.) It will help me get to work and bypass some of the fear/focus on what will be the end of my career.
That is how it has always been: I focus on the fact that I am being helpful to the kids and even though I'm about to get my head cut off, it's all right. I think that's what everybody does.
So, I felt good leaving Tilden and then, there lurked in my mind the usual fears:
1) x didn't say hello to me: Am I now on her hit list?
2) Another dean told me that kids were cutting my class -- so I could call their parents. Is he documenting things somewhere? Am I being watched?
3) I got down to my post late again for 6th period because it takes me so long to pack up my music system. As it was, I left my power strip in the room. Is this being documented?
4) People were nice to me: Do they know something?
There are difficulties I have, too, just because I'm from such a different planet in so many ways. I mentioned to an incredibly nice and helpful teacher that the one place I knew of that consistently had an art program was Rikers Island and he was taken aback and insulted. He doesn't realize that, too me, that's an ordinary place. That I would work anywhere. That I actually had a good time teaching the students at Rikers.
I wasn't trying to insult him, but he's from a much more normal planet, where people believe that after years of experience they will go on to teach in warm and comfortable places. OR, one's closer to their choosing. I never expect to have a choice of where I work. I will work anywhere there are students. I really meant no harm. Will he understand that?
Each day the goal is to get through the day. That I am getting better at. The nights are still very hard.
28 September, 2008
Of Joel Klein, Randi Weingarten and Getting It Done
Here's a lesson on how to provide results from the business world in which a teacher turns out to be the hero.
The article is called "All in the Execution". Just paste the link below
http://www.webcpa.com/article.cfm?articleid=23381&searchTerm=all%20in%20the%20execution
The article is called "All in the Execution". Just paste the link below
http://www.webcpa.com/article.cfm?articleid=23381&searchTerm=all%20in%20the%20execution
The Life (Ending) of an ATR
It's impossible for me to be calm, except for the few moments I am resting alongside one of my cats. Even then, unless I fall asleep, my body won't settle in. I sleep in fits and starts, and sometimes not at all.
October 2009 seems far away to some people. It isn't to me. It's tomorrow. It's moving boxes from my apartment to a share. It's living on half my salary at a job I may not be able to keep, either. The continual worry that my life is one step from the streets.
What do I re-train as? I've been asking myself this for years because I don't know. The vistas keep changing. What do I have money and time to learn? What professions are welcoming to people over 40 who switch careers?
Everyone has an answer and whom do you trust. No one is pragmatic enough or completely sees my situation for what it is -- people either think that it will be simple to live on half the money, or that my job prospects are better than they are.
What did I do to deserve this? Is this the what I get for having come into the system in the early 90's when the UFT made all sorts of bargains to help young people enter the profession. People took pay cuts, but they didn't give up their jobs.
The bottom line, and I was finally able to put it into words tonight, is that I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't think there's anything I can do about it. That's what I see. Every day. Beyond the sunshine and the trees and all of nature's beauty. I try to hide it from my cats if I can.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I don't know how to stop it.
October 2009 seems far away to some people. It isn't to me. It's tomorrow. It's moving boxes from my apartment to a share. It's living on half my salary at a job I may not be able to keep, either. The continual worry that my life is one step from the streets.
What do I re-train as? I've been asking myself this for years because I don't know. The vistas keep changing. What do I have money and time to learn? What professions are welcoming to people over 40 who switch careers?
Everyone has an answer and whom do you trust. No one is pragmatic enough or completely sees my situation for what it is -- people either think that it will be simple to live on half the money, or that my job prospects are better than they are.
What did I do to deserve this? Is this the what I get for having come into the system in the early 90's when the UFT made all sorts of bargains to help young people enter the profession. People took pay cuts, but they didn't give up their jobs.
The bottom line, and I was finally able to put it into words tonight, is that I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't think there's anything I can do about it. That's what I see. Every day. Beyond the sunshine and the trees and all of nature's beauty. I try to hide it from my cats if I can.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I see the end of my life coming toward me and I don't know what to do about it.
I don't know how to stop it.
27 September, 2008
REPEAT AFTER ME: THERE ARE AS MANY JOBS AS TEACHERS, IF NOT MORE
THERE ARE MORE VACANCIES THAN TEACHERS. THIS MYTH THAT THERE ARE MORE TEACHERS IS A LIE. ALL OF US WHO ARE ATRS AND ARE TEACHING KNOW THIS. ATRS are teaching full schedules at many, if not most of the schools at which they work. Often, they do so, EVEN AFTER, new hires are made to the school. So, there is A NEED for them within the school. The schools are just NOT MAKING POSITIONS AVAILABLE TO THEM. Two of my colleagues were passed over for kids despite putting in hard and appreciated work. One retired in disgust. The second is still working -- still teaching classes. So, she's in an INVISIBLE POSITION which will become available, perhaps, next year and then AGAIN not be offered to her. Meanwhile, the school has a VIRTUALLY FREE TEACHER.
