My First Day - Part Two

The C.O. with the potbelly was straddling a wobbly three-legged beat-up desk some 100 yards down the hallway. Once I shut the door behind me, it would be solely me and forty felons alone.

I had been provided with a 'man-down' button. A small grey square with a button on it. It reminded me of a garage door opener. I had been assured that if I pushed the button, help would come running fast. I hoped that the support they had referred to was not the potbellied C.O. I was confident that he couldn't run the entire hundred yards without a break (or two).

I saw every pair of eyes on me as I dumped my teaching tools on the table provided. I looked around the room at the broken tables and chairs and hunkered around the students. Many had books and papers in their laps because they needed more space.

Behind me was a blackboard. "You have got to be kidding me?" I thought to myself. I had brought dry erasers and whiteboard markers with my teaching gear just in case they had an old whiteboard. What I had been hoping for was a computer projector. I had to work with something from The Little House on the Prairie.

The chalkboard lip held one piece of broken white chalk and one piece of broken yellow chalk. I peered around for an erasure, but nope. Wait, a questionable-looking dry rag was hanging on a hook beside the fractured and chipped blackboard.

I straightened my back and muttered, "Man up, Tom, work with what you got. Quit whining; it won't change a thing."
I turned my back to the room, hearing voices murmur as I strode briskly to the blackboard. I snatched the broken yellow chalk and wrote my name in big, bold yellow letters. I slapped the chalk piece back to the lip.

I spun sharply around to face my classroom. I strolled across a white line painted on the scarred wooden floor with the words, all in bold capital letters, NO INMATES ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT!

I strode halfway into the depths of the blue-denim-clad men who would be my students for the next sixteen weeks. "Good morning, Gentlemen," I barked, giving them my best teacher smile. I heard a few soft mumbles.

I repeated even louder this time, "Gentlemen, I didn't travel sixty-eight miles leaving my home at four a.m. to get here to teach you folks this morning for a lame response like that. You can do better." I took a deep breath and paused for effect. 

"So let's try it again. GOOD MORNING GENTLEMEN!" I received a loud, boisterous good morning in return.

I heard a few chuckles around the room. My facial expression didn't change, but inside I was smiling. I began striding back and forth across the entire length of the tiny, crowded classroom. As I marched, I made eye contact with every student and held it briefly.

I looked around the room, walked to the 'no inmate' line, and planted my feet. "So, Gentlemen, I am going to stand here on this line and introduce myself to the classroom." I had their attention now. "When I am finished, all of you will stand up here, right here," I said, pointing to the obviously despised line, "and take your turn introducing yourselves to me and the entire classroom."

I saw row after row of smiles. "After introductions, the second item on our agenda is establishing class rules. I stopped and pointed behind my table. "I will write these rules of behavior on the whiteboard, er, excuse me, Gentlemen; I mean the blackboard." I had their interest now.

"We will all discuss and agree to these rules," I stated firmly.

A voice shouted from the back row, "My rule will be no homework!" The class erupted into chuckles.

"Who said that?" I asked in a calm voice.

"Inmate 3-0-8-1-8-7, sir!" came the response.

The entire class became eerily silent, waiting for the outcome of our exchange. "I didn't ask you for your prison number; I asked your name, son?"

A hesitant response, "My name?"

I saw puzzled looks throughout the room. "Yes, son, I want your name."

After a brief silence, "My name is Jeremy Jones, sir,"

I answered him with a smile. "Well, Mr. Jones, when we write our class rules, I want you to be the class scribe." Most of the class was looking directly at Jones. "The class can determine however many rules they need. But I insist on including two rules, Mr. Jones: one, we will treat everyone in this class with respect, and two, this is the most important rule: never forget learning is supposed to be fun. Can you live with those rules, Mr. Jones?" I heard the lighter tone in his response.

"Yes, sir, I sure can!"

An hour later, introductions were completed, my jacket removed, the sleeves of my dress shirt rolled up, and my tie loosened. The class atmosphere was relaxed and energetic. Mr. Jones was standing at the blackboard well beyond the painted line with a happy smile plastered on his face. He was reciting the list of class rules that he had just written on the blackboard.

After sixteen weeks together, the students of that first class began calling me Doctor D. That nickname stuck and is employed today by nearly everyone in the prison system and beyond.

The first day was almost seven years ago. This teaching gig doesn't pay very well. They pay the worst wages I've ever made as a teacher. However, it is also the single best, without any doubt, most rewarding job I have ever held in my entire life.

END