How an Old Teacher Got Schooled - Part Two

"America is the land of the second chance - and when the gates of the prison open, the path ahead should lead to a better life."

~ George W. Bush

The story continued...

My first class teaching Mr. X was Introduction to Marketing.

I asked the students a series of pointed questions to determine the extent of their marketing experience. Mr. X stated flat out that he had zero experience. Marketing could be Greek for all he could make of it. Mr. X had never held down an actual nine-to-five job in his life. His only work experience was selling product.

For the next 15-20 minutes, I peppered him with questions.

~How did you determine your target market for your product?

~What was their demographic?

~Did you rely strictly on word-of-mouth or use other marketing strategies?

~How did you differentiate your product from your competition?

~How did you establish pricing?"

By the time class ended, Mr. X readily admitted that he knew more about marketing than he had given himself credit for.

Recalling our previous encounter, I felt confident (perhaps a little cocky). Once Mr. X understood my purpose, all would be well. The success that was eluding me was simply a couple of well-constructed ethical dilemma questions away! Here we go- back into that morality breech...

*****

"Mr. X, please explain for the benefit of your classmates why you state so adamantly that you will never take a human life?" I asked (somewhat smugly). "Mr. X never is a very powerful word. Are you sure you meant to say never?"

Mr. Malcolm X slowly stood to face us. He was six feet four inches tall, lean-muscled, and moved like a cat. I have never felt frightened of the overly big-muscled, weight-lifting types you find throughout the prison system. I have found that prisoners like Mr. X are far more physically intimidating.

He began to speak. I was listening on the edge of my chair and soaking up each and every word. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and begin to stand up.

Mr. X raised his head. He reminded me of a superbly confident young lion surveying his kingdom. "Well, sir, I can speak with absolute certainty that I will never take a human life- because I have taken a life before. That is why I am here in this place."

I heard some mental (and actual) gasps in the classroom. Mr. X had entered the unspoken forbidden territory of- what crime put me here.

He continued in a voice that trembled with pent-up emotion yet remained powerful. "A close friend of mine from childhood worked for me moving product. Yes, I mean drugs." He surveys his captive audience. "I received word some product was missing, and my childhood friend was stealing from me."

There was a touch of fire when he next spoke, "Friend or not, he was taking from me, from my family. I had to make an example of him."

He pleaded with his tone and demeanor: "I had to. If not, my competitors, those who worked for me, would believe I was soft."

Mr. X looked downward at his scuffed prison-worn shoes. His voice softened. When he looked back up, his warm brown eyes were filled with tears. He struggled to speak.

Finally, he spoke softly, "We walked away from everyone else. I knew my best friend was planning to kill me and take my place as the boss. We looked at each other and began to fight."

Mr. X looked downward for a second time. Not at his shoes this time but at his scarred, powerful-looking hands. He raised those well-muscled hands and displayed them to us. "I beat my friend to death with my bare hands," he pronounced in a quivering voice.

He turned and looked directly at me with burning eyes. "Listen to me, doc. I know you ain't no virgin. But- do you know what it feels like to kill a man with your bare hands, Doctor D? With these hands?" he raised the offending items to my eye level.

"Well, sir, that is why I can answer your ethics and morality questions all day long. I will never again take a human life." He finished speaking and slipped lithely back into his seat.

I clumsily cleared my tightened throat. "Well, thanks for being so open and honest and sharing your story with us, Mr. X."

It was evident I was taken aback and searching for my words. "Okay, class, so... let's talk about the dangers of numbers philosophy and why a smaller number of lives should have less value than a more significant number of lives. Or should we feel that way?"

I cleared my throat for what I hoped was the final time. "Umm, okay, class, has anyone heard of a Japanese city called Hiroshima?"

As the hands flew around the room, I glanced at Mr. X. He sat quietly at his desk with his mighty hands folded in his lap, staring intently at them as if waiting for a profound philosophical message from them.

I thought, "Tom, you always seem to learn more from these felons than you teach them in return."

Mr. X looked directly into my eyes and smiled tentatively at me. I smiled back, both happy because all remained good between us.

I realize an old teacher like myself can still be schooled. I also recognize that an old teacher like myself can still be right occasionally. It is all about perspective. Only judge a man (or a woman) after first striving to see things from their perspective.

*****

Writing these stories and poems is cathartic but raw. Truth is hard. Walking a mile in a felon's moccasins has worn me out. It is 3:30 am. I am turning off this laptop and going to sleep.

~Doctor D... A Cosmic Chipmunk Production.

END