Tilden High School is staffed heavily by ATR's. There are classes that need to be taught. Positions need to be filled. THe principal has UNFAIRLY not been given the opportunity to hire people. (Even if the school IS closing, you should be given A JOB while you are working THAT JOB.)
Instead, he has to fills WHAT WOULD BE FULL-TIME POSITIONS with ATR's. So, all of us are working in in POSITIONS THAT THE DOE DOESN'T PAY FOR. IT'S FALSE ACCOUNTING. If the ATR's left their schools, kids would be without teachers all over the city.
What would Joel Klein then do?
He'd HIRE YOUNG KIDS.
SO THE POSITIONS ARE THERE.
THEY ARE JUST NOT AVAILABLE TO ATR'S.
Tilden High School is staffed heavily by ATR's. There are classes that need to be taught. Positions need to be filled. THe principal has UNFAIRLY not been given the opportunity to hire people. (Even if the school IS closing, you should be given A JOB while you are working THAT JOB.)
Instead, he has to fills WHAT WOULD BE FULL-TIME POSITIONS with ATR's. So, all of us are working in in POSITIONS THAT THE DOE DOESN'T PAY FOR. IT'S FALSE ACCOUNTING. If the ATR's left their schools, kids would be without teachers all over the city.
What would Joel Klein then do?
He'd HIRE YOUNG KIDS.
SO THE POSITIONS ARE THERE.
THEY ARE JUST NOT AVAILABLE TO ATR'S.
26 September, 2008
The Fine Print
In Klein's Response to Randi's Demands were the following:
"Forced placement contradicts both of those goals. It would be far better to give excessed teachers a reasonable period of time to find a position before they are placed on unpaid leave."
It's clear that Joel Klein has talked with Randi Weingarten about the REALITY of putting ATR's on unpaid leave. That is what he wants to do. Somewhere in their discussions, it has come up as an option.
I feel so GOOD about the printer/copier I have to buy tomorrow to keep myself sane so I can teach my class before I am put on unpaid leave.
CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME?
LATER THE NEXT DAY... I wrote to Randi Weingarten asking her point blank if I can be put on unpaid leave by Joel Klein and she said that he can't do that because we have a closed contract and that she wasn't giving up our job security. The only condition, under this contract, in which we can be placed on unpaid leave is if there is a citywide layoff and then it is done in reverse Seniority order.
That's good to have in hand, at least, when people tell me that Klein is going to lay me off in January, which people have told me at school. Teachers. Rumors go around, you know.
That doesn't say anything about my life AFTER OCTOBER 2009, when this contract is up. But, I return to my October 2009, fear instead of January 2009 fear.
"Forced placement contradicts both of those goals. It would be far better to give excessed teachers a reasonable period of time to find a position before they are placed on unpaid leave."
It's clear that Joel Klein has talked with Randi Weingarten about the REALITY of putting ATR's on unpaid leave. That is what he wants to do. Somewhere in their discussions, it has come up as an option.
I feel so GOOD about the printer/copier I have to buy tomorrow to keep myself sane so I can teach my class before I am put on unpaid leave.
CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME?
LATER THE NEXT DAY... I wrote to Randi Weingarten asking her point blank if I can be put on unpaid leave by Joel Klein and she said that he can't do that because we have a closed contract and that she wasn't giving up our job security. The only condition, under this contract, in which we can be placed on unpaid leave is if there is a citywide layoff and then it is done in reverse Seniority order.
That's good to have in hand, at least, when people tell me that Klein is going to lay me off in January, which people have told me at school. Teachers. Rumors go around, you know.
That doesn't say anything about my life AFTER OCTOBER 2009, when this contract is up. But, I return to my October 2009, fear instead of January 2009 fear.
25 September, 2008
To spend or not to spend
At my new ATR position, I was offered the opportunity to create a class on Hip Hop and Poetry.
At 7am, when the class was offered to me, it sounded like a good idea.
....novel, good on the CV
....the kids ought to like it
....I could imagine one or two lessons easily.
After two days of teaching, which went well, I started to panic.
WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?
I've already spent more money than I ever wanted to on music I never listen to.
My printer is out of ink and I can't get new ink until the weekend -- that's fine, but at this rate, it'll be a new cartridge every two weeks --- 30 bucks each. Easily.
The copy lady who they said is available hasn't been sighted by ME yet. I don't know when she's available. Someone told me I can slip my requests under the door. That doesn't sound like a plan to me.
There's a great documentary on Hip Hop and Masculinity -- 30 bucks.
There's a lot of criticism -- I can borrow books, some I'll buy because I want to. But again, who makes the copies. Some of this I can download. Here again, a lot of ink.
And how long can we talk about Lyrics, Culture and Fashion before we need to talk about another Genre of music?
Do I move on to Jazz? Blues? More Music, more DVD's, copies.
Ink, ink, ink. And I see myself funding Kinko's whether I like it or not. -- I spent 44 dollars on the first day's materials and I swore I wouldn't do it again.
DO I SPEND SOMETHING LIKE 500 - 750 dollars, ultimately, to develop a course for a job at a temporary assignment at which I will not have been credited as having existed, really, as anything more than a substitute? Do I do this when the Mayor is threatening to fire me and everyone like me?
I went into a panic which coincided with a family emergency and I ended up at home for part of two days.
So far as I can see, I have NO FUTURE as a teacher. Yet, the right thing to do is to break the piggy bank and spend like a bandit on this course "for the kids". But, I can't. Not quite, anymore. I emailed the principal and apologized for my absence, but then explained my dilemma. Can he provide a printer? I have to track down this copy lady by hook or by crook and I have to get her to commit to making some copies for me. I can't fund this myself.
Or, he can put me back into my full-time Dean position and give this course to someone better qualified. Or, I will have to try to teach it as best I can limiting the resources I use and stretching them. I cannot break the bank anymore for anyone else but me.
According to the Department of Education, I do not exist at this school. I am a reserve teacher. Not a creator of curricula. Not a savior of a program.
They will not rescue me if I spend my wages on the course, therefore.
So, I can't.
At 7am, when the class was offered to me, it sounded like a good idea.
....novel, good on the CV
....the kids ought to like it
....I could imagine one or two lessons easily.
After two days of teaching, which went well, I started to panic.
WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?
I've already spent more money than I ever wanted to on music I never listen to.
My printer is out of ink and I can't get new ink until the weekend -- that's fine, but at this rate, it'll be a new cartridge every two weeks --- 30 bucks each. Easily.
The copy lady who they said is available hasn't been sighted by ME yet. I don't know when she's available. Someone told me I can slip my requests under the door. That doesn't sound like a plan to me.
There's a great documentary on Hip Hop and Masculinity -- 30 bucks.
There's a lot of criticism -- I can borrow books, some I'll buy because I want to. But again, who makes the copies. Some of this I can download. Here again, a lot of ink.
And how long can we talk about Lyrics, Culture and Fashion before we need to talk about another Genre of music?
Do I move on to Jazz? Blues? More Music, more DVD's, copies.
Ink, ink, ink. And I see myself funding Kinko's whether I like it or not. -- I spent 44 dollars on the first day's materials and I swore I wouldn't do it again.
DO I SPEND SOMETHING LIKE 500 - 750 dollars, ultimately, to develop a course for a job at a temporary assignment at which I will not have been credited as having existed, really, as anything more than a substitute? Do I do this when the Mayor is threatening to fire me and everyone like me?
I went into a panic which coincided with a family emergency and I ended up at home for part of two days.
So far as I can see, I have NO FUTURE as a teacher. Yet, the right thing to do is to break the piggy bank and spend like a bandit on this course "for the kids". But, I can't. Not quite, anymore. I emailed the principal and apologized for my absence, but then explained my dilemma. Can he provide a printer? I have to track down this copy lady by hook or by crook and I have to get her to commit to making some copies for me. I can't fund this myself.
Or, he can put me back into my full-time Dean position and give this course to someone better qualified. Or, I will have to try to teach it as best I can limiting the resources I use and stretching them. I cannot break the bank anymore for anyone else but me.
According to the Department of Education, I do not exist at this school. I am a reserve teacher. Not a creator of curricula. Not a savior of a program.
They will not rescue me if I spend my wages on the course, therefore.
So, I can't.
11 September, 2008
War Heroes
It's appropriate that my first posting after a week of observance of the third anniversary of my love Karen's death is about war heroes. Karen was intensely interested in potential seeds of conflicts which lay ahead and the schematics with which various agencies may have placed them. Randi Rhodes and Mike Malloy would have been good company for her.
So many people find themselves impressed with John McCain's war record. I want to take this moment to call upon the memory of two of my relatives: My grandmother, Sadie Greenberg Fisher and my great-uncle, Albert Greenberg. I never got to meet the latter because his plane was shot down in World War II.
John McCain:
As I understand it, John McCain graduated from the bottom of his class at Annapolis, but nevertheless was trained as a pilot. He had some difficulties and was shot down in action in Vietnam and brought to a prison in Hanoi where he claims he was tortured. In a story he wrote about his experience for US News and World Report in 1973, he actually admitted to being willing to give up State Secrets for Medical Care because he was afraid of dying.
Here's the selection:
"I think it was on the fourth day [after being shot down] that two guards camein, instead of one. One of them pulled back the blanket to show the other guardmy injury. I looked at my knee. It was about the size, shape and color of afootball. I remembered that when I was a flying instructor a fellow had ejectedfrom his plane and broken his thigh. He had gone into shock, the blood hadpooled in his leg, and he died, which came as quite a surprise to us - a mandying of a broken leg. Then I realized that a very similar thing was happeningto me. "When I saw it, I said to the guard, `O.K., get the officer.'" "An officer came in after a few minutes. It was the man that we came to knowvery well as "The Bug." He was a psychotic torturer, one of the worst fiendsthat we had to deal with. I said, `O.K., I'll give you military information ifyou will take me to the hospital
It turned out to be too late. They wouldn't make the deal.
I understand that in various publications, he has written about various kinds of torture he endured. At least one story -- the story about his having had his ropes losened by a guard on Christmas and the guard then making a sand in the cross -- was proven to be a lie. You can read about that here
http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2008/08/the-dirt-in-the.html
But, let's grant that McCain was tortured. And, let's grant that McCain came home to write about it, get married several times, the last time to a beer heiress, have a career in the Senate and now run for president. He did all that without
1) Improving the quality of life for other veterans
2) Voting for better spending for veterans' issues/healthcare
3) Voting to increase spending to find POW/MIA's.
Sadie Greenberg-Fisher and Albert Greenberg
Grant me that I am putting this together from what my grandmother told me over years, what my mother told me and what I remember. But, the gist of the story is what matters.
Sadie Greenberg-Fischer came to the United States from a small town outside of Warsaw in the twenties, with the hopes of becoming a singer. Though she had a gorgeous soprano voice she was painfully shy and she couldn't break herself of this, so she resolved to work with her older sister, who had come to accompany her in her career, as milliners which they did until that industry died out. She was so beautiful that she also modeled hats -- she was fine in a line of other girls, so long as she didn't have to say anything and was on and off the stage quickly.
Albert Greenberg, slightly younger than Sarah, arrived to the United States during this period. A gifted mathematician and watchmaker, the family thought he could ply his talents somehow and also help his sisters. He found work quickly and did very well. Meanwhile, both girls got married. Sarah married her hometown sweetheart, Arthur Fischer who emigrated for that very purpose and because he was a friend of Al's. He, too, was a gifted mathematician and he hoped that he and Al could go into business together.
The group held together, even through the depression. Arthur worked by day behind the counter of the appetizer section of a supermarket and by night learned English and then Accounting. Al had a solid position in a Jewelry store and enough money to put into his side of business and was waiting for Arthur to catch up. His accounting was terrific, his English, slow moving. Arthur was getting closer and closer as the 40's started, but Al couldn't take the stories coming out of Europe about what was happening to the Jews and they knew from the letters from their family that they were suffering. Al was young and strong and he felt he owed a lot to the United States because he come a long way. So, they all talked it over and agreed that Al could enlist. Arthur couldn't because he was 4'11, flatfooted and had pneumonia the year before which had weakened his heart. Besides, he had two kids. I've never known if Al was married or not. My grandmother so loved him, it was hard to imagine that there was anyone else around him. Arthur didn't need the English lessons anymore, so he worked day and night, this time doing accounting work which paid better to save money for a store and the kids.
Al was selected by the Air Force and he flew many successful missions. He also spoke German, Polish, Russian, some French and, of course English. He was very handsome and charming and I'm sure could have been useful in many ways. He had black hair and blue eyes and an aquiline nose. From the pictures, he looks about 5'8" -5'10" and absolutely impossible to be mad at, ever. He had one of those faces and attitudes. His plane was shot down toward the end of the war and his body was never recovered. For his sake, I hope he was killed as soon as the plane was shot down because it happened in German territory, no place for a nice Jewish-American boy to be in 1944 or thereabouts.
My grandmother, Sadie Greenberg-Fisher, was broken by Al's death, the way John McCain says he was broken by his torturer's. She told me the story when I was 4. Some 30 years later, like it happened yesterday. About a year after Al died, her husband, Arthur, went out to play handball on a Saturday, like he usually did. He had a sudden heart attack and died right on the court. My grandmother and her sister were never the best of friends. She had just lost her only real connection on the planet and she had two kids to raise. She had agreed to give her brother to the war effort and her husband had perished in part trying to make up for what her brother could've contributed.
What's the difference among the three survivors?
John McCain survived and went on to a rich life.
Al Greenberg died as did most of his family in Europe. Out of 11 siblings, only 4 lived after World War Two and that was because three left before the war and ONE survived Aushwitz. The rest of the Greenbergs and the Champagnes (my grandmother's mother's family, responsible for the French) were all murdered. It was a huge family. I can't list them all. In dying, he left behind a family in America who also needed him.
Sadie Greenberg-Fisher raised two kids on her own, working most of the rest of her life as a Sales Manager for Kleins Department Store. They lived in the projects for a brief period -- the Nostrand Projects, created for the Veterans of World War Two by Democratic Administrations. Then, in 1970, my grandmother moved into a one bedroom apartment in a fancy building two blocks from the water in Sheepshead Bay.
Her body was riddled with arthritis and she never really had a person in her life she could confide in again. She preferred to be alone. She missed her family in Europe to the very end and she told me about them all the time.
WHO'S THE WAR HERO? IS JOHN McCAIN MORE OF A WAR HERO THAN MY GREAT UNCLE? THAN MY GRANDMOTHER?
As she used to say, "He lived. My brother died. And he wants ANOTHER MEDAL."
So many people find themselves impressed with John McCain's war record. I want to take this moment to call upon the memory of two of my relatives: My grandmother, Sadie Greenberg Fisher and my great-uncle, Albert Greenberg. I never got to meet the latter because his plane was shot down in World War II.
John McCain:
As I understand it, John McCain graduated from the bottom of his class at Annapolis, but nevertheless was trained as a pilot. He had some difficulties and was shot down in action in Vietnam and brought to a prison in Hanoi where he claims he was tortured. In a story he wrote about his experience for US News and World Report in 1973, he actually admitted to being willing to give up State Secrets for Medical Care because he was afraid of dying.
Here's the selection:
"I think it was on the fourth day [after being shot down] that two guards camein, instead of one. One of them pulled back the blanket to show the other guardmy injury. I looked at my knee. It was about the size, shape and color of afootball. I remembered that when I was a flying instructor a fellow had ejectedfrom his plane and broken his thigh. He had gone into shock, the blood hadpooled in his leg, and he died, which came as quite a surprise to us - a mandying of a broken leg. Then I realized that a very similar thing was happeningto me. "When I saw it, I said to the guard, `O.K., get the officer.'" "An officer came in after a few minutes. It was the man that we came to knowvery well as "The Bug." He was a psychotic torturer, one of the worst fiendsthat we had to deal with. I said, `O.K., I'll give you military information ifyou will take me to the hospital
It turned out to be too late. They wouldn't make the deal.
I understand that in various publications, he has written about various kinds of torture he endured. At least one story -- the story about his having had his ropes losened by a guard on Christmas and the guard then making a sand in the cross -- was proven to be a lie. You can read about that here
http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2008/08/the-dirt-in-the.html
But, let's grant that McCain was tortured. And, let's grant that McCain came home to write about it, get married several times, the last time to a beer heiress, have a career in the Senate and now run for president. He did all that without
1) Improving the quality of life for other veterans
2) Voting for better spending for veterans' issues/healthcare
3) Voting to increase spending to find POW/MIA's.
Sadie Greenberg-Fisher and Albert Greenberg
Grant me that I am putting this together from what my grandmother told me over years, what my mother told me and what I remember. But, the gist of the story is what matters.
Sadie Greenberg-Fischer came to the United States from a small town outside of Warsaw in the twenties, with the hopes of becoming a singer. Though she had a gorgeous soprano voice she was painfully shy and she couldn't break herself of this, so she resolved to work with her older sister, who had come to accompany her in her career, as milliners which they did until that industry died out. She was so beautiful that she also modeled hats -- she was fine in a line of other girls, so long as she didn't have to say anything and was on and off the stage quickly.
Albert Greenberg, slightly younger than Sarah, arrived to the United States during this period. A gifted mathematician and watchmaker, the family thought he could ply his talents somehow and also help his sisters. He found work quickly and did very well. Meanwhile, both girls got married. Sarah married her hometown sweetheart, Arthur Fischer who emigrated for that very purpose and because he was a friend of Al's. He, too, was a gifted mathematician and he hoped that he and Al could go into business together.
The group held together, even through the depression. Arthur worked by day behind the counter of the appetizer section of a supermarket and by night learned English and then Accounting. Al had a solid position in a Jewelry store and enough money to put into his side of business and was waiting for Arthur to catch up. His accounting was terrific, his English, slow moving. Arthur was getting closer and closer as the 40's started, but Al couldn't take the stories coming out of Europe about what was happening to the Jews and they knew from the letters from their family that they were suffering. Al was young and strong and he felt he owed a lot to the United States because he come a long way. So, they all talked it over and agreed that Al could enlist. Arthur couldn't because he was 4'11, flatfooted and had pneumonia the year before which had weakened his heart. Besides, he had two kids. I've never known if Al was married or not. My grandmother so loved him, it was hard to imagine that there was anyone else around him. Arthur didn't need the English lessons anymore, so he worked day and night, this time doing accounting work which paid better to save money for a store and the kids.
Al was selected by the Air Force and he flew many successful missions. He also spoke German, Polish, Russian, some French and, of course English. He was very handsome and charming and I'm sure could have been useful in many ways. He had black hair and blue eyes and an aquiline nose. From the pictures, he looks about 5'8" -5'10" and absolutely impossible to be mad at, ever. He had one of those faces and attitudes. His plane was shot down toward the end of the war and his body was never recovered. For his sake, I hope he was killed as soon as the plane was shot down because it happened in German territory, no place for a nice Jewish-American boy to be in 1944 or thereabouts.
My grandmother, Sadie Greenberg-Fisher, was broken by Al's death, the way John McCain says he was broken by his torturer's. She told me the story when I was 4. Some 30 years later, like it happened yesterday. About a year after Al died, her husband, Arthur, went out to play handball on a Saturday, like he usually did. He had a sudden heart attack and died right on the court. My grandmother and her sister were never the best of friends. She had just lost her only real connection on the planet and she had two kids to raise. She had agreed to give her brother to the war effort and her husband had perished in part trying to make up for what her brother could've contributed.
What's the difference among the three survivors?
John McCain survived and went on to a rich life.
Al Greenberg died as did most of his family in Europe. Out of 11 siblings, only 4 lived after World War Two and that was because three left before the war and ONE survived Aushwitz. The rest of the Greenbergs and the Champagnes (my grandmother's mother's family, responsible for the French) were all murdered. It was a huge family. I can't list them all. In dying, he left behind a family in America who also needed him.
Sadie Greenberg-Fisher raised two kids on her own, working most of the rest of her life as a Sales Manager for Kleins Department Store. They lived in the projects for a brief period -- the Nostrand Projects, created for the Veterans of World War Two by Democratic Administrations. Then, in 1970, my grandmother moved into a one bedroom apartment in a fancy building two blocks from the water in Sheepshead Bay.
Her body was riddled with arthritis and she never really had a person in her life she could confide in again. She preferred to be alone. She missed her family in Europe to the very end and she told me about them all the time.
WHO'S THE WAR HERO? IS JOHN McCAIN MORE OF A WAR HERO THAN MY GREAT UNCLE? THAN MY GRANDMOTHER?
As she used to say, "He lived. My brother died. And he wants ANOTHER MEDAL."
01 September, 2008
Life as I have known it
for Karen B. Hunter
Nov 23. 1951 - Sept. 2. 2005
A close friend said to me, "Life as I have known it, does not exist anymore."
I have understood that phrase since Sept. 2, 2005 at 9:15pm.
To be more precise, I got the call on Sept. 3. at 10am, that Karen's plane crashed. But, all night I had been wondering why the hell I hadn't been hearing from her and I had left a ton of messages on her machine. So, part of me knew something was wrong. I didn't sleep and neither did my cats. When I got the call, Larry just looked at me like, "It's THAT. THAT. I thought so." I went into automatic mode, was on the phone with all sorts of people, sorting through papers, and then more of her friends came over and they sorted through papers. The family wanted all of her records at the funeral. Nice people. At some point, I stopped doing anything and a friend's dog and I just communed. I wanted someone to mix me a drink and just go sit on the deck. But, I stayed in the middle -- I doled out some things to some of her friends before the beastly family got there. When I got back to my apartment -- Larry and I curled up, and Henry leaned on me. We were in shock -- what one of my friends calls "God's novacaine." Henry just knew something very very bad had happened, but not what. All he wanted to do was make me comfortable.
The next day, when I got to the apartment, the family was already there, arguing over who got which of her books. I was late because I had to buy a suit for the funeral. I wasn't showing up to her funeral looking like a mess, she wouldn't have it. They laughed at me. Clearly, they had come ready to bargain with me over a price tag. "What did I want?" All of Karen's girlfriends had taken her to the cleaners. I explained that I just wanted to help. Really. They were cynical. They pressed on about how the most important person was her daughter who SUFFERS IN SILENCE. My best friend, who was with me, looked at me as if to say, "Can I sock them in the face, NOW?" I told her not to. I was going to really suffer in silence because that's how I pretended I was raised. Or maybe I was. I don't remember. Somewhere between Hebrew School, a lot of Romantic and Existential literature, core philosophy classes and your standard Verdi repertoire, I'd developed a code of honor. These fools could say what they wanted. They weren't going to get to me. I didn't need their money or their pity. They would either learn who I was or not, but I was not going to fight with them as they were Karen's family and I wanted to be able to attend her funeral and I would accord them the respect necessary to do so.
And that's when life had started to really change. When I had started to sing private arias in silence in order to gain the smallest tokens of what were due to me. Of course I should have been able to go to Karen's funeral. But, I wasn't certain they would let me go. And I don't know what they did with her ashes to this day. I never saw her body, and in the back of my mind, there is always this part of me that wonders if they wisked her away alive and hid her from the world. I'll never know for certain. Nobody who knew Karen will believe that any government document, including a death certificate, cannot be forged. Of course, I accept what is standard common knowledge. But, when you have come into an apartment of a person you cared for, to find her brother and sister arguing over a copy of Freakanomics and later, her daughter and sister discussing a job interview as they are looking for clothes to dress her body in, you kind of wonder what's really going on.
I'm sure they found me just as odd. I'm sure what they were doing was just a defense mechanism for the pain -- a result of God's Novocaine. I'm sure later, they broke down and that, like for me, only now are more memories, especially the best ones, beginning to really come back. I guess I just wish they had been a little more reserved like I wished they had dressed for the funeral. If not for Karen's sake, for the sake of her friends. Call me the boorish lower middle class. There are some places where tradition exists because it provides a certain amount of comfort. At least, it would have, for me. My apologies. I just couldn't handle the striped shirt and plaid jacket on her brother and the tight white shirt and cords on her nephew and the gold shoes on her daughter. It wasn't proper. I begged my uncle for money for a suit. You just don't do things like that. You just don't. I wore a suit, I tore the collar, as we do according to Jewish tradition. My friends came to support me and they dressed.
Since that day, I have fallen into a space where I am continually astonished by the capacity for humans to hurt one another. It's as if I fell into a zone in which
1) I can assume that I am allowed nothing
2) I can assume that people will not CONSIDER MY NEEDS AT ALL
Some of this is just the result of being thrown back into the economy without being part of a "we". I didn't depend on Karen, at all economically, but we did do things together and I had a kind of feeling that I wasn't alone, at least. I certainly depended on Karen emotionally and she did me and it was wonderful to have someone you could rely on. And we had love, that incredible thing that makes you more you than you ever knew.
This is an economy that kills love. That's why it was so important in 1984 for Winston Smith to be in a relationship and for that relationship to be broken by "Big Brother". In this economy, we are asked to be so brutal to each other -- to not understand when our own friends are in trouble because we can't afford to lose our jobs -- that we can't fully love. At least, we can't fully love everyone we want to. And love becomes a different thing. I know that people have looked at marriage as a business for centuries, but that doesn't exclude the possibility of love. With time shrinking and people singing more and more private arias, who has the prospect of loving, where?
Karen and I went to see Verdi's Otellotogether and she thought it was so important that the Iago had been given a motivation for what he had done -- it made what he had done so human. (I know, I know, she was a psychologist -- but it's still a brilliant point.)In it's simplest sense, Otello tells the story of a beautiful young Italian girl who falls in love with a War hero who happens to be a person of color. In the Shakespeare, Iago, his ensign drives him mad with jealousy, telling him that his wife is cheating on him with Cassio, and later providing him with false evidence, quite brilliantly and he kills Desdemona. The play is a test case in how a person can be slowly convinced by his own ability to be jealous to hurt the one person he loves most. In the opera, Iago does this because he was passed over for a promotion and because he is generally cynical about human nature -- he is a man full of bitterness, not unlike those in his contemperary audience, perhaps.
I remember how shocked she was by the simple brutality in the staging -- just Ben Heppner's (as Otello)throwing down of a paper on the floor in a harsh fashion with Desdemona in the room. She hated brutality and was really sensitive to it. She loved light and especially glass that picked up light. She had this big yellow glass plate that looked like a sun.
So, now we are a world of Iago's, Otello's and Desdemona's. And some of us are bystanders like those in the play or the opera. And in being so, there is the possibility for change. Life is no longer the way it was. Then it must become something else. It cannot be this. I know that I am no war hero. I have encouraged no one to murder. And I seem to be still breathing. Yeah, I've been nearly choked to death and so have some of my friends. We've survived some pretty hideous places and we're in some now. But, we're not dead. We can still get away, we just have to plot how. So, they and I are bystanders.
Or audience. They and I have a choice. For once, there's an advantage to having not been given the leading role.
I'll be shopping for a lot of pretty glass this fall and thinking.
Nov 23. 1951 - Sept. 2. 2005
A close friend said to me, "Life as I have known it, does not exist anymore."
I have understood that phrase since Sept. 2, 2005 at 9:15pm.
To be more precise, I got the call on Sept. 3. at 10am, that Karen's plane crashed. But, all night I had been wondering why the hell I hadn't been hearing from her and I had left a ton of messages on her machine. So, part of me knew something was wrong. I didn't sleep and neither did my cats. When I got the call, Larry just looked at me like, "It's THAT. THAT. I thought so." I went into automatic mode, was on the phone with all sorts of people, sorting through papers, and then more of her friends came over and they sorted through papers. The family wanted all of her records at the funeral. Nice people. At some point, I stopped doing anything and a friend's dog and I just communed. I wanted someone to mix me a drink and just go sit on the deck. But, I stayed in the middle -- I doled out some things to some of her friends before the beastly family got there. When I got back to my apartment -- Larry and I curled up, and Henry leaned on me. We were in shock -- what one of my friends calls "God's novacaine." Henry just knew something very very bad had happened, but not what. All he wanted to do was make me comfortable.
The next day, when I got to the apartment, the family was already there, arguing over who got which of her books. I was late because I had to buy a suit for the funeral. I wasn't showing up to her funeral looking like a mess, she wouldn't have it. They laughed at me. Clearly, they had come ready to bargain with me over a price tag. "What did I want?" All of Karen's girlfriends had taken her to the cleaners. I explained that I just wanted to help. Really. They were cynical. They pressed on about how the most important person was her daughter who SUFFERS IN SILENCE. My best friend, who was with me, looked at me as if to say, "Can I sock them in the face, NOW?" I told her not to. I was going to really suffer in silence because that's how I pretended I was raised. Or maybe I was. I don't remember. Somewhere between Hebrew School, a lot of Romantic and Existential literature, core philosophy classes and your standard Verdi repertoire, I'd developed a code of honor. These fools could say what they wanted. They weren't going to get to me. I didn't need their money or their pity. They would either learn who I was or not, but I was not going to fight with them as they were Karen's family and I wanted to be able to attend her funeral and I would accord them the respect necessary to do so.
And that's when life had started to really change. When I had started to sing private arias in silence in order to gain the smallest tokens of what were due to me. Of course I should have been able to go to Karen's funeral. But, I wasn't certain they would let me go. And I don't know what they did with her ashes to this day. I never saw her body, and in the back of my mind, there is always this part of me that wonders if they wisked her away alive and hid her from the world. I'll never know for certain. Nobody who knew Karen will believe that any government document, including a death certificate, cannot be forged. Of course, I accept what is standard common knowledge. But, when you have come into an apartment of a person you cared for, to find her brother and sister arguing over a copy of Freakanomics and later, her daughter and sister discussing a job interview as they are looking for clothes to dress her body in, you kind of wonder what's really going on.
I'm sure they found me just as odd. I'm sure what they were doing was just a defense mechanism for the pain -- a result of God's Novocaine. I'm sure later, they broke down and that, like for me, only now are more memories, especially the best ones, beginning to really come back. I guess I just wish they had been a little more reserved like I wished they had dressed for the funeral. If not for Karen's sake, for the sake of her friends. Call me the boorish lower middle class. There are some places where tradition exists because it provides a certain amount of comfort. At least, it would have, for me. My apologies. I just couldn't handle the striped shirt and plaid jacket on her brother and the tight white shirt and cords on her nephew and the gold shoes on her daughter. It wasn't proper. I begged my uncle for money for a suit. You just don't do things like that. You just don't. I wore a suit, I tore the collar, as we do according to Jewish tradition. My friends came to support me and they dressed.
Since that day, I have fallen into a space where I am continually astonished by the capacity for humans to hurt one another. It's as if I fell into a zone in which
1) I can assume that I am allowed nothing
2) I can assume that people will not CONSIDER MY NEEDS AT ALL
Some of this is just the result of being thrown back into the economy without being part of a "we". I didn't depend on Karen, at all economically, but we did do things together and I had a kind of feeling that I wasn't alone, at least. I certainly depended on Karen emotionally and she did me and it was wonderful to have someone you could rely on. And we had love, that incredible thing that makes you more you than you ever knew.
This is an economy that kills love. That's why it was so important in 1984 for Winston Smith to be in a relationship and for that relationship to be broken by "Big Brother". In this economy, we are asked to be so brutal to each other -- to not understand when our own friends are in trouble because we can't afford to lose our jobs -- that we can't fully love. At least, we can't fully love everyone we want to. And love becomes a different thing. I know that people have looked at marriage as a business for centuries, but that doesn't exclude the possibility of love. With time shrinking and people singing more and more private arias, who has the prospect of loving, where?
Karen and I went to see Verdi's Otellotogether and she thought it was so important that the Iago had been given a motivation for what he had done -- it made what he had done so human. (I know, I know, she was a psychologist -- but it's still a brilliant point.)In it's simplest sense, Otello tells the story of a beautiful young Italian girl who falls in love with a War hero who happens to be a person of color. In the Shakespeare, Iago, his ensign drives him mad with jealousy, telling him that his wife is cheating on him with Cassio, and later providing him with false evidence, quite brilliantly and he kills Desdemona. The play is a test case in how a person can be slowly convinced by his own ability to be jealous to hurt the one person he loves most. In the opera, Iago does this because he was passed over for a promotion and because he is generally cynical about human nature -- he is a man full of bitterness, not unlike those in his contemperary audience, perhaps.
I remember how shocked she was by the simple brutality in the staging -- just Ben Heppner's (as Otello)throwing down of a paper on the floor in a harsh fashion with Desdemona in the room. She hated brutality and was really sensitive to it. She loved light and especially glass that picked up light. She had this big yellow glass plate that looked like a sun.
So, now we are a world of Iago's, Otello's and Desdemona's. And some of us are bystanders like those in the play or the opera. And in being so, there is the possibility for change. Life is no longer the way it was. Then it must become something else. It cannot be this. I know that I am no war hero. I have encouraged no one to murder. And I seem to be still breathing. Yeah, I've been nearly choked to death and so have some of my friends. We've survived some pretty hideous places and we're in some now. But, we're not dead. We can still get away, we just have to plot how. So, they and I are bystanders.
Or audience. They and I have a choice. For once, there's an advantage to having not been given the leading role.
I'll be shopping for a lot of pretty glass this fall and thinking.
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